I always had my head held high. Literally.

It was a habit I picked up from memorizing government agencies and their respective secretaries, monthly inflation rates, and important stakeholders for our Macroeconomics class. During my commutes, I used to sit next to the jeepney driver, taking out my phone to study for a 10-item news quiz. I would recite every figure in my reviewer before arriving at the bus terminal, only to do the same process again once settled. This routine became second nature until my senior year, when I had to prepare for our weekly Media Law recitations. I’d hold my reviewer in one hand, the other fidgeting in fear of being called, all while admiring Main Building’s rustic textures.

But when I’m not drowned in review notes, I’d lift my chin to greet Manila’s impure air. I steal five quiet minutes for a breather after my classes. It was more than enough to watch the fast-paced action around me—to simmer every lingering simplicity I once took for granted.

In those idle moments, I had my earphones plugged, hyper-fixated on one song that would likely be my chosen personality for the whole week. Walking like I had a strained neck, I watched the vast sky as I strolled by the open field, wondering what the weather would be like tomorrow.

No one told me I’d miss Manila's earthy petrichor and night scenes, but I do.

My experience in journalism school might have felt mechanical and confining. Rushing after deadlines, chasing after headlines, and celebrating bylines was an endless routine that I had to endure as soon as I finished one article after another.

But over time, like flowers growing through cracks on concrete, it became a place where I rooted myself, sprouted relationships, and vigorously bloomed.

Back in my freshman year, I often broke down, convinced I was never enough for such a prestigious university. The Zoom setup was no help either. Whenever I stuttered during online recitations, pessimistic thoughts flowed continuously, beating myself up for every minor inconvenience and flaw. I sought validation from strangers online, hoping for encouragement to power through unbeknownst to the people near me. It was always a silent battle between me and my gluttony for academic validation.

Frankly speaking, time became my measure of worth. If I slipped from the plan, I unraveled, crashing hard under the weight of my own pace. I worked non-stop for grades I barely remember, proving to no one but the voice in my head. It made me feel inferior. Exhausted and alive. Growing, but often at my own expense. Defeated by my unrealistic benchmarks, my fear of mediocrity fueled me to do more and be more.

Still, no matter how passionate I was with my essays or how early I submitted my articles, I felt like a mere impostor in a world of well-spoken and articulate people. How could I keep up with these people who have already mastered wielding their pen?

I befriended them.

I didn’t do it to outrun anyone, but of sheer necessity. High school was a softer kind of storm: friends casually aligned like constellations, laughter boisterously echoed in hallways after class, grades were handed over like gifts for a bit of luck and mere glances at reviewers. But college—college was a tougher disaster. No shortcuts, no safety net, just the silent realization that no one was coming to save me.

However, no one weathers college alone.

My first barkada group chat was formed for a group activity for Theology I. We all clicked like lost friends finding those who matched their quirks. They found me on my most vulnerable days. In every recitation, they would flood me with affirmations and encouragement—genuine and wholesome were an understatement to describe how I felt.

By my second and third years, my little college family began to bloom. Steadily, quietly, beautifully. They may not realize it, but I learned more from them—about myself and the complexities of life—than from any lessons I reviewed within four walls. They taught me how to be a real human. The one who sees beauty and strength that thrive despite adversity.

Boys may have locker room discussions, but girls have comfort room debriefings. In each one, we saw different sides of each other: they saw me struggle with anxiety, panicking over swamped school work while balancing rest. We cried in unison when our stories had to be revised over and over despite adhering to our lecturer’s notes and suggestions; I witnessed their exhaustion, leaning against the comfort room mirror to snatch a few minutes of sleep.

Everything we did together was a rebellion against burnout, a pause in a world that never stopped. We found joy in the slow and mundane: sweet treat hunting in Padre Noval to Dapitan, late-night ukay-ukay dates in España, spontaneous mall escapes, or after-school movie marathons—laced with laughter and sarcastic critiques in every questionable scene.

In a world ruled by deadlines and articles full of red marks, we carved out softness where possible. Amid the pressure, we made space to breathe. We didn’t just endure, we grew, not despite the concrete, but through it.

Gradually, I found my way to realize my own strengths. I took a leap by joining this organization—a choice sparked by curiosity and inspired by the creative prowess of a friend who pulled me in. What began as a small act of curiosity evolved into deeper confidence in my voice, leading me to publish my works in local newspapers and carry the same resilience and discipline all throughout my internship and thesis seasons. I began to believe that my words belonged not just on my Notes app, but to be out in the world.

(Jewyz Ann Bunyi, outgoing Blogs Editor)

To my pillars, Jermaine and Rochelle, you poured your calm strength into making me shine. Your sacrifices helped me get this far. Jewel, the real eldest daughter, you are my second life; thank you for allowing me to be the kid I never got to be.

To Marc, my personification of warmth, you showed me that kindness goes a long way. Your patience made it easier to let my guard down, not with force but grace. The world may be harsh, but you taught me that was reason enough to be gentle and selfless.

To all my journalism advisors, you shaped me into someone fully equipped to face this industry. You instilled in me that knowledge and skill alone do not define expertise, but that character and integrity carry the true weight of a journalist. With your lessons etched in me, I wield my pen with purpose and humanity.

To 4JRN1, we were a mosaic of different people brought together unexpectedly, yet bound by one purpose: to serve the people and write with compassion. To JRN3, my first home block, we braved our first three semesters in isolation, but were robbed of the opportunity to be together. I will always carry your humor and undying support, which sustained me through those crucial parts.

To my college clique—Mharla, Hya, Kat, Laikha, Aleksei, Cesca, Abi, and Kian, we may have to embark on different paths today, remember that a part of you lives quietly in me. Little by little, I learned how to stand on my own, knowing each time I wavered, I have you steady in the shadows of my doubts.

To my high school and elementary friends, you are my home forever; the same people who embraced every version of me, helped me hold on to my fragile dreams, and glued my pieces whenever I fell apart. Some stayed, some left, but know that each of you helped me accept my flawed versions without any conditions.

To everyone in TomasinoWeb, we may have faced various challenges last year, but we remained fearless and grounded. May everyone in this steadfast organization continue to hold the line.

To Mika, my pink-loving editor who marvelously cemented herself as the blogs section’s mitochondria, your unfeigned guidance and faith in me paved the way beneath my trembling steps. Suma, MJ, Pat, and Pao, I am beyond grateful for your leadership and commitment to the craft; thank you for walking alongside me.

To my eloquent co-writers: Kali, Drey, Denise, Yana, Eli, Ani, and Jelsey, your stories inspired me to grow as a writer and editor; thank you for entrusting me with your creative works. May you all continue to write stories with so much ardor and sincerity.

College flew by without me noticing. Maybe because I was too focused on surviving dreadful rounds of reviewing, the grades that did not define me, or the echoes that told me I was never enough. Nonetheless, this prestigious university was my witness to it all, from my silent tears to my boisterous laughter and the different character arcs I redeemed.

Deep down, I was able to tone down my rigidity and insatiable thirst for validation, knowing that despite my desire to falter under pressure and imperfections, I still found beauty and resilience when things did not go my way.

I’ll still lift my head high. Maybe not to admire UST’s nostalgic features or hurriedly memorize my messy reviewers anymore, but to reminisce about this place and appreciate the people who once held me when I couldn’t stand up.