TODAY’S GRADUATION celebrations are practical but are also, in many ways, quiet.
After the program, families head straight to the nearest restaurant. There are no cooking, cleaning, or surprise visitors. Just a reserved table, a few photos, and a bill to settle before going home.
It works.
But honestly, it does not quite feel the same.
There was a time when a child’s graduation was not just a family milestone, but a shared moment for the entire neighborhood. Preparations began early. There was pancit for long life, spaghetti for the children, lumpiang shanghai, and if the budget allowed, the poor man’s version of today’s “chicken joy.” Sandwiches filled with homemade egg, chicken, or cheese pimiento spread were lined neatly on trays, prepared the night before with quiet excitement.
And then people started coming.
Neighbors, relatives, even friends of friends arrived unannounced, but always welcome. Some came early, even before the graduate got home, just to be there when the celebration began. Others stayed only for a while, long enough to hand over a small envelope, offer a smile, and say, “Samasnan mu pang magaral ne? Magpakayari ka!”
It was never about how much was inside.
It was about being seen, being acknowledged, being part of something bigger than yourself.
The food, too, was meant to be shared. Plates were sent out to nearby homes, across the street and sometimes even to those who could not come. And if you were lucky, a container of “dirty ice cream” made its rounds, scooped generously and passed along as if it were the finest dessert.
Inside the house, the air was filled with the scent of sampaguita and ilang-ilang. There were no elaborate bouquets or money flowers folded into spectacle; just leis placed one after another around your neck, their fragrance quietly marking a moment of achievement.
Even in school, recognition carried a different kind of weight.
There were no long lists; only a few names were called. The top three were awarded gold, silver, bronze medals. Everyone knew them. More importantly, everyone knew they had earned it.
I still remember the paper corsages handmade by teachers who spent hours cutting, folding, and tying ribbons so each award would feel personal.
Nothing was automated or instant.
Even the diploma was simply a rolled piece of bond paper tied with a ribbon. The real document would come later, with the name of the graduate carefully handwritten by the teacher with the best penmanship. There was no room for error or easy reprint.
Looking back, nothing about it was grand but everything about it felt earned.
Today, celebrations are smoother, more organized and controlled. But in becoming more convenient, they have also become more contained to the point of being almost private and exclusive.
We still celebrate; but only with those at the table.
And perhaps that is what we lost because graduation was never just about finishing school. It was about being witnessed. It was about a community that took pride in your small victory as if it were their own.
So, when we say things are better now, maybe we are only looking at what is easier and not what mattered more.
