- I have come across into a point where specters are sometimes mistaken as lifelong, one-dimensional chunk of myself. No matter how hard you fight for them, way of life also has this course to befriend you, then, betray you, afterwards.
It’s not even hard to tell…
As the clock ticks, so my heart beats. This journey I am going on through ain’t easy. Scholarly is not the word for it. I’d prefer, “solid” or “unyielding”. Most of us might feel the same about it but we differ from the way how we see ourselves on it.
When I first stepped on to that sturdy ground – the place where I thought I would put my dreams together – I felt no anxiety. My whole system was still caught up to my previous Alma Mater…where I felt flying up like I was in cloud 9. The new school is no different, I gasped.
Days went by so fast. I tried to build a piece of me there, yet, what counts was just temporary. Like I have permanently constructed myself to the other school. I used to tell my sister comparisons that she hated though she can’t directly tell.
Now, I am a sophomore. Killing days and nights reading, reviewing, coping…I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth so I worked during daytime. Most hours, if not all, I spent catching up to read lessons for the night. And some, I spent them with a few friends for chitchats and snacks. I still have a life to live, eh?
Absurd, it is, to say all struggles we’ve been through. Tough on its face. The same with the presumption of validity of a certain instrument, when it is valid on its face, so you are no longer compelled to go beyond what lies on it, defines how people see us. We were supposed to be tough, even if we are crying inside.
Our training could be so harsh. I remember the time when I sat on my chair at school without reading much and I got picked by our professor, “Is there a valid delegation of power by the legislature in taxation?” And I answered bland, too honest about what I know until she let me define taxation. Thankful, I was. There were also instances where I couldn’t answer the questions thrown by this acclaimed and reserved judge, until I got the momentum to answer his questions using logic. Professors differ according to the nature of work they have.
But I have grown accustomed to them. Recitations became a normal routine for me and little by little, the lessons I thought were hard, were made clear to me.
Case digests. As much as I like writing, the number of cases being assigned to us were growing numerous that I only get the chance to write them in-between my classes while teaching. While some of my classmates let other people do the writing for them, I let myself do it for my benefit, later. Bar examination would require you to write on your own.
Oh, I forgot to mention about social events! We have this testimonial dinner & acquaintance party held, annually. The new bar passers deliver their testimonies about their lives as a student, how they survived the review, and even the present time that they were already full-fledged lawyers. I would oftentimes be moved that every person has a story to tell. And maybe one day, I would get to tell mine, too, standing at the podium…my professors all listening and my family teary-eyed.
By thinking all of that, I can hardly tell how long it is to continue fighting and soaring. I asked myself, “Am I really cut for this?” due to increasing life’s difficulties, especially financial problems. They say a student of this profession must read 6-8hrs a day when in fact only half of our class can live up to that standard-slash-preparation-for-the-bar. Even I myself would be glad to read 6hrs straight in a day.
There were still, or only, two years left for me. Another six months to review, then, I am ready for the battle of the lions. Some notions of giving up would just be normal, I thought. For an aspiration not hard is an aspiration not worth fighting for. I might put myself into this uncomfortable situation, it’s okay.This is where I am cut for. Law. And as long as God is fighting for me, I would, too. Besides, whatever I reap now, I will sow it…soon.
by: Samantha C. De Guzman