Walking Among the Sunflowers and A Quiet and Victorious End to My Graduate Study (for now)

Earlier this week, I found myself walking alone among the sunflowers lining University Avenue in UP Diliman—my alma mater, my academic home. On an ordinary summer day, the late afternoon sun might have cast a golden light over everything. But it’s already the rainy season, and the skies that day were anything but clear. The overcast sky loomed in muted grays and whites, casting no shadows. The sunflowers stood tall, their golden faces forming a striking contrast against the gray backdrop, like joy against solemnity.

It had rained intermittently throughout the day, and the pavement shimmered with that damp, cement-gray sheen that comes after a drizzle. My ecru Filipiniana dress stood out starkly against the road, and as I walked toward the sunflowers, I passed by Oble—surrounded then by families and fresh graduates, still lingering after their own recognition rites. I didn’t hear much of their laughter. For a brief moment, it felt as if the whole campus had gone quiet, as though on mute, to acknowledge a quiet kind of triumph.

Mine.

Maybe no one noticed me as I walked past them. But for me, the sunflowers were enough. They swayed gently in the breeze, and in their silent motion, I felt something close to applause—congratulations from nature itself. At that moment, it was just me and the sunflowers, and that was more than enough.

Earlier that day, I had attended the pinning ceremony at the National Institute of Geological Sciences—the place that shaped me, challenged me, and gave me room to grow. I had lunch with my labmates afterward—our usual spot turning into a space for laughter, stories, and slow goodbyes. Then, dressed in my ecru dress, wearing my sablay and my institute pin, I headed to the theater for the College of Science recognition program. Once there, I got my college pin and my recognition medal.

It was a ceremony I had once watched as an undergrad from afar, unsure if I’d ever find the strength to return for my own. But I did. And this time, I crossed the stage not just as a student, but as a researcher who had defended her thesis, published in a scientific journal, and gained skills that now shape the work I do. The path was anything but easy—it never is—but I finished it. And I finished well.

We sang UP Naming Mahal, all 500 or so of us—some with tears in their eyes, others smiling. I didn’t expect to feel anything in particular. But standing there, singing those familiar lines, something settled in me—not quite pride, not quite relief, but something quieter. Perhaps peace.

And so I ended the day the way I had hoped: walking alone among the sunflowers. No big fanfare. No spotlight. Just me, the blooms, the road I’ve walked, and the future I’m finally ready to meet.

To everyone who walked with me—mentors, friends, colleagues—thank you. And to those still in the thick of it: you’ll get there, too. 🌻