The scorching sun bore down on the campus, heat rising from the concrete in wavering sheets that blurred my vision. Sweat slipped down my back, sticking my shirt to my skin as I stood squeezed between hundreds of other freshmen clutching the same fragile hopes. Voices collided around me—shouts, laughter, complaints—blending into a restless roar that rolled across the campus grounds. The air carried the unmistakable scent of Manila—diesel fumes drifting from the street, fried snacks from food carts, and the faint, muddy tang of the river nearby—raw and alive and overwhelming.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and stared at the lines stretching endlessly ahead, curling around buildings like stubborn rivers refusing to dry up. Students shifted impatiently, fanning themselves with folders and brown envelopes, documents already soft from sweat and handling. I tightened my grip on my enrollment papers, feeling the edges bend under my fingers. For years, PUP had lived in my mind like a distant promise—something I'd say "one day" about. Now that I was here, standing in the middle of it all, the dream felt heavier than I expected.
"Next! Move forward!" a voice barked from somewhere near the front.
I stepped ahead with the rest of the line, bodies pressing close, backpacks brushing against my arms. Every few minutes, someone would groan and complain about the "Pila Ulit Pila" routine, the phrase spreading down the line like a running joke everyone understood too well.
"Eh pare, mukhang aabutin tayo ng Pasko dito!" someone behind me said, half-laughing, half-serious.
I let out a small laugh, even as my stomach tightened. There was something oddly comforting about the shared suffering—the way strangers exchanged eye rolls and jokes as if we had already survived something together. It made the heat less cruel, the waiting less lonely. Still, beneath the humor, my thoughts refused to quiet down.
What if I wasn't ready for this? What if college wasn't like the stories seniors told? What if this place—crowded, loud, unpredictable—proved I wasn't as capable as I thought?
I lifted my gaze, trying to steady myself. The buildings of PUP Sta. Mesa stood tall despite their age, walls stained by time but unshaken. Footsteps echoed across the corridors, blending with the hum of conversations from students who already seemed like they belonged. A faded banner welcomed the new batch, its corners fluttering weakly in the dry wind, as if it had seen countless freshmen stand exactly where I was now.
I shifted my weight, feeling the pressure of expectations settle onto my shoulders. I had passed the exam. I had earned my place. Yet in that crowd of determined faces and restless energy, I felt painfully small—just another freshman hoping not to get lost before the journey even began.
Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the noise. "Hoy, first-timer ka ba dito?" A guy about my age slid up beside me, wearing a faded blue shirt and a grin that looked half-amused, half-bored. His hair stuck out in all directions, like he hadn't bothered with a comb, and he waved his thick stack of papers like it was nothing.
"Uh, yeah. Why?" I answered, trying to keep my voice steady, like I wasn't already overwhelmed.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Good luck. You'll need it. The lines here? Brutal. Welcome to the real world, bro."
I forced a small smile, unsure if I should laugh or take that as a warning. "Wow. Thanks for the motivation."
He gave a careless shrug as the line crawled forward. "You'll get used to it. Or you'll quit. Depends kung gaano ka katibay."
Katibay. Tough. The word lingered in my head as he drifted back into the sea of students. I wasn't here to quit. I didn't survive the entrance exams, the sleepless nights, and the pressure from everyone back home just to give up on my first day as a freshman.
I looked toward the aging university buildings again, their walls worn but standing firm. A quiet surge of determination rose in my chest. This campus—loud, crowded, and unforgiving—was also the gateway to everything I had worked for. It scared me, sure. But it also meant possibility.
Taking a slow breath, I tightened my grip on my papers and stepped forward with the line.
The line had been chaos for hours—students squeezing past each other, elbows brushing ribs, tempers rising with the heat shimmering off the pavement. Then, almost like someone flipped a switch, a voice boomed over the noise. "Alright, alright! Lahat kayo, form an orderly line! Sumunod na lang!"
Heads snapped toward the source. A tall upperclassman in a worn varsity jacket pushed through the crowd, probably a volunteer from one of the fraternities. His tone carried authority that didn't ask for permission. With a sharp gesture and a few well-placed commands, he straightened the tangled mass of students in minutes. "Sa mga likod, walang singitan! Kung gusto niyong matapos, maghintay nang maayos!"
Before I knew it, I was moving forward faster than expected, the chaos reshaping itself into something almost disciplined. Complaints faded into low murmurs of surprise. The guy ahead of me even muttered, "'Di ko akalain, effective pala."
As the line settled, relief washed over me—but so did something heavier. In the sudden quiet, my thoughts drifted back to the doubt that had followed me since my first step onto campus. Computer Engineering. It sounded impressive. Hard. The kind of course my parents would proudly mention to relatives. But was it mine?
I adjusted my grip on my papers, feeling them crease in my hands. The surrounding chatter blurred as my father's voice echoed clearly in my mind. "You know what's right and wrong. Make the right choice." He'd said it so many times growing up. Now, standing here as a freshman about to make a decision that could shape my future, those words pressed down harder than the sun above.
"Bro, sigurado ka na ba sa course mo?" The guy beside me asked, pulling me back to the present. His voice was casual, but there was uncertainty behind it.
I looked at him. He was flipping through a crumpled College of Engineering brochure, brows drawn together like he was fighting an invisible battle.
I shrugged, aiming for confidence. "Computer Engineering. Ikaw?"
He let out a short laugh that didn't quite sound convinced. "Electrical Engineering. Pero alam mo 'yon? Yung feeling na parang... baka mali?"
I gave a slow nod. That feeling hit too close. "Yeah. Gets ko. Gusto kasi 'to ni Papa, so..."
He tilted his head. "Pero ikaw? Ano ba gusto mo?"
The question landed heavier than anything he'd said before. I'd spent years trying to meet expectations—my dad's, my teachers', even my own image of what success should look like. But had I ever paused long enough to ask what I actually wanted? I stared at the bold words "Computer Engineering" printed across my forms, the letters daring me to be sure.
The line lurched forward again, pulling me with it. My steps felt slower now. I remembered the nights I stayed up experimenting with computer parts and simple programs—not because anyone told me to, but because I enjoyed it. Still, the thought of years buried under equations and endless coding, driven by pressure instead of passion, tightened something in my chest.
"I guess... I'm not completely sure," I admitted quietly.
He nodded, like he understood more than he let on. "Better figure it out soon, bro. Mahaba pila, pero hindi habang-buhay."
I let out a soft laugh, appreciating his honesty. He had a point. The line would eventually end. The choice wouldn't wait forever.
The line dragged on until, at last, I stood face-to-face with the registrar's window. My heart thudded against my ribs—part nerves, part excitement, the kind that makes your palms damp even when you try to act composed. The woman behind the glass looked exhausted, like she'd processed a hundred freshmen before me, but her movements were quick and practiced as she reached for my papers.
"Next," she called flatly, even though I was already standing there.
I slid my documents under the small opening, willing my hands to stay steady. They didn't. A slight tremor betrayed me. She skimmed through the forms without meeting my eyes, flipping each page with mechanical precision before stamping them one by one. The sound echoed louder in my ears than it probably should have. "Here you go," she said, pushing the stack back—only to pause, holding onto the top sheet. Her nails tapped lightly against it. "You'll also need this."
I blinked, confused, as she handed over another paper. At the top, bold letters read: For interview requirements, see below.
The words blurred for a second as I scanned the list. Computer Engineering was there—exactly where it was supposed to be. Familiar. Expected. But then my gaze drifted lower and stopped.
Electrical Engineering.
The name seemed to stand out from the rest, like it was waiting for me to notice it. My fingers tightened around the pages. Electrical Engineering—my dad had mentioned it once, casually but firmly, calling it "a solid choice." Practical. Respectable. I'd brushed it aside back then, convinced I already knew my direction.
Now, staring at it in black and white, doubt crept back in.
I was still frozen there when someone nudged my shoulder. The guy behind me frowned. "Bro, you're holding up the line."
"Ah—sorry," I muttered, stepping aside, but my eyes stayed locked on the list. My thoughts spun faster than the electric fans overhead. What if I'd narrowed my vision too early? What if I was clinging to one path just because it sounded right, not because it felt right?
Behind the glass, the registrar had already moved on to the next student. I lingered for a second longer before finally sliding the papers into my bag. The line had moved on. The process continued. But inside me, the questions had only just begun.
I stepped out into the courtyard, the afternoon sun blazing overhead, but I barely felt it. My mind was louder than the heat. What was I supposed to do now? Stay with Computer Engineering like I'd planned for years... or reconsider everything?
My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me out of it. I pulled it out and checked the screen. A message from my dad.
"Everything okay? Got your courses lined up?"
I stared at the words longer than I should have, the weight of the decision pressing harder against my chest.
My father had always been a quiet man. Most of his days were spent around computers and power grids at the country's sole Electrical Power Transmission Company. As an Information Technology Specialist, he rarely talked about what he did, but when he did, there was always that steady pride in his voice—the quiet satisfaction of being part of the team that helped keep the lights on across the country. Growing up, I'd admired that. Following a similar path had once felt natural, almost expected. At the same time, it had always intimidated me. Now, as a freshman standing at the start of my own journey, that old thought wasn't just lingering—it was demanding to be heard.
I looked down at the course list again. Electrical Engineering. The words didn't just sit there anymore—they felt like a challenge. Like a door I hadn't seriously considered opening. My steps slowed as I made my way toward the interview area, each one pulling me closer to a choice that felt both familiar and uncertain. There was something stirring inside me—anticipation tangled with doubt. Like standing at the entrance of a place that felt like home, yet knowing I'd have to become someone new to belong there.
As I neared the interview area, my thoughts wouldn't slow down. What if I'm not built for this? What if I mess up? The doubts came in waves, strong enough to make me think about turning back, disappearing into the courtyard and pretending I wasn't ready yet. But then I remembered the nights I'd watched my dad at his desk, the glow of the monitor reflecting on his face as his fingers moved quickly across the keyboard. He never bragged about what he did, but I could tell he loved solving problems most people wouldn't even attempt. There was a quiet pride in the way he worked. For the first time, I asked myself if maybe I could find that same sense of purpose too.
The interview area was tucked at the end of the hallway, a simple room with a few plastic chairs lined up outside. A couple of students sat there, shoulders stiff, eyes glued to their phones but clearly not reading anything. The air felt heavier somehow. I swallowed and took a seat, gripping my papers tighter than necessary, like they were the only solid thing keeping me steady.
The door opened with a faint creak, and a man in a neatly buttoned shirt stepped out. His eyes swept across the waiting students. "Next, please."
I stood, my legs suddenly heavier than they should've been. Each step toward the doorway felt deliberate. Just then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I checked it—a message from my dad.
"You've got this, son. Whatever course you choose."
The tension in my chest eased just a little. A small smile formed despite everything. I slid the phone back into my pocket, drew in a deep breath, and stepped inside.