THE FIRST FEW steps consist of hesitancies, for the lions and lionesses in sight are far more majestic and fiercer, with their roars echoing globally as the den has done its job once again in producing a regal pack. R.I.P Emily Dickinson, when shall it be my turn?
Truth be told, I was never the type to identify with the school I belong to. They are merely tools one uses to carve their skills and competencies, to be a ladder in achieving the life they aim to settle for. But as I slowly wander through, coming out in a big city with a faraway life, I emerge like a newly birthed bird with shattered shells all around and a nest unfound.
It was then when I stumbled upon this Lion’s’ Den that intimidates but impresses. People embed the word “community” in your heart and mind, smiling proudly at their new cubs. Being told the tales of rivalries and controversies within my first few steps, this was when I was awakened, realizing that this would be my life for the next years, that I was never a newly birthed bird, but a cub trying to achieve her true roar.
“After all, the den does not simply house lions—it molds them.”
With each day passing, my heart beats closer to finding the red in my blood. Those that came before me may not have had the chance, but their souls have been far more integrated than I am, but who am I to tell, for my journey had just begun. The legacies that continue to unfold are something that I wish to uphold, along with my spirit attached with dedication, despite the blemishes that make it hard to be polished. But more than that, it was every obstacle that made me falter, every challenge that made me tear, and each day that made me persevere that truly made me understand that to be here is not just to exist and be stagnant, but to progress and grow.
After all, the den does not simply house lions—it molds them.
With the once-lost tradition setting its tracks to ignite the essence of being a Bedan with the people much closer, may it be a deafening reminder that this is place is not merely an institution, not a place where names are placed in tarpaulins and written in records then soon folded and forgotten, but rather a stepping stone to duplicate legacies that have bloomed from here on now.
Email me at thebedan_fcr@sanbeda.edu.ph