(It’s 1:51 AM. Forgive me if this ends up incoherent)
Is it because it’s only 5 months short? Is it because it leads to Christmas (and Youth Camp), New Year and Valentine’s? Is it because of the cool Christmas breeze and the license to wear boots and sweaters in a tropical country?
Because I can’t explain it, but there’s always something about the second semester. In my freshman year, I remember how I wore jackets to school almost every single day. This one night, when I finally succumbed to buying for myself that A Walk to Remember copy from our school’s monthly book sale at Dela Costa, I hanged out somewhere. Just as I was ready to tear the plastic covering and smell the old book, I was distracted by carolers practicing nearby. They were singing to Christmas tunes, and I totally forgot about my book. This is the life, I told myself, as I sat back and enjoyed the melodies.
In my second year it was less cold–literally because of (I believe) global warming, figuratively because of the friendships that deepened. Unlike the previous year, I was very eager to go online just to greet my blockmates “Merry Christmas!” during Christmas eve. It was the first Christmas without Apo, but we still managed to get by and enjoy our yearly Christmas party (which, by the way, is always the BEST. CHRISTMAS. PARTY. EVER) I was also very expectant of that year’s youth camp, as I was on full revenge mode.
(That one failed.)
Junior year. Ahh, junior year. One paragraph won’t be enough to express how I enjoyed my second semester last year. I don’t know if it was the memories, or the person himself, but it really was one for the books. When I was young (and full of idealistic hopes) I had a huge crush on this boy who I referred to as My First Love (even if he never liked me anyway). I was very young that time, and so, adding his surname to my name made perfect sense.
But last year, I realized how wrong I was. He wasn’t my first love. The fantasies were just scenes in a dream sequence. I woke up, and saw the truth right before my eyes: I was19 and this time, for real, I was in love.
(That one failed too.)
This is my last second semester, and things are unfolding beautifully right before my eyes. What I missed the previous semester–the laughter, the genuine smile–I’m learning to recover them slowly but surely. There’s beauty in few but true friendships, happiness in cups of coffee and vanity sessions, and laughter in trial and pain.
I think I’ve grown so much in so short a time, and I’m thankful. My past three second semesters, short as they were, have shown me that good things come in small packages. Maybe they go, too, but there’s always reason for the leaving.
But what matters more, I’ve come to realize, is not finding out which second semester is the happiest of them all. What matters more is expecting what this second semester has in store for me. Because if the past three weeks are but small puzzle pieces of the bigger picture, then I seriously can’t wait.
And you know how the universe goes: it saves the best for last.