Walking Across the Graduation Stage
It is finally time
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I woke up around 6 a.m., having little sleep from the night before. I was excited but also extremely nervous.
Around 7:30 a.m., my friend drove into my street with her black Acura. She handed me a bouquet bought from the nearby gas station, lovely ones, I must admit.
“So, tell me about the lows and highs of your university experience,” she said, looking over at me during a red light.
So many good memories flooded my mind from the friends I made, the places I went to the teachers who cheered for me along the way.
When I thought of lows, one moment, in particular, stood out.
It was an evening in April during my first year of university. I hugged my school friend goodbye before taking the bus home from school.
I wore blue striped jeans and a winter jacket that went past my thighs. I hurried into the crowded bus and looked out the window.
It was at this moment that I felt something scraping my behind. I turned my head around only to be faced with a woman’s backpack.
Again I felt something running up my back. Like an insect, it crawled up my leg. My eyes darted around, and I found the hand of a middle-aged white man lingering by my thighs. I shot him a look, but before I could utter a word, the lust in his eyes, crooked teeth and shuffled hair had silenced me.
I moved a couple of inches away. Everyone had filled the seats and standing spots on the bus. His shifty eyes made me shudder, and I prayed nothing would happen again, but it did. In his other hand, he held onto a purple and yellow checkered suitcase.
I learned that day that I wasn’t as strong as I thought. I had a presentation to give the next day about the importance of speaking up. However, at that moment, I couldn’t process what was happening. I couldn’t speak up for myself.
Months later, I learned that silence does not mean consent. It made me empathize with everyone who has experienced something similar and gave me the desire to write about gender equality and justice for all.
When I think of highs, it’s the people I remember most, the laughs shared, the conversations had, and the hugs and support from them.
I remember around three hundred-plus students filling my computer and society class’ lecture hall. I walked down the steps to the front of the hall and sat in the third row.
Halfway through the class, the professor gave us a 10-minute break. I was ready to scroll on social media when I heard laughter around me. I glanced around and saw students talking to those next to them. Some even went as far as sharing their numbers.
At this moment, I realized that if I wanted to make the most of my university experience, I had to toughen up and make the first move.
The third class came along. I headed back to the third row, and a girl sat beside me this time. I decided to turn my head towards her, and as I did, we asked each other several questions. Things like what’s your name to what elementary school you attended.
It was at that moment that a lightbulb went off in my head. We were long-lost friends!
She was my friend from way back in grade 3. I remember spending every recess break with her until she moved schools the year after. To see her all-grown-up made me emotional. I would have never expected to see her again.
We spent the rest of the school year catching up, bussing home together and buying meals. The chances of meeting a long-lost friend are slim, and if you’d asked me if that would ever happen, I would’ve said no before seeing her.
My friend dropped me at the front of the stadium, where students and their parents lined up to enter. Guests were ushered into the auditorium while the graduates were gestured to head into a tent.
In the tent, I came across some of my Zoom school classmates and made new friends from the social science, filmmaking and criminology departments. We helped one another put on the gown and the cap and then filed into lines based on our faculties.
“Some of you may be the first in your family to attend university,” the Chancellor said in his welcoming speech. My eyes filled with tears as I heard these words.
Surrounding me were hundreds of university students eager to receive their diplomas. We clapped, shouted, laughed, and teared up, watching each graduate walk across the stage as their name was called.
Wearing a black gown, graduation cap and red sash, I made my way to receive the congratulations from the Chancellor. One foot in front of another, I felt like I was on top of the world.
I had made it to the end of this academic journey with a Specialized Honours in English and Professional Writing.
I am proud of the person I’ve become and thankful I could share this moment with you, my writer/reader friends.
Thank you for being a part of my journey.
Yours truly,
Vashni Stories
