17/06/2026
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐, โ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐โ. ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
by: Renalyn Bibanco
And then again, one random night, mind a little busy with thinkingโ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐ ๐ถ๐ ๐ป๐ฒ๐
๐? And then life hits us: 'Oh, finally, you are officially graduating.' But then againโ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐ ๐ถ๐ ๐ป๐ฒ๐
๐?
Although we fought hard to wear this alampay, this barong, this Filipinianaโwhat exactly is the next step after this? Four years, at minimum. It was never a game to play mindlessly. Sure enough, every one of us had those nights of not seeing the value of our own hard work, those nights when the path we were takingโand every post of light it once hadโstarted losing its spark. Just like me, you, usโฆand then we were lost. ๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ง๐๐๐ฉ๐๐.
Moments just like: we did not sleep enough. We did not eat enough some days. We cried in bathrooms, in jeepneys, and in the middle of writing a paper that felt like it was slowly eating us alive. And stillโ๐ฌ๐ ๐๐ง๐๐๐ ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐จ๐ฉ๐๐ฎ๐๐!
That is the first thing worth saying out loud, because nobody puts it in the speeches. They talk about the honour and the gown and the future waiting like a door swung open. But nobody says, 'We are twenty-something years old and already so exhausted, and we stayed anyway.' Nobody says how much it costs just to show up on the days we felt invisible inside our own body.
So let me say it: I see it. And I saw it. Every single day we chose to come backโthat was not nothing. ๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ.
Do you remember the loneliness? Not the kind that comes from being aloneโwe were rarely alone, surrounded by classmates and readings and noiseโbut that other kind. The loneliness of sitting in a room full of people and feeling like our thoughts lived in a language no one else was speaking. The loneliness of loving somethingโphilosophy, ideas, the ache of a question that has no bottomโand not always being able to explain to people why. Why this? Why four years of this?
๐๐ข๐ฌ๐ช๐ต ๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ช๐ญ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฉ๐บ? ๐๐ฏ๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ณ๐ข๐ณ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฎ๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฏ?
๐๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ด๐ฎ๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ. ๐๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ด๐ข๐ช๐ฅ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฑ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ. ๐๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ด๐ช๐ฅ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ, '๐ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐บ๐ฆ๐ต.' ๐๐ถ๐ต ๐ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ช๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ต๐ณ๐ถ๐ฆ. ๐ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ช๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ฎ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฆ.
๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ช๐ฏ๐จโฆ๐ฒ๐ถ๐ช๐ฆ๐ต, ๐ด๐ต๐ถ๐ฃ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฏ, ๐ฃ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ๐ญ๐บ ๐ง๐ญ๐ข๐ฎ๐ช๐ฏ๐จโฆ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ. ๐๐ต ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ. ๐๐ฏ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต ๐ฅ๐ข๐บ๐ด, ๐ช๐ต ๐ธ๐ข๐ด.
And the nights. ๐ข๐ต, ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐ป๐ถ๐ด๐ต๐๐!
The ones where the cursor blinked at you like a judgement. Where you reread the same paragraph of Sartre four times and understood it less each time. Where you wonderedโand this is the part that nobody admitsโwhether you were smart enough. Whether you had chosen the wrong thing. Whether everyone else in that room carried something you had somehow been born without. Or reading Plato and Aristotle for 3 years, only to get it ruined in the senior year.
You were not the only one feeling that. You were just the one feeling it alone, at whatever hour it was, with the fan humming and the house quiet and the weight of it sitting right in the center of your chest. Those nights almost broke you. Almost.
๐๐ถ๐ต ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ด๐ถ๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ. ๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ธ๐ข๐ญ๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ญ๐ข๐ด๐ด. ๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต๐ฉ ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ด๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ, ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ท๐ฐ๐ช๐ค๐ฆ ๐ค๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ข ๐ญ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฎ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฏ๐ต ๐ช๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ. ๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ข๐ฏ๐บ๐ธ๐ข๐บ. ๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ข ๐ด๐ฎ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ. ๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ.
Let us talk about the people. Because they are part of you now in ways that cannot be undone.
The ones who became your 3am. The ones you argued with about free will and personal identity and somehow ended up arguing about your own lives insteadโand it was the same argument; it was always the same argument. The ones who understood, without you having to explain, why a single line from Camus could ruin your whole afternoon. The ones who passed you food when you forgot to eat. Who sent you the reading when you missed class. Who sat beside you in silence during the hard weeks because they knew silence could be enough.
And the ones you lost, too. You grieve those quietly. You are allowed to. They were real. They mattered. The fact that they are gone does not unmatter them.
Some professors never just taught; they stayed. On the days when the darkness wasn't metaphorical, when you were sitting in their office trying to hold yourself together with shaking hands, they didn't look at you like a problem to be managed. They looked at you like a person worth saving. They patted your head. They said you're not broken; you're just tired. And somehow, from someone who had every reason to only care about your thesis and your grades, that hit different. That cracked something open. They carried two things at onceโthe syllabus and your unravellingโwithout making you feel like a burden for needing both. When you were ready to throw everything away โ all those sleepless nights and humiliating failures and silent breakdowns in bathroom stalls โ they were the ones who handed the torch back and said, โ๐๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฑ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ; ๐'๐ญ๐ญ ๐ธ๐ข๐ญ๐ฌ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ." Not because it was their job. It was never in their job description to be the reason you didn't quit. But they chose it anyway. ๐ง๐ต๐ฒ๐ ๐ฐ๐ต๐ผ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ผ๐ ๐ฎ๐ป๐๐๐ฎ๐.
๐๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฒ๐ถ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐จ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ข ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ด๐ข๐ธ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ข๐ต ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆโ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐บ๐ฆ๐ฅ.
Then the wins. ๐ง๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ถ๐ป๐.
Not just the grades, though yesโฆthose too, every hard-earned one of them. But the other wins. The ones that lived only inside you.
The moment a concept finally cracked open and the light came through. The paper where you stopped writing what you thought you were supposed to say and wrote what you actually believed, and it was terrifying and it was the best thing you had ever written. The class discussion where you said something and the room went quiet in the good way, the way that means something landed, something real was named. The afternoon you walked home and realized you were thinking differently than you used to, not better, not smarter, but deeper. Like the ground had more floors than you knew.
Those moments belonged entirely to you. Nobody could give them to you and nobody could take them. You built them, slowly, from everything you endured.
And then somewhere in the middle of all of it, between the exhaustion and the loneliness and the people and the losses and the small bright wins, somewhere in there, you found yourself.
Not the self that was sure of everything. Not the polished, composed version you sometimes performed for other people. The real one. The one who asks questions that have no clean answers and refuses to pretend otherwise. The one who sits with discomfort instead of running from it. The one who knows that meaning is not handed to you; it is something you make and unmake and make again.
Philosophy did not give you a career path. It gave you something harder to name and more impossible to lose. It gave you a way of being inside your own life. It gave you the courage to keep asking, even when, especially when, the asking costs something.
๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐จ๐ณ๐ข๐ฅ๐ถ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ด๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด. ๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐จ๐ณ๐ข๐ฅ๐ถ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฒ๐ถ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ด.
๐๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ตโฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ณ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ๐ณ. ๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ต๐ฉ ๐ด๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ค๐ฉ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ.
So, when you walk across that stage, when the alampay sits on your shoulder and your name is called and the whole moment feels too large and too fast and somehow also too slowโfeel it. Feel all of it.
Feel the weight of every night you stayed up. Feel the faces of the people who walked this with you. Feel the papers and the arguments and the breakdowns and the breakthroughs stacked inside you like rings in a tree trunkโinvisible but there, proof that time passed and you survived it and you grew.
Let yourself be proud. Not the shy, apologetic kind. The real kind. The kind that says, 'I went through something.' I came out changed. I am still here, and I am more myself than I have ever been.
๐๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏโ๐บ๐ฆ๐ด, ๐ข๐ง๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ช๐ตโ๐ข๐ด๐ฌ ๐ข๐จ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ: ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐น๐ต? ๐๐ด๐ฌ ๐ช๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐บ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ญ๐บ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ. ๐๐ด๐ฌ ๐ช๐ต ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ข ๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ช๐ญ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ. ๐๐ด๐ฌ ๐ช๐ต ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ด ๐ข๐ญ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ๐บ ๐ด๐ถ๐ณ๐ท๐ช๐ท๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ด๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ. ๐๐ด๐ฌ ๐ช๐ต ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ช๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ข๐ง๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ด๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฆ๐ต.
