See You at the Checkered Flag

One semester left. Just one.

It feels like the final lap of a long, winding race—the kind that started before I even realized I was running. For four years, everything blurred together: deadlines, exams, sleepless nights, and quick pit stops disguised as breaks and vacant periods. Pit stops wherein I have to change my “tires”—shuffling through every yellow pad that I need to use for my assessments and requirements. Every semester was another lap, another chance to keep pushing despite the exhaustion.

And now, the checkered flag is almost in sight. Four tenths of a second. Graduation. The moment everyone’s been waiting for. But as I get closer, I find myself slowing down, not because I’m tired, but because I want to take one last look at everything I passed by too quickly.

I remember how it all began: the nervous start, the shaky first laps where I didn’t really know the course yet. Lights out and away we go. I fumbled, stalled, took wrong turns, crashed into different challenges. But along the way, I found my rhythm. I learned how to keep pace, how to breathe through the pressure, how to keep going even when it felt like I was running on empty.

The people I met became teammates, rivals, and cheerleaders all at once. We all had our own races to run, but somehow, we shared the same track — helping each other, pacing together, sometimes even competing, but always growing side by side.

Now that it’s almost over, I can’t help but think about the moments I didn’t fully appreciate — the late-night group work that felt endless, the laughter between lectures, the chaos of balancing everything. Back then, I just wanted to reach the end. But now, standing here, I realize those moments were the race itself.

I’ve learned that being a Psychology student wasn’t just about understanding other people — it was about understanding myself in every high-speed turns and corner, every quiet slowdown, and every late breaking move I have to pull off. I discovered how to cope, how to grow, and how to restart after every breakdown.

There were laps I wish I ran differently, wherein times I played it too safe, opportunities I didn’t chase, dreams I parked because I thought there’d always be more time. But maybe that’s what every racer learns: you can’t redo a lap, only finish strong.

And now, here I am, one semester away. I can almost hear the cheers, feel the relief, see everyone crossing their own finish lines. Some ahead, some behind, but all of us make it in our own time.

Graduation isn’t the end. It’s the moment you lift your foot off the pedal, glance at your side mirrors, tighten your grip on the steering wheel—and realize you’ve made it through the track you once thought was impossible.

And as I head into this final lap, heart pounding and hands steady, I think I’m finally ready to cross the checkered flag.