Distinction’s worth

Honor, praise, distinction. Three words placed on a pedestal when one attains a degree, especially with the addition of this one word—laude.

My high school self would say that Latin honors would be a reward for my parents and an extra flavor to my resume. Entering university felt like registering for a game I was familiar with; a childhood game but with bigger stakes, a wider scale, and at a higher level in an unfamiliar system. The students, the players; the course subjects, the levels, and; the professors, the judges. The admins are the gamemasters you bow and scrape to. 

Mechanics: Players should have earned 75% of total credits at the institution; no player should have a grade lower than 2.50 or its equivalent throughout the game; dropping a subject that is prescribed on the curriculum is prohibited; they must not have been found guilty of having committed a major offense with a corrective action of suspension, and; one must attain at least a 3.26 cumulative grade point average (GPA).

I already overcame about 15 levels when a certain subject struck and disqualified me from the game. As I opened the portal, I saw it—2.25—a grade that isn’t low, but apparently not enough. I was drowning in possible disappointment from my parents who worked hard for this privilege, and that of the child who always strived to be above average, at least academically. 

How could a difference of 0.25 in a singular level dismiss everything I’ve worked on? I guess university really isn’t a game. I started to navigate a way for a second chance. “Ano pong p’wedeng paraan?” But the words of some frustrated Latin honor-hopefuls I met never weighed so much as now. “Ganiyan talaga. Ako nga, sa P.E. sumablay.” It dawned on me: Second chances are impossible in a traditionalist practice deeply rooted in the system.

In another La Salle school, there is a fixed minimum reach of cumulative GPA throughout their program. Their policies do not disqualify students for underperforming solely on one subject, yet remain among the top universities in the country.

The University has a clear standard of what they want their students to be, but fails to reach the students’ standards of a university

with their impending delays on facilities, inconsistent quality of laboratories, and lack of transparency.

This system for Latin honors has been around for too long. If it continually steers clear of its flaws, or deafens the cry to reevaluate whether the requirement still caters in current times, it would be destructive as students question the worth of their efforts. My story is just the tip of the iceberg, a crack rooted and branched out to a whole system that is begging for progress. The same frustrations of chances being taken away from working students, fourth-years, shiftees, and transferees can be heard.

For those who are still surviving the game and upping their levels, I celebrate your perseverance and pray for much more. As for me, I made peace with my disappointments. Honor, praise, and distinction may not be something I could get on my diploma this college, but neither would it hinder me from accumulating knowledge, pursuing challenges, and conquering difficulties. At the end of the day, John C. Maxwell states “ Fail early, fail often, but always fail forward.”

But I can’t deny, though, that it’s still at the back of my mind—that singular 2.25.

Originally published in Heraldo Filipino Volume 39, Issue 1