“Two weeks before graduation, after taking all your final exams, you walk around the campus prematurely saying goodbye to the ghosts you will leave behind. That’s how sentimental you are….
So you walk around waiting for graduation, feeling empty while contemplating the bare crowns of the acacias. After four years in school, you ask yourself, what have you learned? Nothing, comes the humble reply….
The memories threaten to overwhelm you as you say goodbye to the old school, your mind melodramatically rushing up to meet another leaf-falling season. You have to have a sad tale to tell to go with the dreary music in your head even as the leaves come falling down on your head. Adagio, the heart says, but the mind vehemently denies: no, no, you were not—never—lonely here. And still the leaves rain down on you like music fit to commit suicide in.”
So you walk around waiting for graduation, feeling empty while contemplating the bare crowns of the acacias. After four years in school, you ask yourself, what have you learned? Nothing, comes the humble reply….
The memories threaten to overwhelm you as you say goodbye to the old school, your mind melodramatically rushing up to meet another leaf-falling season. You have to have a sad tale to tell to go with the dreary music in your head even as the leaves come falling down on your head. Adagio, the heart says, but the mind vehemently denies: no, no, you were not—never—lonely here. And still the leaves rain down on you like music fit to commit suicide in.”
-excerpt from Timonthy Montes’ essay,
“Silliman in the Eighties: Of That Time, Second Person”
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