Graduation

Diary Entry: May 13, 2017

Today was graduation.

In the morning, I didn’t go to the general ceremony — the big one in the stadium with the gowns and the marching music. They had said Obama or Hillary might come, but of course they didn’t. Instead, some unknown man took the stage and said the usual things about opportunity and courage. I didn’t see it. I couldn’t bring myself to.

I walked around the city instead, just trying to pass the hours. The air was warm, the trees already heavy with leaves. Everywhere I looked, there were families in their gowns, taking photos, hugging, crying. I felt like a stranger walking through someone else’s celebration. I sat in a café for a while, then wandered through a park, watching the water in the fountain catch the sun. I tried not to think.

In the evening, I went to our departmental ceremony. It was held in the big opera house downtown. A beautiful building, glowing white in the sunset, like something out of a film.

I took out my camera, set it up on a small tripod in the balcony, and started recording. It helped to look through the lens — to see everything from a little distance, to just be an observer.

The ceremony began. Names were called. Americans first, of course.

It was such a wonderful experience! We — the international students — applauded for every single person. It was our way of saying “congratulations” to the whole world! And it quickly became clear that our American colleagues had their own wonderful way of celebrating. They applauded for their friends with such focus and passion! When one of their names was called, that side of the room was so loud with joy! And when one of our names was called, they were so respectfully quiet, listening intently as we had our moment. It was a beautiful, powerful dynamic, all of us celebrating together in our own special ways.

Then it was our turn. I walked across the stage, shook the Professor’s hand, and took the folder. It felt thin and light. I walked back to my seat. The professors sat in their row, watching us, wearing those same expressions I remembered from the gala. Proud, serious, empty.

After the last name was called, there was a final round of applause, and it was over. People stood up, milling about, taking more pictures. I went back to my camera, stopped the recording, and packed it away.

I suppose that was graduation.