written on September 2015
Today my diploma certificate has finally arrived in the post. Sealed with Queen Elizabeth head, the size of the letter is nothing bigger than an A4. Inside, attached two piece of cream-coloured papers. One, the symbol of a dragon and deer; one in red and the other in blue on the centre of the paper where below says Honoured to Alifia Nuril Ikrami. It gives me chills more than when I watched Game of Throne’s Red Wedding episode, and I have never been so honoured. The second paper has more capital letter than Mrs. Weasley’s angry letter, only this is a breakdown of grades, all in black capital letter as if nothing else can emphasise the importance of it.
I stared at it for a while. My mother stares at me staring, while my grand father eyes gleam, waiting for me to hand over the paper. To me, those two papers aren’t just what it is. It symbolises years of sleepless nights, coffees, bottles of wine, unhealthy snacks and 24-hour library. Days of both emotional numbness missing home and joy in learning the curves of stranger’s tongue. It is the epilogue of eighteen years worth of a dream, and my father and family’s sweat and tears. It’s the projection of bon fire nights on the beach, the loneliest Christmas tree lights, when Marta and I got our first piercing, the love I had and lost. Representation of youth, the infinite possibilities.
Those papers holds the worst of times, the best of times.
