As graduation season rolled around, I had to admit something: I never dreamed of walking the stage at this school. In fact, I hated it. 

When I transferred, it wasn’t because I wanted to. It was because I was told to. The campus felt isolating; I never felt connected to it. I was never proud to be there. It was worse when others asked what school I transferred from, and they all exclaimed Why would I come here. Why would I leave that school? Jab me even harder, will you?

The second class would end, and I was always one of the few people to leave first out the door. 

No lingering. 

No hanging out around campus. 

No school spirit. 

I was just alone. Packing my bags and leaving. 

So when graduation season arrived, I told my family I wasn’t participating. 

I didn’t want to walk the stage. 

I didn’t want to wear the cap and gown. 

I didn’t want the ceremony. 

I wanted to finish quietly and move on. 

I graduated in the winter, which meant I could walk in the spring. The emails started arriving after a month into the spring semester. 

Come take your graduation photos!

Come order your class ring!

Come pick up your cap and gown! 

Send a video message! 

Delete. 

Delete 

Delete. 

I ignored every single one. Part was bitterness. Graduation felt less like a celebration and more like a reminder of everything I thought I had failed to become. 

I wasn’t graduating as a nurse. 

I wasn’t graduating with a future I planned for myself years ago. 

I wasn’t graduating with the accomplishment I thought would make my family proud. 

My mother often tells me I wasted my college years and earned a degree that meant nothing. 

One sibling believed I was given too much leniency as a child, which is why I never accomplished anything in college. 

My other sibling, although she won’t say it, I know she believes it. 

So I was convinced there was nothing worth celebrating. Why walk across a stage for something nobody cares about? 

I only asked for one thing. A flower bouquet. Not a party, just applause, just my first flower bouquet made for me. 

Then one final email arrived. 

FINAL CALL FOR GRADUATION PICK UP.

For some reason, something snapped in me. I don’t know why. Maybe the curiosity got the best of me. Maybe a small part of me believed I deserved it. 

Whatever it was, I decided at the last minute to sign up. 

Ironically, our Wi-FI went out the night I made the decision. I couldn’t even register. The second it came back the next day, I rushed to sign up. 

The same week, I went to pick up my cap and gown. As I crossed campus, I looked over at the science building. Which I saw the nursing students leaving their pinning ceremony. Families surrounded them, balloons for celebrations, people hugging and cheering. And suddenly the pit in my stomach returned. The ache. The disappointment. 

The life I had imagined myself years ago was right across the street. I wasn’t angry at anyone; I wasn’t jealous, just sad. 

I stood there watching for a while before turning away and picking up my cap and gown. 

Two weeks before graduation, I still had no plans. 

No outfit.

No shoes. 

No idea. 

NADA. 

Just the image of the flower bouquet I might receive. 

One week before graduation, nothing had changed. 

Five days before graduation, I made my decision. 

I wasn’t going to go. 

There were many reasons behind it; some, of course, I’ll keep quiet about. 

In the end, not walking the stage felt like the right choice for me. Although I had already paid for the cap and gown, my name card was ready, and everything was prepared for me to go. (Minus the outfit, I just had the cap and gown)

Instead, on the day of the ceremony, I picked up the flower bouquet I had dreamed about, borrowed a pair of work pants from my sibling, and stood against the apartment wall to take my graduation photos. 

No big ceremony, just me. 

So as I write this, I can finally say something I never thought I’d be able to say: 

I am a college graduate. Not in the way I imagined years ago. Not in the path I originally laid. Not the story I thought I would have. But I made it here. 

This is to my residents who believed in me. To my family and to those who have read this blog post. Although I’m posting out of order and not in real time, thank you. The journey wasn’t what I expected. But it’s mine. And my college academic years are finally complete. 

To the class of 2026. Congrats. As for me? I’m ready to see what’s next.