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Entry V: By the Rules
Another week has gone by, and as usual, my days were packed with taking attendance and handling documents. I was relieved, though, that I managed to submit all the required index cards the teachers had asked for. It gave me a small sense of accomplishment amidst the daily chaos. However, something continued to bother me throughout the week—our adviser, Mr. Valerio.
It wasn't just the way he handled things, but more so the manner in which he treated us. After I submitted the batch of index cards, he returned them to me, saying that our format was incorrect. Instead of the typical student information format we followed, he instructed us to redo everything using a different template—one that included a table for recording grades. I sighed internally, trying not to show my frustration. I understood he wanted things standardized, but the way he announced it in front of everyone felt more like a scolding than a simple instruction.
Still, I kept myself composed. I called on my classmates, redistributed the index cards, and explained the changes they needed to make. They grumbled, but I could tell they were just as exhausted as I was. We all got it done eventually and submitted the revised index cards again.
The next class, Mr. Valerio stood in front with his usual stern face, the kind that could freeze a sunny afternoon. He held up the stack of revised index cards and began calling names. "Say present when I call your name," he said in his low, thunderous voice.
Each name he uttered felt like a command. We all responded with a meek "present," not out of respect, but mostly from a strange mix of fear and pressure. What confused me the most was how his demeanor didn't match his energy. Despite sounding strict and serious, the way he conducted the lesson felt lazy and indifferent, like he was just going through the motions. He would mumble through the lecture, almost without emotion, yet somehow still manage to intimidate the entire class.
Every single day from Monday to Friday, from 2:30 to 3:30 p.m., we endured that routine. That time of the day—the late afternoon slump—was when our brains were already melting from the weight of all the subjects that came before it. And it just so happened that Mr. Valerio's class fell right in the middle of that mental burnout zone.
As this new week arrived, we once again pushed through the piles of lessons and activities. But amidst the whirlwind of academic responsibilities, I made sure to remind my classmates about the upcoming event at the Gymnasium. It had been announced during the previous general meeting of class officers. The College of Engineering, along with four other colleges, was set to attend an orientation and university awareness program this Wednesday afternoon.
When Wednesday finally came, I arrived early and stood in front of the gymnasium. One by one, my classmates began arriving, and soon enough, almost everyone had shown up. We gathered together, and after a bit of waiting, the staff allowed us inside. We took our seats, expecting the event to start soon, but as usual, things ran behind schedule. We sat there for nearly an hour before the program even began.
Once it started, the program focused on orienting us about the university's services and expectations. The emcees discussed the library system, both the physical library and the e-library, the available food choices at the canteen, and the university student manual. They stressed the importance of cleanliness, which I silently agreed with, considering how messy some classrooms had already become. While the event dragged on a bit, it was informative in its own way. Some of my classmates got bored halfway through, but I tried to absorb the information, knowing it might come in handy later as Class Mayor.
Then the time hit 2:50 p.m., and a thought suddenly hit me like a bolt of lightning. What if Mr. Valerio was already in our classroom, waiting for us?
I leaned over and whispered to Bailey, who sat beside me, and then to our Vice Mayor. "Do you think Sir Valerio is waiting for us?" I asked, anxiety building up in my chest.
Bailey raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Well, it's already 15 minutes past our class schedule. If he's not there by now, I guess it counts as a missed class, right?"
Our Vice Mayor chimed in, "Yeah, it says in the student manual. If a teacher doesn't show up within the first fifteen minutes of a one-hour class, then students are allowed to leave."
I bit my lip. They were right. But then again, Sir Valerio wasn't exactly the kind of teacher you wanted to test. I pulled out my phone and showed them the memo I had sent to him before we left for the program. It detailed the event and our attendance as representatives of BSCE 1-Roebling.
"At least I sent this," I said, relieved. "He can't say we skipped out on purpose."
We discussed it briefly among our classmates, and the consensus was clear: we were all going home. No one was in the mood to run back to the classroom just to face another dull and terrifying session of Mr. Valerio's class.
So, we all parted ways. As I walked home, my mind wandered between thoughts of relief and lingering worry. I had done my part, but still, there was always that unpredictability with Mr. Valerio. I knew being Class Mayor meant dealing with responsibilities, but I never expected I'd be balancing so much emotional stress from one teacher alone.
That evening, I sat at my desk and reviewed my notebook. I updated the log of events, wrote down notes from the gymnasium orientation, and prepared my reminders for the next day. I might not have all the answers, and I definitely didn't expect to be a leader in such a demanding environment, but I was trying. I was doing my best.
In a classroom of 43 students, under the watchful eyes of teachers with different temperaments, it was easy to feel overwhelmed. But I reminded myself that I had made it this far. And every time I look back, it becomes clearer that maybe, just maybe, I was meant to take on this role for a reason. I don't have to be perfect, but I do have to be present—for my classmates, for my duties, and most importantly, for myself.
I closed my notebook and set my pen down. Another week down. Another lesson learned. Being Class Mayor isn't easy, but then again, nothing worth doing ever is.
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