Entry VI: Excuses, Excuses
Another week has passed by, and for the most part, the days have been slow and uneventful—until Friday arrived. That morning, as I was scrolling through my phone, a new announcement popped up in our first-year group chat. It was a notice regarding the start of the NSTP—or National Service Training Program—scheduled to begin the following day. My eyes widened slightly. I hadn't heard of any prior notice before, and I was a little surprised that they decided to inform us just a day in advance. Still, as the Class Mayor, it was my duty to relay the message. I quickly forwarded the announcement to our section's group chat and wrote a short reminder, telling them that if they had any questions or clarifications, they should message me via PM.
What came next was something I should have expected: a barrage of private messages.
One of my classmates messaged, concerned about how she could balance the NSTP with her Bible School schedule. I calmly replied that she shouldn't worry too much yet, that the NSTP orientation might only take half a day. I reassured her that she could most likely attend both, as long as the timings didn't overlap too badly. She seemed slightly comforted by that response and thanked me.
Another classmate messaged saying he was currently sick and feeling under the weather. I told him that if he felt better the next day, he should attend, but if not, his health should come first. I added a quick "Get well soon!" to hopefully ease his worry.
Bailey, always the proactive one, asked me about the time of the program. There wasn't any mention of time in the official announcement, so I took the initiative to check our class schedule. It indicated 8:00 AM, but I had a feeling that because it was an opening orientation, they might begin even earlier or take time with student organization and formalities. So I advised Bailey and the rest of the class to be there by 7:30 AM just to be safe. I explained my reasoning clearly in the group chat to avoid confusion.
Saturday came, and as expected, the whole batch of BSCE, BSSE, and BSGE first-years gathered once again at the gymnasium. The orientation felt familiar—just like the events and orientations we'd already been through during the first few weeks of classes. The program took up most of the morning. After the usual speeches and welcomes, the organizing committee finally got to the part everyone was anxiously waiting for: our NSTP designation.
It was then officially announced that students under BSCE, BSSE, and BSGE would be assigned to ROTC.
The collective mood dropped.
You could practically hear the frustration ripple through the crowd. No one seemed thrilled with the idea. A storm of questions flooded the gym, and, as I expected, they all came my way. One by one, students approached me, either in person or through private messages, asking why, how, and whether it was mandatory. The pressure mounted as I tried to answer their concerns. I kept reminding them—gently but firmly—that I could only address them one at a time.
I also informed them that, according to the instructors, this ROTC assignment was only for the initial orientation and that further instructions about specific roles and locations would follow. It was a little comforting, but not enough to lift their moods.
After the long and tiring Saturday, the following week began with a fresh set of challenges. Many of my classmates started missing classes. At first, I didn't think much of it. But then, I began receiving a wave of messages and excuse letters from my classmates.
Some said they couldn't attend due to fever, colds, or flu. Others cited family emergencies, such as visiting a relative in the hospital or attending a funeral. Each reason seemed valid on the surface, and as the Class Mayor, I had to report these absences to our teachers.
Each teacher, however, gave similar instructions. They told me to advise the students to secure a pass slip and, if needed, a medical certificate to justify their absence. I followed these instructions dutifully. I messaged the absentees, explaining what the teachers required. Some of them went to the office to request pass slips and get checked by the clinic.
But then, I stumbled upon something disheartening. While scrolling through social media stories later that evening, I noticed that some of the very classmates who claimed to be sick or grieving were actually out enjoying themselves. Photos of them visiting tourist spots, laughing, and hanging out with friends filled my screen.
At first, I felt a mixture of disappointment and betrayal. Here I was, doing my best to serve the class responsibly and maintain clear communication with our teachers, only to be undermined by dishonesty. I could've called them out then and there, but I chose to take a more understanding approach.
I knew deep inside that college had been overwhelming for many of us. With demanding lessons, never-ending assignments, and a chaotic shift from high school life to full-blown university pressure, it wasn't surprising that some students sought a little escape. Maybe they weren't trying to deceive anyone deliberately. Maybe they just needed a break.
So instead of scolding them or exposing them in public, I messaged them privately. My tone wasn't strict; it was more of a gentle reminder. I told them to be careful and reminded them of their responsibilities—not just as students, but also in consideration of their peers and teachers who rely on honesty and cooperation.
Some of them replied with apologies. Others gave vague answers. A few didn't respond at all. But at least I did my part as a leader.
Still, the weight of everything started to build. Being Class Mayor wasn't just about collecting index cards or taking attendance. It meant carrying the burdens of 43 students, answering every query, coordinating with teachers, and mediating issues—all while keeping up with my own academic requirements.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing enough. Or maybe I'm doing too much.
But at the end of each day, as I rest my head and think about the countless chats, announcements, meetings, and messages, I find a little peace in the fact that I'm trying. I'm not perfect, but I'm doing what I can. For now, that has to be enough.
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