Someday, I Shall Also Sablay — But Not Yet
I thought that after fulfilling this deeply meaningful work, I would come home to another dream finally coming true: my graduation. I imagined arriving back home fulfilled, tired but triumphant, and soon after, walking across the stage wearing my sablay — the symbol of years of hard work, sleepless nights, and unending perseverance.
But life had other plans.
I found out I wasn’t graduating while I was already in Europe. In between meetings, human rights conferences, and advocacy visits, I received the news that shattered me. A part of me tried to keep it together, to focus on the bigger fight, but deep down, my heart was breaking.
In those quiet moments in my hotel room or during train rides between cities, regret crept in. Thoughts that maybe I wasn’t good enough. Maybe I could have done more. Maybe I failed.
Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. And sometimes, we have to wait longer than we ever imagined.
It means another six months of trying. Another extension. Another round of explaining to people why I’m still not wearing that sablay. While my feed is filled with countless graduation posts — beaming faces, families bursting with pride, stories of triumph — I sit here with my pinned tweet on X still saying: “Someday, I shall also sablay.” I was so ready to finally change it. To finally say: “I made it.” But that day has not come.
I see people younger than me graduating, moving on to new chapters, while I remain here — in between, in limbo. It feels like I’ve let so many people down. My family who has stood by me, my mentors who believed in me, my community who always reminded me that my fight is theirs too. And above all, it feels like I’ve let myself down.
This was not my plan. This was not how it was supposed to end.
Now, I find myself back at the drawing board. Figuring out how to move forward, how to keep fighting when I feel so heavy, so stuck. It feels impossible to close this chapter when all I wanted was to finally move on, to finally put a period and start a new sentence.
But maybe — just maybe — this is part of the story I need to tell.
Because the truth is, the fight doesn’t end on the stage. It doesn’t end with a sablay. The fight lives in every setback, every tear shed in silence, every decision to stand up again when all you want to do is give up.
This is not the end of my journey. I know that. It still feels painful and unfair, and I won’t pretend otherwise. But I will honor this heartbreak. I will carry it with me to the next campaign, to the next delegation, to every space where I continue to raise my voice.
Despite the heartbreak, my time in Europe also gave me moments I will hold close forever. I stood in front of the Eiffel Tower, that towering symbol of dreams and possibility. I visited the Vatican, a place of faith and quiet contemplation. In Brussels, I even found myself in a place where one of the pillars of Sociology — Karl Marx — once lived and worked.
It felt almost poetic. Here I was, a struggling Sociology student, standing in spaces that have shaped so many thinkers and movements. I am still on my way to earning that degree, still fighting to claim that sablay. But in those small, unexpected moments, I felt a glimpse of hope. A reminder that learning and growth happen far beyond the walls of a classroom or the confines of a timeline.
To everyone who has stood by me: thank you. To those who continue to believe in me even when I struggle to believe in myself, I carry your love and faith like armor.
This is not the end. I may not be graduating today, but my journey — as an advocate, as a student, as a human being — continues.
Someday, I shall also sablay. And when that day comes, I will look back at all these detours and heartbreaks and know that they made that moment all the more meaningful.
Until then, I will keep going.
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