THE GREATEST MAGICIANS have something to learn from Mr. Mistoffelees’ final turn – PRESTO! Arnold Jacobs once remarked that “the first sound after a silence should always be your very best.” And perhaps there is no sound more captivating than the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

The year was 2022. Much of Bohol remained without electricity in the aftermath of Typhoon Rai, locally known as Odette, which left a trail of devastation across the province. As if that were not enough, the COVID-19 pandemic cast an even longer silence over daily life. 

But then, after what felt like a blur, came an email that changed everything: “We are pleased to inform you that you are QUALIFIED for admission to the College of Arts and Sciences…” In that instant, that quaint café located along J.A. Clarin Street, Tagbilaran City, became my stage upon which the next chapter of my life unfolded. 

The chatter around me faded into the background, every passing second seemed to linger, and the only sound I could truly hear was my heartbeat—beating like the cadence of a familiar drummer boy, calling me to take this chance of a lifetime. So, for the first time after a long while, the future no longer seemed hazy, I was destined to be a Bedan. 

In spite of it all, fear, loneliness, and insecurity crept. Language, in particular, became one of my greatest hurdles, leaving me hesitant to speak and prompting me to retreat from my peers during the first half of college life. I found myself adrift, uprooted from the island I had once believed would be my forever and thrust into a culture that nonetheless felt new. For a while, my world was defined by silence. I listened more than I spoke, afraid that my voice would never quite belong. But every silence waits for its first sound. Mine was not spoken, it was written. 

Then I found The Bedan. There I encountered some of the most remarkable minds in the University, people who taught me that making a sound was never about being the loudest one in the room, but about giving meaning to every word you chose to leave behind. They showed me what it meant not only to make a sound, but to become one. 

From covering campus events, capturing moments, to seeing my name beneath my very first byline, I slowly found the voice I had long been searching for. For the first time since leaving home, I felt seen, I finally felt that I belonged. 

The Bedan gave me opportunities I could have never thought possible. What began as a role in the Research Staff became a journey of growth as Associate Editor, and eventually as Editor-in-Chief. Along the way, I had the privilege of working tirelessly alongside some of the finest Bedans I could have hoped for, producing regular and special issues that gave voice to the stories of our community.

My final year as the publication’s Managing Editor allowed me to see The Bedan in a different light. Reminiscent of that very uncertainty I carried as a freshman, I realized that beyond the hustle and bustle of the newsroom were stories waiting to be heard, not only those we reported, but also those of our own staffers. Like me, they arrived searching for a voice, and within the sanctuary of drummer boy, they found the means and the courage to let it be heard.

And finally, after everything has been said and done, I am then left with mostly fond memories of college because I chose to have faith in the sound—that unwavering sound within us that calls us to take the risk, endure uncertainty, embrace change, and somewhere along the journey, discover the voice that had been there all along. And so, my dearest reader, whatever perils may lie in your path, I hope you, too, choose to have faith in the sound, to have faith in yourself. 

To my family, especially Papa, Mama, and Zach, this milestone is as much yours as it is mine. Every sacrifice you made, every prayer you whispered, and every ounce of faith you placed in me became the strength that carried me through. 

Kindred spirits Cheska, JC, Hashaira and Gela, I would have never survived PolSci without you. Thank you for every shared triumph, every laugh that eased the pressure, and every reminder that I was never alone. You were more than a classmate, you became home away from home. I’m so proud of us.

The Bedan, you were a dream come true. You gave a timid freshman a place to belong, a writer a voice to nurture, and a dreamer a purpose to pursue. 

And to everyone who believed, and continues to believe, in me, I won’t let you down. 

As the curtain falls, this has been Gian Marcel Chiu saying, for one final time—

Oh! Well, I never! Was there ever a cat so clever as magical Mr. Mistoffelees?