by Angelica Abon, Bea Lopez

Four years of law school,

I aged ten years.

Add another ten years,

I acquired on my fifth year.

For four years we were trained,

To always look for precedents.

On our fifth year —

We became the precedents.

For four years our hands bled

To make our writings legible

On our fifth year, we learned

We should have saved our ink instead

I thought I’ll lose my job on my fifth year,

For duty days and court hearings,

Good news I did not need to resign,

Bad news I really wanted to.

Four years I tried to imagine,

My graduation and its scenes.

On my fifth year it dawned on me,

That I will just watch it on a screen?

The question in my head used to be:

Will I be able to take the bar in November?

Now the question is:

Will WE be able to take the bar IN November?

Oh, four years of law school,

I aged ten years.

Then add another ten years,

I aged on my fifth year.