English Majors '13 Class History

How do we, on gaudy pictures of the past/ write words of the moment? Stuck in their midst, how do paint ourselves?
-Leung Ping-Kwan, Postcards of Old Hong Kong


It is difficult Leung Ping-Kwan, especially if there is a crowd of English majors listening or even only pretending to listen to you. It is difficult, especially if you do not know yourself what you are trying to paint. It is difficult, especially because it defies a single connecting frame, even by means of the language we all love.

If our story would be written at all, it would have to be written as a novel, for the main reason that it wouldn’t fit in a short story. It’s because our stories are different stories in themselves, but are only understandable as part of the whole.

Aileen.  Aira. Alvin. Carmie. Darcy. Earl. Janelle.  Jerry. Jessa Li. Jill. Jovit. Karen. Lyka. Martin. Ricah. Ronmar. Roseanne. Sheina. Shella. Sheryl. Teresa. Valerie. Zyrel. Different names, different stories. Yet, somehow, they mean the same.

In the not too distant past, it hasn’t always been like this. Yes, Miguel Syjuco, I believe that there are things that need to finally be said. I have to say them aloud, in front of you, especially in front of the people I talk about. A thing named is a thing conquered.

I believe our stories haven’t met until last semester. Until then, we were just a bunch of egos. Now, we’re just a bunch.

Yes, we were a bunch of egos, frankly speaking. There are BSED students and then there are BEEDBSED students. On our first class in Intro to Linguistics with Ma’am De la Cruz, we were seated at opposite sides of the room, chromosomes in the anaphase stage of cell division, eager to separate to form another independent cell. Perhaps this was one of the reasons some of us left. We couldn’t hold them together.

In the second semester of our second year, things were looking up a bit. We had to work together for Dora’s World Adventure to be a success. Somehow, we made it, but the rift is still there. Volatile tempers during practice didn’t help to smooth things over completely. Two more people left the group.

Third year was a coming of age year. It was the most difficult year so far, and because it was difficult, we had to seek help from forces outside of ourselves. We had to go to the others. And this meant seeking help from the people we once mocked precisely because of their diligence. Our batch of BEEDBSED people liked to be lazy until the last possible moment, to be spontaneous when the moment comes. We believed in the moment of creation, devoid of the artifice of habit and practice. We did things in the spur of the moment. Of course there were regrets gnawing at the back of our minds, regrets of not having done as we would have done it had we prepared, but we were always satisfied that we were still able to deliver, even in the nick of time.

But creating a lesson plan isn’t all about the moment of creation. Delivering the lesson is not all about being spontaneous. A good part of it is about being sufficiently prepared so that you can be efficiently spontaneous when the time comes. A good part of it is discipline.

That’s what the BEEDBSED people lacked. And we learned discipline not so much through our teachers who always pushed us to do more, to do better, but through our own BSED classmates, silent and plodding as the ants saving for the rainy weather.

Suddenly, we found ourselves clutching one another’s hand for support. We found ourselves huddled together, with stacks of lesson plan drafts in the table. We found ourselves studying together for major examinations that were so bloody they always left us in need of blood transfusion. Suddenly, we were one team working for one goal: to stay together, to stay alive.

It wasn’t more manifested than last semester, when we worked again for the Wicked, together this time, in the real sense of the word. Somehow, you begin to enjoy the company of one who has been with you through the times your IQ was falling, your nose was bleeding, and your pocket slowly being emptied of its meagre amount of funds. You enjoy the company of one who, all things considered, are on your side of the coin, struggling against expectations. But mostly, you enjoy the company of a friend who, as different as your stories are, is much more valuable because of that. Because we were different, we had so much to share.

But perhaps at some point, we enjoyed one another’s company so much there was nothing else we liked to do except talk and talk, and listen sometimes. Attitudes were part of what we shared, and this attitude we called laziness. The lazy bone spread through us, and our enthusiasm for learning waned a bit.

But now we’re back on track. We’ve achieved the balance of keeping friendships, and maintaining grades. Because we know we’re near the finish line, and potholes abound the nearer we get to it. But with teachers who remind us at opportune moments, and friends to help us along the way, we can get to it, together.

To our teachers, we do not mention you not so much because you haven’t figured that much in our lives but because the mere fact that we are still in the program, and are here with you today should speak for itself. We’d like to believe we are a testament to your capacities as merciful human beings, helping us fledglings to take flight.

To the other majors, this is the story of the your (dare I say it?) ates and kuyas. This is our story. But this may be yours too. This is a story of passive-aggressive persons who like to seethe silently than speak. A story of unfought battles of temper, a story of probably the most colourful batch of English majors, a story of egos overcoming themselves. This is a story of humans being humans, faulty, yet never beyond improvement and repair.

This is the story of Aileen.  Aira. Alvin. Carmie. Darcy. Earl. Janelle.  Jerry. Jessa Li. Jill. Jovit. Karen. Lyka. Martin. Ricah. Ronmar. Roseanne. Sheina. Shella. Sheryl. Teresa. Valerie. Zyrel. Different names, different stories. Yet, somehow, they mean the same.

*delivered during the Acquaintance Party, August 1, 2012