As I fumbled around trying to put on my robe and mortar board "the right way" an hour before the ceremonies began, I almost regretted my decision to attend convocation. I would still get the certificate without going through the pomp and splendour hassle of the graduation ceremony, but my mother had been looking forward to it with an earnestness that eclipsed my own. Hence there I was in the midst of hundreds of other graduands, their families and friends, groggy-eyed and slightly irritable, when I could have slept a few more hours instead.
I had envisaged last year's prom as the perfect ending to my four years in university, so I spent more time and effort in preparing for it than for my convocation. I hadn't even researched anything about the venue, the routes leading to it or any other detail like weather and alternative transportation, before I arrived at the place where a chapter of my life would close. I hadn't paid much attention to the ceremony and remembered only how bored I was. You might say I'm the kind of person who can sit still, but for three consecutive hours? No way. I texted with my mum and she said she desired to take some photos outside the hall because it was not as crowded as before. I knew the rules were strict - all graduands must remain seated throughout the ceremony except when going onstage to take their scroll - but the girl on my left went out and came back unscathed so I thought, screw this. I walked out with my head held high, like nobody's business, and called my parents to come out quick.
An usher saw me posing in front of a marble wall and reminded me with his tone raised that I would miss the group photography session unless I went back in promptly. Immensely pissed, I separated with my parents and trudged back in. I sat fuming and couldn't care less about giving applause when my fellow graduands appeared onstage. This was exactly why I hated this kind of events, why I didn't want to attend it if I had a choice. The decorum, the rules, the pageantry, the pretentiousness of it all! Of course I understand that certain behaviours are expected of me, but still... Hounding me for every last detail, and for what?
Rousing rounds of applause were heard after the academic procession exited the hall at the ceremony's much-awaited conclusion. Professional photographers were engaged to take group pictures (we had no say in the matter). It was heartening to see some of my lecturers coming back in just to bid farewell or take photos. I smiled at some of them and ignored some others.
Once outside the hall, I met with more friends from different intakes and faculties. Smiles, handshakes and brief attempts at conversation flowed naturally all around. I think I went autopilot and did my best at hiding my exhaustion. I trailed behind my mum floor after floor looking for my cousin who coincidentally was also present. He has a few friends who were graduating today as well. It was not the best sensation in the world, covering so much floorspace in four layers and a bouquet in my arm, just to find my cousin and take photos with him. By the time my parents and cousin left, I had a sizeable collection of photographs and my shirt was noticeably soaked with sweat. It still wasn't over yet.
In the gardens, my close friends and I threw caution - and our mortar boards - to the wind by taking wacky shots of ourselves. Someone looking out from inside the hotel would've thought us deranged and unhinged. Oh what fun. It's with them that I found my entire university experience slightly more tolerable. These little things and small moments matter more to me than the overrated ceremony and the obnoxious usher. Sure, I didn't want to come. True, I hated being there. Yet, as I parted with my friends - who knows when will we meet again - I couldn't help but feel grateful for having known them, for having our paths crossed, however briefly. I didn't feel any heavy-heartedness at this yet another separation, probably because I have went through so many separations and reunions that I see them all as variations of the same theme - the theme of life being, after all, an act of letting go. Bit by bit, slowly but surely.
It's said that we will regret the things we didn't do more than the things we did. On my train ride home, I encountered some boisterous boys, no doubt heading to their basketball game, judging by their attire. If there were parallel universes, I wonder whether there would be an athletic version of me. All the possible pasts and futures lay out infinitely, accessible through the words "what if". It's a bummer that there were things that went wrong on this big day, this grand finale, but suppose I skipped my own convocation? What will I think, a few years down the road?
