March arrived not with a roar but a dance—a breeze rustling through leaves, laughter rippling across the quad, and papers fluttering like tiny white birds escaping their cages. Our campus, once sleepy and slow, had become a hive of color and noise. Recognition Day loomed ahead, casting both excitement and nerves over everything.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn't dreading it.
I was humming through the days, moving with intention. The air buzzed with final projects, whispered secrets about who liked whom, and that creeping awareness that change was around the corner. High school no longer felt like an endless staircase. It felt like the next big leap.
"Don't forget our Filipino presentation tomorrow," Liana reminded our group as we wrapped up our review in the library. "Costumes, script, everything."
"I'm bringing props," Jerome said proudly. "My mom sewed a miniature shield. It has sequins."
We all stared at him.
"What?" he shrugged. "Warriors can sparkle too."
Even Yvette cracked a smile. Things between us had been... civil. Peaceful, even. Whatever silent truce we'd formed had held. And I was grateful for it.
After the meeting, I walked alone through the corridor, the setting sun casting long shadows on the tiled floor. I passed by the library, now dim and quiet, and paused. The bulletin board still had the writing contest results posted. My name—second place—was fading under layers of new announcements, but I didn't mind.
That win was already tucked safely into my heart.
---
Sunday came with a warm breeze and plans to visit the robotics fair at a city center high school—Raziel's school. He'd invited me, Jasmine, and Jean, and we all met at the bus stop, excitement practically bubbling from our pores.
"I still can't believe schools get to build actual robots," Jean said, her camera swinging around her neck. "Our school can barely afford working microphones."
"And here I thought the snack-bot was a joke," Jasmine added, checking the event flyer. "But it's real. It *fetches snacks*. This I need to see."
Raziel met us at the gate of his sprawling campus. With its sleek buildings and glass-paneled labs, it felt like stepping into the future.
"Welcome to my second home," he said, grinning as he led us in.
The fair was a vibrant maze of booths: robots that painted, danced, detected smoke, and even offered relationship advice (though Raziel warned us not to trust that one—"It thinks everyone should break up").
"This one's mine," he said proudly, pointing to a beetle-shaped robot with glowing green eyes. "It detects heat sources and sends out alerts. Kind of like a mini fire alarm."
"Does it work?" Jasmine asked skeptically.
"Mostly," Raziel said. "It panicked when someone brought hot coffee earlier."
We burst out laughing.
While Raziel explained code syntax and circuit boards, I watched his face light up—not just with knowledge, but joy. Passion looked good on him. It made everything he said sparkle, even the bits I barely understood.
Later, we sat on a bench near the campus garden, sharing cold drinks and leftover mochi.
"My parents still don't get it," Raziel said quietly. "They think tech stuff is a phase. They want me to be a lawyer."
"Do you want that?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I want to build things. Things that help."
I looked at him and said, "Then build them. Let them see what you create."
He stared at me for a beat longer than usual, then smiled. "You make it sound so simple."
"Not simple," I said. "Just possible."
---
Back at school, the final stretch of the term was in full swing. Our Filipino group—me, Jerome, Liana, and Yvette—met regularly in the library to finish our project on traditional Philippine epics. To everyone's surprise, including ours, we worked well together.
Yvette had softened. Not in a showy way, but in the way she listened, offered feedback without competing, and even complimented my storyboard. One afternoon, she stayed behind while the others packed up.
"Hey," she said. "I've been trying... to be less competitive. Especially with you."
I blinked. "I noticed. It's been... better."
She nodded. "I think we do better when we're not trying to outshine each other."
"Agreed."
And just like that, the weight between us eased.
---
Life outside school moved at its own quiet rhythm. On Saturdays, I helped Mama cook arroz caldo while music played from the radio. On Sundays, I sometimes met with Coleen, Jasmine, and Jean in the municipal park to read, write, or snap candid photos.
"Look at this one!" Coleen showed us a photo of a teacher mid-laugh, sunlight caught in his hair like a halo. "Accidental magic."
"That should be your exhibit title," Jean said. "Accidental Magic."
"It fits," Jasmine added, nudging me. "Just like Carmela's writing. You just stumble into beauty."
I smiled at them. I wasn't used to compliments that felt this... real.
"Thanks, guys."
"You're glowing lately," Jasmine noted. "Like, inner glow. Is it the poetry? Or the robot boy?"
"Definitely both," Jean chimed in.
I blushed and tried to swat them playfully with a bookmark. "Maybe I'm just figuring stuff out."
Coleen winked. "Or maybe you're finally being *you*."
---
Recognition Day arrived with all its fanfare: white uniforms, gold ribbons, stage lights, and proud parents armed with cameras and tissue packets. My name was called for academic excellence, and as I walked across the stage, applause echoed like a song I hadn't realized I'd missed.
I scanned the crowd and found Mama, teary-eyed and beaming.
Afterward, she hugged me tightly. "You shine so differently now. Not just brighter—wiser."
I held onto those words.
Jean, Jasmine, and Coleen snapped photos of everything—me accepting the medal, the moment I tripped slightly on the stairs (captured by Jean, of course), and our group selfie beneath the school banner.
"Authenticity," Coleen said, showing me the blurry but joyful image. "It's your brand."
I didn't mind. It felt real. All of it.
---
On the final day of the term, our Filipino group delivered our epic presentation. With sparkling shields, dramatic voice-overs, and elaborate props, we brought the story to life. The applause afterward felt earned.
Yvette found me later. "You were amazing. Your storytelling made it come alive."
"Thanks," I said. "You were great too."
We exchanged a nod. Peace felt possible now.
---
That afternoon, my friends and I—Coleen, Jasmine, Jean, and even Raziel, who'd dropped by after his own school's last day—gathered under the old acacia tree with snacks and soda.
"Next year," Coleen said dreamily, "we'll be ninth graders."
"We'll be tiny fish in a bigger pond," Jasmine added.
"Speak for yourself," Jean said. "I plan to dominate the school newspaper."
"And I'll build a robot that follows you around documenting everything," Raziel said.
I laughed. "We're going to be okay."
The golden afternoon sun painted everything in soft hues. Someone's scarf blew across the grass, and we all chased it down, laughing until our sides ached.
I paused, breathless, taking in the sky streaked with pink and gold, the courtyard bathed in light, and my friends—smiling, real, full of dreams.
And my heart, full.
---
That night, I opened my journal and wrote:
"The wind has shifted. But I'm not afraid. Because I've learned to dance with it."
A new season was coming. A new chapter.
And I was ready.
Not perfect. Not finished.
Just ready.
To begin again.