22/06/2026
For the longest time, the ates and kuyas of CHS felt less like seniors and more like a permanent part of our college lives.
We still remember our first days in CHS. Back then, everyone seemed so far ahead of us. We would see organization posts and think, βAh si ate pala βyong president sa org.β Or hear someone say, "Yan o si kuya mo, magaling yan, siya 'yong lapitan mo kapag may concern ka," and immediately assume they had everything figured out.
The truth is, most of us didn't know them personally. But somehow, we knew who they were.
They were the familiar faces during university events. The ones facilitating programs, hosting activities, and representing the college in ways we admired from afar. They were the seniors confidently walking into rooms where we would automatically shut our mouths (even if no one told us to.) The names we would hear repeatedly in conversations, meetings, and classrooms until eventually, they became impossible not to recognize.
The same names we once recognized only from publication and organization posts slowly became faces we'd greet in the lobby. The seniors we once admired from a distance became the same people we'd pass on the stairs, sit beside during events, or see carrying responsibilities we knew nothing about.
Without realizing it, they became part of our college routineβ¦Part of what made CHS feel like CHS.
Perhaps that's why graduation feels bittersweet. Because while everyone celebrates the diplomas and medals, there is also a quiet realization settling among those of us who will remain.
Soon, we wonβt be seeing them around anymore. No more moments where weβd glance through the glass doors of Demo Lab and softly whisper βgood luck ate and kuya!β like theyβre not aware everyone outside is silently rooting for them. No more hearing from seniors casually say, "Si ate mo may reviewer niyan dati," or βSi kuya mo ang nag-handle niyan noon, ask mo siya.β Funny how the things we'll miss the most are often the things we barely noticed while they were happening; the ordinary things.
To our graduating ates and kuyas, thank you for letting us share all the little things in our college with you. Thank you for showing us that the challenges we face now are not impossible to overcome, because long before we stood where we are today, you stood here too.
The CHS lobby will remain. New students will eventually walk through it. Organization posts will feature new names, and new stories will be written. But for us who stayed long enough to watch you grow into the people you are today, a part of the college will always remind us of you.
And as you begin your healthcare profession, where you will serve lives that will soon depend on your hands, may you remember that you once walked these same hallways as the ates and kuyas we once looked up to.
Congratulations once again, ates and kuyas! You will always be part of CHS.
βοΈ | Cheska Lamputi
