2009 barristers waiting in line
Last Sunday I was back in the place where my life started its inevitable turn, one that I would say with all fervor I most definitely does not regret.
It seemed only yesterday as my thoughts brought me back exactly eight years ago. I was right across the place where I took the exams that was the culmination of a steely determination to cram four years study of law into a six-month review. I was a working student then and could not devote all my time to school, or at least the amount that was ideal. I came to know the word cramming like it was my best friend for life, the shadow of not having been a diligent student always at the back of my mind, fearful that I had too little time to make up for it.
In order to cope with my backlog of missed readings, I sacrificed some lectures most especially those made by reviewers who thought green jokes was par for course and forgot that they were there to educate and not to entertain. I read early in the morning and late into the night broken only by sleep and eating binges, which figures, my overused brain took up all my calories and made me compensate with food. Yes, I ate, slept and thought the law.
As if that was not enough, the distraction of a broken heart railroaded itself into my already very tight schedule and much crowded mindset. Luckily, it happened early on in the review and I had still half of the six months to go. That was so oh very regretful and not worth it, a minor bump on the road. After a few tear-duct induced sniffing in the morning, I was back on track.
This Sunday, as I looked at the expectant faces of parents, relatives, schoolmates, fraternity mates of the 2009 barristers and pure usiseros trying to understand what the fuss is all about, I recall with almost vivid clarity when I was there too in La Salle eight years ago, my hands full with bar handouts and my textbook inside my bag for a sense of security despite knowing there was then too little time to browse through it again before the exams would start.
I patiently waited in line with the others, some with that confident look of thorough preparedness and not a few of those who looked like they were up for the guillotine. I had only three hours of sleep excited as I was and nervous too. This is it, I said to myself, and from the moment I opened the exam booklet and read the first question, I knew with that instinctive gut feel, that despite the unscheduled heartache, cramming for my dear life and all the anxiety, I had a fighting chance, more than a fighting chance.
It seemed only yesterday as my thoughts brought me back exactly eight years ago. I was right across the place where I took the exams that was the culmination of a steely determination to cram four years study of law into a six-month review. I was a working student then and could not devote all my time to school, or at least the amount that was ideal. I came to know the word cramming like it was my best friend for life, the shadow of not having been a diligent student always at the back of my mind, fearful that I had too little time to make up for it.
In order to cope with my backlog of missed readings, I sacrificed some lectures most especially those made by reviewers who thought green jokes was par for course and forgot that they were there to educate and not to entertain. I read early in the morning and late into the night broken only by sleep and eating binges, which figures, my overused brain took up all my calories and made me compensate with food. Yes, I ate, slept and thought the law.
As if that was not enough, the distraction of a broken heart railroaded itself into my already very tight schedule and much crowded mindset. Luckily, it happened early on in the review and I had still half of the six months to go. That was so oh very regretful and not worth it, a minor bump on the road. After a few tear-duct induced sniffing in the morning, I was back on track.
This Sunday, as I looked at the expectant faces of parents, relatives, schoolmates, fraternity mates of the 2009 barristers and pure usiseros trying to understand what the fuss is all about, I recall with almost vivid clarity when I was there too in La Salle eight years ago, my hands full with bar handouts and my textbook inside my bag for a sense of security despite knowing there was then too little time to browse through it again before the exams would start.
I patiently waited in line with the others, some with that confident look of thorough preparedness and not a few of those who looked like they were up for the guillotine. I had only three hours of sleep excited as I was and nervous too. This is it, I said to myself, and from the moment I opened the exam booklet and read the first question, I knew with that instinctive gut feel, that despite the unscheduled heartache, cramming for my dear life and all the anxiety, I had a fighting chance, more than a fighting chance.
