A JOURNEY TO THE ARCH

WRITTEN BY : JF Nichols Cortez

As I opened my eyes, which were heavier than usual, the first thing I reached for was my buzzing phone. It was my alarm, which said it was three o’clock in the morning. My body, tired and weary, pushed itself off the bed—a mechanism I have mastered in order to get ahead of my brain before it decides to sleep again. It was not effective. Nor were the five succeeding alarms, each just five minutes apart, that I had set in anticipation of my feeble ability to stay awake. But who could blame me? The excitement and suspense prevented me from sleeping continuously, like a child unable to keep his act together the night before a field trip. In my case, however, it was the upcoming and long-overdue journey of a lifetime.

At the sixth alarm, I finally had enough mental strength to get out of bed. It was about quarter to five o’clock when I finished my breakfast, took a bath, and put on my assigned navy-blue shirt. At that time, I chatted with my friends to check on them. To no surprise, some were already in a jeepney that early in the morning, while others were closing in on UST grounds. I was not shaken up by their proximity because the dorm I was staying in was just five minutes away.

This might have been my closest experience to living the dorm life again. More than two years have passed since I stayed in a residence near UST, yet without fail, it seemed I would still arrive in the designated building much later than those in farther cities. Complacency is the death of dormers. Knowing that UST is just five to ten minutes away makes one believe that sprinting one side, street to street, in under two minutes is possible, preferable even.

I gleefully messaged a friend—who told me he was near—to go to my dorm’s lobby before proceeding to UST so that we could walk together. He indulged my request. And there it was, a fleeting feeling I have not felt for so long. I checked my essentials—my facemask, I.D., keys, and ThOMedSS—before hurrying to the elevator. Despite my clear enthusiasm, it wasn’t out of eagerness to see him for the first time. In fact, we already did.

This meeting happened less than a month ago when my friends and I decided it was high time we all had the pleasure of meeting in person. Two years of nothing but a virtual presence and, finally, there they were standing…all of them with facemasks on—a comedic coincidence had it been a different time. As we told stories, said jokes, ate together, and bonded, it felt normal. It felt right and deserving to be with friends after all we’ve been through. My only regret is that I was deprived of this bliss for more than two years.

So, the enthusiasm I was exhibiting was nothing but the thrill of meeting a friend. After joining him in the lobby, we made our way to UST. But, as soon as I was no longer under the building’s entrance, I felt a familiar sensation—it was the drizzle of rain. At that moment, I realized I had forgotten a crucial item—the friend of every Thomasian—the mighty umbrella.

What kind of Thomasian does not bring an umbrella during this season? A true Thomasian is always ready for rain.

After rushing back for my umbrella, my friend and I continued our trip, but now against a more pronounced pour of rain.

Before allowing us to enter, the UST guard glanced over our shoes up to our heads—most likely to ensure appropriate attire and the presence of an I.D.; he then requested that we present our accomplished ThOMedSS. When everything was set, he let us in.

From our location, we had to walk a tad more because the Ruaño Building was still at the other end. However, I considered this serendipitous because one could enjoy the serene and cozy atmosphere of the campus, complemented by the rhythmic rain, in the early morning. It had a very Thomasian ambiance. Continuing our journey, we got a glimpse of the grandstand and a beautiful view of the wide green field. Keeping true to the serendipitous theme of the morning, we got a prelude to the main event as we walked past the Arch of the Centuries. I could not help but smile at what was in store for us.

When we finally reached the Roque Ruaño Building, I parted ways with my friend as another dear friend messaged me to assist her. She was actually the reason why I woke up much earlier than what could be expected of a dormer, but nothing beats listlessness better than the request of a friend. As I hastily strolled towards her dormitory along Lacson St., it felt different.

I had already walked the streets of Manila before. The atmosphere then was bleak due to the constant fear of imminent danger. But this time, the street was brimming with hope, emanating from the horde of students. It was viral, not the virus, but the festivity brought by these buoyant learners with their balloon clappers, head gear, light sticks, banners, and more. It was exhilarating to see how normal it felt—how I pray every day to be the same.

It was already past the call time when I met with my dear friend, who explained that it was the excitement that became her undoing. We hurried back to Ruaño and upon entering the building, we were met with a challenge locating our assigned rooms. It was a hectic journey despite the seemingly simple route designs in Ruaño. Regardless, I got to see plenty of should-have-beens like the classrooms, the laboratories, the open area, the faculty rooms, and others whose functionalities have all been reduced to a mere screen these past two years. It was weird how nostalgic it felt, even if I didn’t spend my college life in this building.

After finding our sections, we were finally on our way to QPAV. Inside the multi-purpose gymnasium, my friends and I sat on the “Ruaño” side as we watched more and more students fill the seats. We first hid our festive materials, as the next part would be the Homecoming Mass. It is always so serene to attend Mass with friends. It was delightful to