I don’t remember much from my graduations. I’ve gone through several in my lifetime - elementary, high school, college and a smatter of workshops, conferences that warranted a piece of paper as proof of completion.
I don’t recall what I felt as I strode across the stage to the veiled principal, a nun, in her scratchy, crisp ironed white habit, who was handing out diplomas inside a green and gold leather folder. I don’t recall what I felt as I dropped into a half curtsy, lowering my head to receive the medals of recognition for my parents’ loyalty to the school and for my sporting prowess. I don’t recall what it was like squinting under the spotlight as I walked to the middle of the stage, standing in front of the crowd of hundreds of co-graduates, their parents and other family members and nonstop flash bulbs popping to take a bow from my performance of that lifetime.
There was a small voice inside me that always thought this ending, the pinnacle, the summit of the mountain, was all pomp and circumstance, not for me - but for my parents who worked hard and sacrificed to pay through the nose for my private school education, for the current and future companies I worked for who needed me to be the best up skilled employee that would bring in profits and glory and for the public who needed to be reassured that I indeed achieved this privileged feat.
What the brain chooses to retain is a curious wonder.
I do recall walking through the doors of Via Mare, a then penthouse restaurant atop the Tektite Stock Exchange Towers, whose floor-to-ceiling windows held the pale blue summer sky and the city skyline, where I first got a taste of Oysters Rockefeller, slimy bivalves I dared never to kiss my lips, even in its freshest form, shells shucked open by my father by the beach. Bubbling chopped spinach and cheese over it was the panacea for my elementary tastes. I do recall the gaggle of girls, once bare faces only graced by baby powder and the shiny pink lip gloss with faces now caked in make up, hair teased, held up by pins and hairspray, donning their black & white checkered uniforms, stockinged legs and black pumps, lined up by the driveway to the Pere Louis Chauvet gym, home to annual zealous intramural and cheer dancing competitions, monthly first Friday masses, United Nations pageants, concerts and the first ever high school dance. My neck craning to see the familiar boxy blue Nissan Sentra I was hoping to see drive by the parking lot behind. I do recall my Tita, a balikbayan who flew in from the States, gasping “And there’s a boy…” as my then best friend showed up by the family’s table at Mario’s in Saint Francis Square, bearing a bouquet of yellow, purple and white mums. I do recall my face lighting up the moment I saw then boyfriend, now husband, waving from the behind rafters of the PICC auditorium. The aforementioned best friend picked him up from home after a long call center evening shift to make it to my graduation and even snapped our photo together to commemorate the occasion.
It all seems fuzzy now, decades past, but the ending was not as important as the details in between.
This made me think of The World, the 22nd card, the very last card of the Major Arcana. Often christened as the “graduation” card, the end of a chapter, the apex of the fool’s journey through the whimsical yes of a leap into the great unknown, through galloping of the Chariot, the upside down of the Hanged Man, the lightning struck on the Tower, the clearing from the storm of the Star, the revitalizing life of the Sun.
A woman, naked, a single purple stole snaking over her shoulders, around her hips and thighs, unafraid, holding a baton in each hand, floating in the middle of a wreath, which is held together by two red scarves in an infinity knot above and below. Outside and around the wreath are clouds with four creatures - a man, an eagle, a lion and a bull. The woman looks relaxed. Her head tilted to look over her right shoulder. The late tarot doyenne Rachel Pollack describes her as a dancer, reveling in her freedom, rapture, bliss.
As with graduations, this last card of the Major Arcana, when pulled in a reading, means an ending. Yet it is not the end, end, which only comes when our very breath escapes the physical body. The oval wreath is in the shape of the number zero, a number representing nothing and everything - potential. It is the end and the beginning, a continuance of this circle of life.
I don’t remember much from my adulthood graduations. Were there even any? No parade on the stage. No bow to the crowd. No congratulatory handshakes and hugs. The endings are blurrier than they were then. One studies to get to an exact end point to level up to the next. Does one enter into a new job to get to another one? Not quite so. The proof of completion, the diploma, the certificate, the piece of paper is no more.
The goal posts transform into single-hood into coupledom, child-free to parenthood, renter to home owner, and on and on and on. Do these achievements warrant the same pomp and circumstance as before? Perhaps some more than others? Weddings? Birthdays? Christenings? House warmings? Or am I hearing that voice in my head, asking “FOR WHOM?” Are we toiling tooth and nail to prove ourselves for ourselves or still for others? Is it necessary to grind away to prove our worth? Can’t we simply be and be perfectly okay with it? Yet still I breathe, so now what? Is the more important graduation left is going from cradle to the grave?
The tears welled up as I closed the last page of “Rules of Magic” by Alice Hoffman, one of her books from the “Practical Magic” series (The movie was based on a book! Gasp! And I only learned 25 years later?!) on my Kindle. A ball choked up in my throat, then I let go of the dam of tears with a muffled wail behind my pillow. A proper ending, a happy one even. But it was not just the ending that pushed my cry button, but the in between of the characters.
As I go through my days with more purposeful stride, I know that I reached an end of a chapter. There is no graduation. I don’t remember much as there was no stage to walk front and center onto; nobody to hand me a diploma, hang a medal on my neck and shake my hand in congratulations; no crowds, no photos, no bow nor curtsy. What I do look back on, etched in my mind and heart are the moments in between.
When I pushed my plate away, not wanting more than three bites a meal, appetite once ever present, ever voracious, gone. When I snapped a photo of impossible model-esque thigh gap I got at 112 pounds sweaty, blotchy skinned, impressed at the achievement, yet uneasy and hollow inside. The The curl into fetal position night after night, unable to sleep with my thoughts running a circular ultramarathon in my head. When I attempted to reconnect with my then best friend, emailing, saying “I have no more ambitions, but to just get by,” which was I was astonished with a response, though scant, then radio silence. The first Monday when I had no boss to report to, no meeting to join, no presentation to finish in a catatonic stare through the blinds into Texas summer sunshine, then looking down at my hands that finally stopped shaking. Watching the sun tucking into the blanket of the Manhattan skyline as I inhaled the crisp autumn air, tears held back, thoughts of what-the-F-is-happening-to-me, I-want-this-to-end swirling, one of my best girlfriends sitting across me at a picnic table at the edge of Anable Basin, the waves of the East River lapping at our sides, with a pint of beer in hand. The stormy Friday afternoon when I held Obi in my arms as he took his last breath. The chilly fall day in Korea when I first laid eyes on my sister, niece and nephew, whom I only saw on pictures on Facebook, as we embarked on a tour of their city’s public market. The balmy evening, the cacophony of Filipino languages, car horns blaring, as I saw my father, walking towards me, after a decade of absence from home. The tight hugs, raucous laughter from friends from all chapters of my life, whom I’ve not faced and held in a decade. The warm embrace of lightbulb moments after daring to pitch stories, interview people, read other people’s cards and astrology.
Why the brain chooses to remember the messy middles - the good, the bad and the ugly - is always a curious wonder. The granular details in between. But like in sandwiches, doesn’t the middle make the sandwich what it is? This is the World - our world with endings worth beginning. I am hoping that the next time I graduate, I feel the intensity of spectacle of this pageantry, the rapture of reaching the summit, in every molecule in my physical body for me, myself and I.
Coincidentally, I also just went through an astrological ending, the close of my Mercury-Sun dasha or planetary period. I did a evaluation of the period to see how this showed up IRL. It is useless to follow astrology if it doesn’t have any concrete manifestations. It should have, at least that’s how I see it. Very much similar how in the corporate world, you review past year, quarter or month to check in the performance of your efforts.
Mercury is travel, communications and expressions, intellectual pursuits, swift dynamic movement, short travels/errands, friendship, while the Sun is confidence, ego, authority, father, vitality, fame, homeland, among others. In my case, specific to my personal astrology, Mercury rules the 2nd house of sustenance, immediate family, creativity, entertainment, while the Sun rules the 4th house of home, homeland. In one of the key derivative charts, mercury rules the 6th house of competitors, daily routine and 9th house of foreign travel, while the sun rules the 8th house of transformation.
In this particular stretch of time, these are some of the things happened:
Moved our place of residence.
Guested in two podcasts.
Foreign and local travel.
Gained US citizenship
Started own podcast.
Gained some recognition for my writing.
Offered and promoted both card and astrology readings to the greater public.
Proactive moves for health improvement including meditation practice, regular check ups, and more.
I think that, more or less, putting two and two together, the Mercury-Sun significations showed up in my life. Don’t you think so?
I am now in a new start of the Mercury-Moon dasha until September 2025. Based on the significations of these planets, what does this time hold for me? The two fastest moving planets among the navagrahas are slated to bring me a period of creative adaptation, involving planets that rule my 3rd house of communication and short travels plus the 2nd house of sustenance 5th house of creativity. Both planets are closely related in one of the derivative charts, ruling the 7th house of partnerships, 6th house of daily routine and 9th house of higher learning. I will move swifter. There will be ups and downs as the moon waxes and wanes. There will be a flurry of activity. There will be connections and partnerships.
I should report back at the end of it next year.
Also, we just experienced the first set of eclipses, both lunar and solar, of 2024. How was it like for you? I should be writing more about this later on as this is my first focused observation of this astronomical and astrological phenomenon across clients, who have their natal planets in the key nakshatras or lunar mansions of Hasta and Revati.
Books I’ve read:
I absolutely know I graduated since I am now more steadfast in my reading. I surprised myself by listing down what I’ve read, both actual reading and listening via audiobooks.
Magic Lessons by Alice Hoffman
Rules of Magic by Alice Hoffman
Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism by Amanda Montell
The World of Wonders: by Aimee Nezhukumatathil
Greetings from Utopia Park: Surviving a Transcendent Childhood by Claire Hoffman
We Should All Be Feminists by Chimimanda Ngozi Adichie
Family Meal by Bryan Washington
Navagraha Purana by V.S. Rao
Notes on a Nervous Planet by Matt Haig
Reasons to Stay Alive by Matt Haig
The Comfort Book by Matt Haig
If you’d like to read more about tarot cards and their meanings, head on over to what I’ve written below:
Major Arcana
Minor Arcana
Wands
Cups
Swords
Pentacles