Fragments of Us

We sailed on the same boat, with curiosity as our compass. After countless strokes through the waves we dared to face, our journey is about to reach its destination. The pages we filled, the stories we carved, and the pages we stained with laughter, humor, drama, and experiences that linger within us are coming to their epilogue.

March 12, 2026

Thursday, in the afternoon, somewhere beyond the noise of a batch—a family that will soon part ways, there was a nostalgic feeling that spread through my soul—something deep, something I could never let go of, yet can never fully hold.

My high school moments with them.

We were voyagers, sailing through the ocean as the morning star became our guide. Thirty-nine sailors, one pilot, and one boat. It is us, carrying collective moments—days, months, years—where we set foot on the school grounds, the stages, and those classrooms we often cleaned, listened to lectures in, took photographs, played instruments, or held games that will soon become fragments of memory.

I smiled widely as the camera glimmered, yet my heart stirred with longing—in the voices I will no longer hear, in the faces I spent years with, and the uniforms that once marked us as high school students.

In morning assemblies, I will no longer stand beside them.

In performances, I will not be able to do it with them again.

Because we all had our stops.

We became passengers through the arduous course, but we all have different paths to take. Different routes to continue our voyage. And it will be the last time we share this passage together, because soon it's time to sail on different trails. ‎

After school, I leave the gate—waving with a smile marking on my face. Still, beneath the noise, quieter echoes run through my head:

“See you tomorrow!”

“ Unsay activities nato ugma?!”

“ Mag unsa ta ron?!”

No more of these with them. No more of these moments.

A few days and we will part ways. Our room will be replaced by someone new, our halls will hear new voices, but the fragments of us—the laughter, the hurried selfies, the instruments we played, the echoes of “See you tomorrow!”—will remain, quietly tracing the edges of this place. A relic of a family that was, a graduating batch that once filled these seats, marked the blackboards, and left a trace on every bulletin. It is us. Fragments of us, scattered, but never gone.