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Patricia Bansil


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Jillian Ramirez


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Yzzabel Gache

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10 Things I Hate About Seton


There was a time when sleeping late for projects the night before it’s due would not exempt me from the early rise for school before traffic got hectic. Swiftly, I would need to get fully woken up, presentable, and ready for the turmoil that awaits throughout the events of the day.

And I would hate early mornings (but love the productivity that came with it).

I would sit impatiently in the barely-moving bus as people check their watches, wishing time would pass by more quickly. The engine would rumble and murmur, only for the vehicle to be motionless as a statue. 

And I would hate heavy traffic (but love the idea of going outside again).

Giddy students would enter the gates to the school. They would run over people’s feet with their stroller bags, step on fallen essay drafts and due assignments, and fall against each other’s carry-ons amidst the hurrying crowds.

And I would hate the crammed gates of assembly (but I’d love to see my friends again).

We would climb up the steps with the weight of the day felt in the heaviness of our bags. Together, we would hike towards that daunting poster—which every Setonian knows all too well— challenging us to offer more than what we’ve already given at every corner.

And I would hate the frazzle of the stairs and the mock of the slogan (but I loved the people I’ve walked with and the person that I’ve become).

The bold heat of the humid afternoons would encounter even bolder crowds, loud in their carelessness and indifference to others, hooting with laughter and boisterous conversation.

And I would hate the noisy students when there were no teachers around (but I’d love to join them again).

There was a time when missed deadlines would mean the end of the world, and nothing would strike greater fear than the confrontation of a long-forgotten requirement.

And I would hate forgetting and cramming tasks (but love my friends’ support and help).

Then, recitation would be a race, a riot of voices aching to erupt. I would motion with my right hand, only to find myself wrangling with others’ raised warrants as there was only so much that could be acknowledged in the meadow of ideas.

And I would hate the competition in my class (but miss everyone’s enthusiasm).

Flusters of students, eager to come down and be first in line at chit stations and food stalls, would create small rampages in the corridors during breaks. I would feel as if seconds moved faster during these periods—it was over before you knew it. 

And I would hate long cafeteria lines and the fleeting time before the bell rang (but love being with friends during lunchtime).

We would have project meetings and plannings that take up most of the schedules we had, but to focus on that would mean having to spend lunch separate from friends. 

And I would hate spending free periods alone during friends’ absences (but understand the responsibility and appreciate the teamwork).

I see now, though, that I would rather have the little grievances I do hate so as to not trade away the good memories that came with it. These are details from a simpler time I overlooked, a time I grew to miss, a time that was snatched from our grasp before we even realized it was gone.

Most of all, I hate that I can’t have these anymore (but because of this, I’ll learn to appreciate what I have in the present).

I now look fondly upon these as I realize that the little quirks and imperfections are what make an experience one we can rightfully call ours.

The 10 things I hate about Seton can’t hold a candle to the myriad of things I, instead, adore.