Entry XXIV: Emeritus
It's been a week since I stepped down as the Class Mayor. A part of me still wakes up expecting messages, updates, urgent tasks, reminders to be sent to the class GC, or concerns I need to escalate. But that's no longer my duty. I'm just a student now, and that's something I'm still adjusting to. There's a strange silence to it, peaceful, yet almost haunting.
On one uneventful morning, as I was walking up to our college building, I spotted Bella struggling with a hefty pile of documents from the faculty office. Her arms were full, and the papers looked ready to spill at any moment. I remember thinking, Ah, the weight of the crown has truly shifted. I gave her a nod and a small smile, one filled with understanding. I've been there. Carrying all those papers, hunting down instructors, negotiating with departments. It was exhausting then, and seeing it happen to someone else made me realize how much I've been through.
Even during the evenings, Bella would send messages in the group chat. "Guys, can we talk to Prof. about the quiz? It's too much with all the other deadlines." She was trying, I could tell. She was beginning to understand the tightrope every class mayor walks—between the student body and the faculty, between expectations and reality. And every time she would bargain, I almost replied, "Been there." But I held back. This was her journey now. Her cross to bear.
It wasn't long until I began to notice some unusual things happening in the class. A couple of my classmates started wearing lapel pins with the Civil Engineering Organization's logo. At first, I thought it was some official release, but then I overheard a conversation—one of them mentioning they had just printed it out themselves and sold it among the block. That didn't sit right with me. Quietly, I approached Maxwell about it. He confirmed what I was thinking. "That's illegal," he said. "They can't use the organization's logo like that without approval."
Word spread fast. Eventually, it reached Alvis, and oh—his face when he found out! Pure thunder. He went on a full-blown rant in the group chat, though he never dropped names. I was relieved Maxwell didn't mention I was the one who reported it. It was never about getting anyone in trouble—it was about doing things the right way.
From then on, I decided to stay silent in the GC. It was chaos, honestly. Bella was barely keeping up—aside from the academic overload, there were random university-wide events popping up like mushrooms after the rain, throwing everyone's schedules into disarray.
And yet, despite all the madness, I found a new appreciation for my present life. No more urgent paperwork, no more acting as the middleman between class and faculty. I was free. And even better, when I thought I was going to fail and be forced to retake an exam, by some miracle—or maybe just sheer effort—I passed. I caught up. I wouldn't be retaking anything this term. Alvis, however, wasn't so lucky.
Seeing the current administration struggle with all these pressures made me reflect deeply. Being Class Mayor wasn't a badge of honor—it was a battlefield. A duty. A sacrifice. And now that I was out of it, I could look back with a mix of pride and pain.
Some classmates still slip and call me "Mayor." They'd quickly correct themselves, "Oh, sorry—Finn." But I just smile and reply, "Call me whatever you want. Even Mayor. Besides, I'm Mayor Emeritus now. The former mayor." That gets a laugh from most of them. But deep down, it means something to me. That title, though unofficial now, still carries weight in my heart.
After our final exams, we decided to take a class photo at the New Admin Building. A few of them asked, "Hey, what was that 1-Roebling sign again?" I chuckled, showing them again how to do it: left hand forming a 'C', right hand doing a number 1, and when you place them beside each other—it forms a small B. That was my little invention, a symbolic gesture I introduced back when I was still the Mayor. Seeing everyone doing it again filled me with nostalgia.
The breeze at the university lagoon was cool that day. The sun shone through the canopy of trees that lined the walkway. Water lilies bloomed gently over the surface of the water. Just ahead stood the ecumenical chapel, quiet and serene. I stood there for a moment, soaking it all in. In that stillness, I remembered something I once forgot during the height of my duties—God.
There was a time, back when I was too caught up with leadership responsibilities, that I nearly forgot Him. My pride had been growing, my identity rooted solely in my title. But being removed from that position gave me time to look around and remember what truly matters. God's presence, ever so subtle, was calling me back.
Joining the ecumenical choir turned out to be one of the greatest blessings this semester. I was invited to play instruments during the Mass, and even got accepted as one of the bass singers. It was fulfilling—giving glory through music, serving in silence. That's where I learned the most important lesson of all:
With great power comes greater responsibility.
I've come to realize that leadership isn't about being the loudest voice in the room. It isn't about being praised or respected. It's about service. Pure, sometimes thankless, often invisible, service. It's about holding up the weight of a community and still managing to walk forward without breaking.
I've learned that being a leader means standing alone at times, making unpopular decisions, and carrying the blame even when things are beyond your control. It means staying up late to prepare, to worry, to solve problems others never see. It's about choosing the harder path, not because it's rewarding, but because it's right.
But I've also learned the beauty of stepping down. Of letting go. Of allowing someone else to take the reins and continuing to support them from behind the curtain. I've learned the power of silence, the strength in restraint, and the wisdom in knowing when to speak.
If there's one thing I'll always carry from my term, it's that leadership is not about holding power—it's about giving yourself. And even though I'm not the Class Mayor anymore, my heart still belongs to this class. I'll always be watching, always ready to help, even in the shadows.
So this is my final note, my last bow:
This is Finnian Theodore Quirino Liwayway, Mayor Emeritus of BSCE 1-Roebling,
signing off.
135Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBPi4fgnt2j
and then Add to home screen.