As Andee, Jamie and I were waiting (im)patiently in line for enrollment last Wednesday, our idle minds couldn't help but talk about our future and what lies ahead the three of us in creative writing. As I have mentioned in a previous post, it has become a slow, arduous battle with words, rhyme, plots, and climaxes. It was never easy. Even for me, who admittedly still enjoys the course in general. The thought of being somewhere else, busying ourselves with other things can often be comforting. But at that very moment, while waiting for our adviser to arrive, we are still CW students. Nothing else.

But while we were stuck in the unmoving, monotonous present (that is, the line we were in), it was only natural for our thoughts to fly somewhere else - somewhere in the past, and in the future. Of course, the inevitable "Remember our freshman enrollment?" nostalgia trip was to occur. It happens every enrollment, every semester. We would reminisce how the five of us waited by the door of our adviser, warily asking what high school we came from, what PEs we had, what time our English 11 was. We would laugh at the door incident we had with a bitchy (gay) prof as we were about to enter his room. We would shake our heads in embarrassment over our dumb questions about the Toki route and library clearances. Every recollection of that day would somehow make us feel better about ourselves - oh how much we've grown, how much we've learned since then. And suddenly, all would be well again.

However this time was different. Usually, by the moment we finish laughing over the time we still had our moms with us for that enrollment, the lines would start moving and we would be abruptly pulled back to the present, leaving no time for reminiscing, but for e-prerog, post-advising, assessment and payment woes. But because this semester's adviser was known for being notoriously late, we had no choice but to sit there (im)patiently and keep on talking, complaining, and unavoidably, wondering.

Suddenly, it dawned on us. Third year. Goodness, we're halfway through! Even after all the bitching and anxiety-attacks over our course, we've finished two years. Just two more years to go, and before you know it, it's yearbook photographs and graduation tears all over again. But unlike high school, where stepping into junior year only gets you excited about the future, this time it's different. This time, there's this big scary place waiting for us after we get our diplomas - what's that called again? Oh yeah, right. REAL LIFE. (Also: Law school!)

Checking our curriculum course list and crossing out all the subjects I have already taken, it became apparent to me how near (yet far) the end is already. I only had seventeen subjects to go, excluding the ones I would be taking this first semester. That's 17 subjects in 3 semesters. That's 51 units left. Seems like a lifetime more to go, but seeing my course list almost halfway crossed out was the tangible proof that I am almost there. Almost. Almost. Almost. And I didn't know what to feel.

But that's the thing with almosts. It possesses the power of both a need and a want. It can be a stimulus or a disincentive. It may bring forth regret, or contentment. The good thing with almost though, is that it is never a plateau. Once you realize an almost, it's a plunge right down to either the greatest thing in your life, or the worst. It's the big drop on a rollercoaster, the big turning point of a story. It's where you make things happen (or not happen), right when you realize, "I'm almost there."


And what happened after my philosophical musings on our future? Well, we were to wait an hour or so more before she finally signed our Form 5A's. What's new? UP is not known for being the University of Pila for nothing. If anything, the most important lesson they want to teach us (but we stubbornly refuse) is patience. So the three of us ended up quoting the entire Mean Girls movie again. Almost.

Here's to Junior year aka The Almost Year. Let's do this!

As Andee, Jamie and I were waiting (im)patiently in line for enrollment last Wednesday, our idle minds couldn't help but talk about our future and what lies ahead the three of us in creative writing. As I have mentioned in a previous post, it has become a slow, arduous battle with words, rhyme, plots, and climaxes. It was never easy. Even for me, who admittedly still enjoys the course in general. The thought of being somewhere else, busying ourselves with other things can often be comforting. But at that very moment, while waiting for our adviser to arrive, we are still CW students. Nothing else.

But while we were stuck in the unmoving, monotonous present (that is, the line we were in), it was only natural for our thoughts to fly somewhere else - somewhere in the past, and in the future. Of course, the inevitable "Remember our freshman enrollment?" nostalgia trip was to occur. It happens every enrollment, every semester. We would reminisce how the five of us waited by the door of our adviser, warily asking what high school we came from, what PEs we had, what time our English 11 was. We would laugh at the door incident we had with a bitchy (gay) prof as we were about to enter his room. We would shake our heads in embarrassment over our dumb questions about the Toki route and library clearances. Every recollection of that day would somehow make us feel better about ourselves - oh how much we've grown, how much we've learned since then. And suddenly, all would be well again.

However this time was different. Usually, by the moment we finish laughing over the time we still had our moms with us for that enrollment, the lines would start moving and we would be abruptly pulled back to the present, leaving no time for reminiscing, but for e-prerog, post-advising, assessment and payment woes. But because this semester's adviser was known for being notoriously late, we had no choice but to sit there (im)patiently and keep on talking, complaining, and unavoidably, wondering.

Suddenly, it dawned on us. Third year. Goodness, we're halfway through! Even after all the bitching and anxiety-attacks over our course, we've finished two years. Just two more years to go, and before you know it, it's yearbook photographs and graduation tears all over again. But unlike high school, where stepping into junior year only gets you excited about the future, this time it's different. This time, there's this big scary place waiting for us after we get our diplomas - what's that called again? Oh yeah, right. REAL LIFE. (Also: Law school!)

Checking our curriculum course list and crossing out all the subjects I have already taken, it became apparent to me how near (yet far) the end is already. I only had seventeen subjects to go, excluding the ones I would be taking this first semester. That's 17 subjects in 3 semesters. That's 51 units left. Seems like a lifetime more to go, but seeing my course list almost halfway crossed out was the tangible proof that I am almost there. Almost. Almost. Almost. And I didn't know what to feel.

But that's the thing with almosts. It possesses the power of both a need and a want. It can be a stimulus or a disincentive. It may bring forth regret, or contentment. The good thing with almost though, is that it is never a plateau. Once you realize an almost, it's a plunge right down to either the greatest thing in your life, or the worst. It's the big drop on a rollercoaster, the big turning point of a story. It's where you make things happen (or not happen), right when you realize, "I'm almost there."


And what happened after my philosophical musings on our future? Well, we were to wait an hour or so more before she finally signed our Form 5A's. What's new? UP is not known for being the University of Pila for nothing. If anything, the most important lesson they want to teach us (but we stubbornly refuse) is patience. So the three of us ended up quoting the entire Mean Girls movie again. Almost.

Here's to Junior year aka The Almost Year. Let's do this!