papercut

If Beda Law has trained its inmates for one enviable talent, I’d say it’s waiting. Waiting for news if I’d passed, waiting for enrollment, waiting for profs, waiting for grades…and now, waiting if I will finally be allowed to break free from my second home this past four years.

Judgment day is this Saturday, when deliberations take place and our masters seal our fates. For now, though, it takes me longer before I get to sleep, because when I close my eyes, I suddenly see my test booklets or the faces of my profs. Worse, I suddenly visualize the graduation march without…me! I know, it sounds pretty drama queen-ish. But to someone who’s slaved for four years without knowing for sure if she’s going to graduate or retake a whole year over again (di ba walang summer ang Beda), it’s the very embodiment of limbo. Or ultimately, hell.

I blame myself for cramming on an exam that will cost me added tuition, depression, and of course, my mother’s ministrations (Dapat nag-aaral ka! Wag na magchoir! Wag magsine!). I hate myself for not recognizing that the answer to one question was something I memorized by heart in second year. I feel stupid for reading those case doctrines but not finding out the reasons those doctrines were upheld.

Still I wait. While berating myself.

In the meantime, what’s a girl to do? Oh, there are church pilgrimages. I’ve just been to St. Clare (classmates, kasama kayo sa prayers ko, don’t worry) and I’m wondering if entering Quiapo church on my knees will give me the miracle I long for. I also text my prayer warriors, and my three priest friends. I pray to God like, well, all the time, stopping short of pestering Him with "If you let me graduate, I will never, never, gossip again…or maybe I’ll just exercise more."

A year ago, I called this the sweet life. Summer’s always been what I live for during the year…sleeping twenty-five hours a day, cleaning out the ref, devouring my pocketbooks, playing with my dogs, abusing the aircon, honing my talents(!) on the Magic Mic and re-bonding with my choirmates while pigging out. It’s nice to feel Friday and Saturday nights, and to savor afternoons without breaking into sweat or suddenly hyperventilating. But then I feel the impending doom of September…and it makes me cringe.

And yes, it’s excruciating to wait. If only this waiting brings good news with it, then I can laugh this all off in the next lifetime. But not before the Bar.