YR 47 Issue 1 2011
Rhyme and Reason    AZER N. PARROCHA, Faces Editor
Coping with the end
REMEMBER the sick End of the World prediction this 2012? Well, if that is true then I am glad to be one of the last batches of students to graduate college (I write that with pun intended).

From my aimless Google-ing, which in my alternate dimension would pass as research work, I found out that the 2012 phenomenon adopts different versions depending on the belief it is based on. Most of these socalled events point the dreaded date on which this will happen on December 21, 2012.

Some prophetic geniuses would say that these predictions are linked together while others would say otherwise. One could imagine these scenes as vividly as how science fiction movies or TV shows are made—the arrival of the next solar maximum, or the Earth being engulfed by a black hole, passing asteroid, or another planet.

This prediction also coined many recognized terms like The Day of Reckoning (time of punishment), Judgement Day, The Apocalypse (total destruction), and   Armageddon   (the all-destroying   war). Putting it in the
Christian context makes it sound even more frightening. Google will easily provide you with sites like  endoftheworldprophecy.com or endofworld.net.

It is quite odd how this prediction can scare some people out of their wits. Why should we be afraid when many prophecies or predictions have already failed? Perhaps it is because we have doubts about our ability to handle uncertainty.

While I might not necessarily believe in any of these predictions, I am sure of one thing—as each day passes, we are brought one step closer to the end—not of the world, but of many other different things. Say for example, deadlines.

In my case, writing would always follow the same process—the articles I write or edit would come way past the deadline and I would have to constantly apologize to the people who make up the editorial board (sorry, sorry, again).

Writing does not come easy for me, even if most people would think it should. I am constantly faced with the dilemma of having to write for a faculty wherein lay the greatest critics. With the case I have with me now, writing a “farewell column” feels like writing a breakup letter for the millionaire boyfriend I never had.

Another example would be the end of our collegiate education. The real world is much bigger and much scarier than having to decide on what to major on. Job hunting is just the beginning, having to keep a job is a different story. But before that, there would of course be the thesis in which with high hopes, my group mates and I would have already finished by now.

As a child, the written word first led me to appreciate the things that my underdeveloped mind could not fully grasp at that time. It was education that showed me the reasons behind these “things.”

In the words of British writer Caroline Bird, “A liberal-arts education is supposed to provide you with a value system, a standard, a set of ideas, and not a job.” It looks as if we, Arts and Letters (Artlets) students, have got it tough, but that is not where it ends. It gets tougher each day.

Even the greatest scientists know very well that science cannot provide answers to all questions—what more those existential “why” questions. Why do some things have to end?

Well, whether they are good or bad ones, these ends must all lead to some beginnings. I am at least thankful that some endings make me realize that I should be less serious about some things and appreciate other things more.

In that case, I would like to acknowledge the people who have kept my sanity in check until now. Thank you to my college classmates, 4JRN1 batch 2012, I appreciate the time we spent learning, cramming, and laughing together. I have high hopes that we will all have promising careers in the future. I will miss you all to pieces.

Thank you to my high school classmates, the Rockhoundz. I look forward to the next reunion we will have and trust by that time, we will be complete like the old slogan for the Centrum commercial.

Thank you to all my friends from this Faculty whom I met from the same organizations, Physical Education classes, common friends, and etcetera. I had memories with you I can only count on my fingers, but I value them just the same.

Thank you to all those people who were part my high school alma mater, Child Development and Guidance Center, especially the teachers and “children” who inspired me to stay young at heart.

To all the Artlets professors, the coolest professors in this University, I might not remember all the lessons you taught me, but most of them I will definitely apply once I enter the real world. Thank you.

Thank you to my dorm mates at Sta. Catalina Ladies Residence (SCLR) for being patient enough to listen to my stories. (Sorry for asking you to pack dinner for me sometimes, Asel, Jinky, Gen).

Thank you to the gifted people who make up the Varsitarian, the Journalese, the Thomasian Writers Guild, and of course, the
Flame for giving me the opportunity to write, putting up with expired deadlines and workshops I failed to attend, and for at least letting me pretend like there is actually something I am good at doing.

Thank you to the people who take the trouble to read my works, both journalistic and literary; to all those who believe in me more than I do of myself; and to certain individuals that may have once or twice served as the inspiration to many of my starryeyed fantasies.

Thank you to my best friends (especially Roanne and Paula) for having to put up with my ranting, sulking, and craziness. I know that if I asked, you would even go as far as writing this column for me, kidding aside.

Thank you to my relatives, cousins, “
Titos” and “Titas”, “Lolos” and “Lolas”, who promised me they will be first in line to have a book authored by me in the future. I hope I will not let you down.

To my “
Tatay”, who was overseas my whole college life—not once have I felt like you cared for me any less, in fact, I felt that you loved us way too much. To my “Nanay”, whom I have hardly ever agreed with—thank you for tolerating my stubbornness and for sacrificing so much of yourself for our family. To my younger brother, the intellectual rock star, I have yet to write the lyrics to your music. I will keep my promise to pay for your college tuition, which I have about four years to earn.

And to the most powerful, all-knowing Creator of the Universe, You unquestionably know what I have to thank You for. There will always be more for us to say, more memories to make. It does not matter how long or how many they are. What matters is how good they are. At any rate, it is not like it is going to be the end of the word. No, not now. Not just yet.
Year 47 |  Issue 3 |  2011
Year 47 |  Issue 4 |  2012