Xavier School’s 2014 school fair, “Mythos,” was creeping towards a sleepy end on Sunday, February 2, 2014. As compared to the festivities of the day prior, it seemed uneventful for most fairgoers as the afternoon sun began its systematic subtle descent over the horizon. Amidst the heat and dust of that waning afternoon, most would’ve thought nothing to be out of the ordinary—another successful and enjoyable school fair was headed for the books, with most Xaverians looking forward to the coming fair holiday for some well-deserved rest before the impending return of classes.
As the music blaring from the dedication booth softened to a hush, two men rose to the centre stage opposite the information booth. The late afternoon sun shone, casting long shadows all over the fair grounds. Onlookers beheld an amassing throng of people—the seniors of batch 2014 were determined to leave a mark on Mythos that would be surely one to remember. The Mustangs would see to it that the story of Mythos—and this particular aspect of their thirteen-year stay in Xavier School—would end in a manner worthy of being called “like a legend.” Student Council President Lorenzo Arceo’s voice boomed over the sound system, and a tender, lighthearted, yet sentimental speech was said, soon followed by the usual friendly cheers and good-natured teasing jeers from the crowd. Even in such a moment of apparent nostalgia, we seniors still knew how to raise the atmosphere.
And of course, there was a beat. The beating hearts in our chest rose up as the music began to blare—the thumping noise paralleling the fire in our hearts that was waiting to burst. The roars began to resonate throughout the fairground; the mass began to swell. A few seniors rose to the stage as the excitement built: the atmosphere was electric. And when the music dropped, a collective, pent-up tension of effervescence exploded. The ground quaked beneath the stomps; the air was alight with blue and gold powder that rained from the sky onto the insatiable crowd. The powder was coarse, salty if anything; the comical reactions during the shower further fanned the celebratory flames that were well and truly ablaze.
Excitement was set loose, and despite all the hopping, jumping, and hand waving that was going on, mustangs can never just stay put in one place. And so came the march; seniors’ voices were in full song as chants pierced the air with an ever-increasing fervor.
“C-what? Seniors!” was the catchphrase; “Just One Last Time” was the anthem. It was a scene unlike any other—a batch united in vigor and spirit that was making sure that their last fair would end with a bang. It was a statement that no one could ignore, and the eventual onrushing wave of seniors that raced around the fairgrounds screaming in unison to the high heavens was a sure enough sign of determination. This is a batch of character, spirit, and of course, strength. The colloquial slang of the much-talked about “gains” trend came to the fore as a united batch push-up session ensued—of course spiritedly instigated by the corps commander and president. Festivities resumed thereafter with renewed enthusiasm: our spirits were alight with the passion for celebration, and we did so for more times than the “just one last” we had claimed.
The revelry went without a hitch—the rave was one to truly rave about. It was one for the books, without a question. It was all the more significant for the seniors who partook in it. It was the screams of life, brotherhood, and pride that echoed that day. It was a lifting up of our unity, aspirations, joys, and dreams for the future; a celebration of who we are.
Though it may be over, it is something that we would look back on with fond tenderness and a quiet sense of pride. It is something that none of us will ever get tired of doing, time and time again, if, maybe, for just one last time.