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Entry I: Prologue
It still feels unreal.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKSSlURsFSL
Just a few months ago, I was standing in the center of Nueva Sevilla, holding my diploma, grinning like a fool while the rest of the world rushed past me. Graduation happened so fast — faster than I expected. One moment, I was cramming for finals, and the next, I was stepping out into the world, supposedly ready for whatever came next.
I wasn't ready.
I remember the pressure of deciding what path to take afterward. My parents were supportive but firm — find a good university, pick a stable course. That's how I found myself taking the entrance exam at Samtoy del Sur State University. It was a humid day, and the waiting lines outside the exam hall stretched longer than any I'd seen back in the inner city. I clutched my pencil tightly, double-checked my papers, and walked into a room full of hopeful faces.
The exam itself was a blur. Numbers, shapes, diagrams, endless passages — everything blended into each other. I left the room feeling drained, a little uncertain but strangely at peace. I had done my best. That was all I could do.
Then came the waiting. Two long months of pretending not to care, of distracting myself with late-night games, long walks, and every possible hobby that didn't involve thinking about results. Until one ordinary afternoon, I received the notification — my entrance exam score was 87.
I blinked at the screen.
Eighty-seven.
Four points above the passing grade for most courses.
I laughed out loud, scaring my mother who was sipping tea beside me. It felt like the world cracked open just a little, letting in a sliver of hope.
Choosing Civil Engineering felt natural. It was something stable, something solid — just like my father had always told me to aim for. I didn't know yet if it was passion or practicality, but it was a direction, and that was enough.
Enrollment, however, was an entirely different beast.
Unlike the streamlined systems in Nueva Sevilla's inner city schools, Samtoy del Sur State University required you to brave a maze of offices and paperwork. I started at the Engineering Department's Student Association — or EDSA, as everyone called it. Their office was cramped, papers stacked like mini-towers everywhere, but the people were helpful enough. They handed me a checklist thick enough to make me wonder if they expected me to climb a mountain instead of enroll.
First stop: get signed by the adviser.
Second stop: get signed by the dean.
Third: pay tuition fees.
Fourth: return to the adviser for final clearance.
Simple enough on paper. Reality was a little different.
I walked nervously into the adviser's office, clutching my enrollment form like it was a fragile piece of glass. The adviser sat behind a large oak desk, his thick glasses perched at the edge of his nose, a stern look permanently etched on his face.
"Your papers, please," he said, without looking up.
I handed them over with both hands, like some kind of offering.
He flipped through the pages quickly, eyebrows occasionally twitching. At one point, he clicked his tongue and puffed his cheeks, making a face that looked almost comical if he hadn't seemed so serious. I struggled to keep a straight face, pretending to admire the certificates framed on his wall.
Then he reached the last page — the one with my full name.
His eyes paused. He leaned back slightly, studying the paper as if something clicked in his mind.
"Liwayway..." he muttered.
I stiffened a little.
He looked up at me, a slow smile breaking through his previously strict demeanor.
"You're the son of Benson Liwayway, huh?"
I nodded, unsure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
He stood up, reached across the desk, and shook my hand firmly.
"Welcome to the College of Engineering, I'm Peter Robert Valerio, your adviser" he said, giving me a nod of approval.
I mumbled a thank you, my voice barely audible. He stamped my papers and handed them back to me.
"Next stop, the dean's office," he added with a wink.
The dean's office was two floors up, hidden behind a corridor that smelled faintly of varnish and floor polish. I knocked lightly and pushed the door open when I heard a voice call out.
A woman sat behind an enormous desk piled with folders. Her glasses rested on top of her head, and she had an aura that could only be described as fierce but kind.
When she saw me, her face lit up.
"Oh, you," she said warmly. "Benson's son. Come in."
I stepped forward, handing her the signed forms. She didn't even bother reading much — just stamped it with a loud thunk and smiled up at me.
"Enjoy your time here at COE," she said. "And please tell Benson and Marie I say hello."
I nodded again, feeling like some kind of messenger boy carrying greetings across generations.
The final steps were almost mechanical after that. I trudged across the hot pavement to the administration building, standing in long lines to pay the tuition fee. The air conditioners barely worked, and everyone fanned themselves with papers or books, but nobody really complained. It was all part of the ritual.
Finally, my enrollment form was stamped, signed, and safely tucked into a plastic envelope. I looked at the schedule printed on the back — full days ahead, stacked with math, physics, and technical drawing classes. My heart thudded a little harder against my chest.
This was it.
I was officially a university student.
As I walked out of the administration building, the late afternoon sun bathed everything in gold. I inhaled deeply, letting the air fill my lungs, and smiled.
A new chapter was beginning, and for the first time in a long while, I was ready.
17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV3CneR1CFv
