where do we go, now that we're here?

The often busy and occasionally grimy intersection of Magsaysay Boulevard and Pureza Street has been an honorable witness to the stories of sentimental journeys students carry with them long after leaving. It has quietly held the dreams of persistent kids carrying the hopes and the support of their families from far-off places—those who believe in Sinta’s power to nurture the seed of greatness blooming in their hearts in exchange for a future they can proudly call their own.

Amid the hum of traffic, the exhaust fumes mixing with the scent of street food and budget meals meant to help you survive a day of endurance under the relentless Manila heat radiating off of the bumpy, uneven pavement, one could realize that they stand at a crossroads where youth, ambition, and grit collide.

It is the commendable collective drive each PUPian possesses that has played a significant role in how I’ve diligently chased after the dreams I want to reach. Their enduring spirit fueled me in times of breakdowns within the city streets I sometimes find myself in. It has given me the patience and curiosity to wander beyond the confines of the classrooms we were encouraged and expected to occupy.

Because Sinta, unquestionably, has been preparing us ever since our early years here to see the vastness of the society we live in—and to realize as early as we can the fragile cracks within it that need immediate mending, should we want to manifest a future where anyone can dream without sacrificing a major part of themselves.

Because before everything got this serious, we used to be just kids. We were kids with a spark in our eyes, hands grasping the intangible certainty of a future we were meant to traverse. We were believers—or still are; it just so happens that some of us are now figuring out an absolute reason we could use as motivation on our way to reach that ever-changing promised future.

But when does the future even start? Do we get to have a heads-up when it’s fast approaching, ready to hit us with how harsh the reality of survival is when you have so little and are still expected to find a way to give even more, perhaps until we wring the borrowed hopes from our dreams dry?

I have never fully grasped how to chase after a secure certainty when it comes to the future. I am unsure how to strategically plan and divide the days, months, and years to come, probably because the probinsyana in me has often viewed and experienced time differently whenever I stayed in the province versus the city. I have observed how time moves significantly slower in Bulacan than in Manila. I had the privilege of having four years spent living between the frantic pulse of the city and the comfort of going back home to rest and slow down.

However, there is no doubt that each place has its own beauty in sustaining a life built within its premises. Together with the then-strangers who became the people I now hold dear, we made a home in semi-cramped residences miles away from the city and provinces we grew up in—where we first learned to dream bigger than the familiarity of a town that watched us gradually outgrow the kid within us.

We occupied a place we filled with memories of laughter and occasional lamentation for when the idea of how life is getting more serious each day catches up to us on a random Thursday afternoon.

We walked until we memorized the gritty streets around PUP. We have befriended the locals on Panganiban Street, enjoyed the affordable meals at Kuya Noli’s carinderia on Santol Street that sometimes almost tasted like home—making it feel like it was just around the corner— and savoured an after-class ice cold Mountain Dew paired with a buy 1 take 1 angel’s burger under the flickering lamppost of Kuya Darrio’s sari-sari store situated just around the busy street of Pureza, filled with students racing against each other to board the approaching train bound for home.

And just like that, four years have already passed.

Now that we have walked millions of steps and conquered paths mixed with perseverance and occasional self-doubt, we’ve finally reached the root of our desires and, ironically, the bane of our existence over the past four years.

We have finally earned the degree we have been striving for. The collective hard work of parents who tirelessly believed in and supported their children with all that they have, the community that shaped us into the people we are now, and the camaraderie of friends that has finally borne fruit.

There won’t be another semester to enroll in, no more sweating under the scorching heat blanketing the university, and no more of the mixed delight and annoyance we feel when deciding whether to eat at the often-full MB, or indulge in shawarma just across CEA, or roam around the ever-busy lagoon filled with students who latag arts and crafts, and those who couldn’t decide which stall to buy from, only to end up buying a Matcha Latte from Kape Kuripot’s stall.

Now what?

Are four years really enough for us to lay out the path to the life we’ll spend the rest of our lives living? Is it finally time to close the doors to the passion we once had but had to drop along the way in the name of practicality? Now that we’ve proven ourselves with this degree, should we have come to accept the opportunities we regrettably let slip through our fingertips, the youth some have sacrificed in the name of their dreams, and join the race against the timeline of success most people follow?

But does the right, linear timeline for everything even exist? Where exactly are we all bound to, anyway?

We may not know what the future has in store for each of us, but if you trust yourself enough to believe that wherever you find yourself—even finding comfort and familiarity in a place where you are still a stranger—you will grow. You will bloom where you decide to cultivate a space you can call home.

Time waits for no one; the river will keep on flowing, and the world will continue to spin even without you—but it shouldn’t be the reason you forget to live, to make mistakes, and to try whatever your mind and heart desire, even on the brink of fear. Because no one has ever figured out the sole right way to live a fulfilling life.

Waves may sometimes come crashing down on us, but most days, they give us a vivid reflection of the sun illuminating the waters with a hopeful orange hue that flows endlessly until it reaches our feet on the ground we stand on.

We may not find ourselves alighting at Pureza Station and walking the streets we’ve mastered our way around as an Isko and Iska again, but perhaps the most moving manifestation of what it means to survive in Sinta is found in the accumulation of voices and viewpoints we’ve learned and continue to carry with us for better days ahead.

The intersection of Magsaysay Boulevard and Pureza Street has guided us to the threshold of adulthood and the end of our youth. Whichever way we choose to go, we carry with us the places that taught us how to dream, the memories we made with the people we lived and endured alongside, and the courage to find home wherever we may be.

Artikulo: Abigail Prieto

Dibuho: Allaine Arcaya