It's been a year.

It was early morning on June 11 last year. I was running to our graduation hall in one of the old buildings in my university I never knew existed.

My feet were hurting from the shoes I had just realized was too narrow. It was the beginning of summer (and in a humid city like Istanbul it means hell) so my body started to perspire heavily, and I was already 15 minutes late, a result of staying up late to test the makeup the night before.

But I wasn't alone. There were four amazing souls who were waiting for me with a beautiful bouquet, helping me put my graduation robe and its d*mn square cap on, and ready to capture the moments in my parents' stead.

We entered hurriedly, I found an empty seat at the back row, and everything was settled just in time.

I was too overwhelmed with the excitement, the panic of not knowing what I should do (my classmates and I didn't come to the practice) while my classmates were far in the middle row, and the heat (God I remember the heat) that I didn't really pay attention to what was happening on the stage.

But I remember looking down during the announcement of the students who graduated with honors, felt defeated but forced myself to ignore it and clapped with the rest of the hall.

The vice-dean of faculty then came forward and lead us to recite our oath as communication faculty graduates. We were all standing and I felt my eyes were watering from the 'magic' of the moment. It's like everything we've done the last four years had taken us to that exact point, reciting our oath with our voices echoed in the hall.

After that--I guess--was the turn for the ceremony when all of us came forward and supposedly receive our diploma.

In Turkey, especially in state universities that I know of, a graduation ceremony is merely a formality. There's no tassel replacement or anything like that. In faculties with many departments, they don't even call the graduates to the stage. They just marched them according to the department, gathered them in one space before the stage, counted down from ten, and then all caps were in the air. In our faculty, fortunately, we only have 3 departments. So they had enough time to call all of our names (though quickly, like going through a phonebook).

My department, Journalism, came first. It happened so fast. I didn't realize they called our names in alphabetical order until I heard mine--Esma Hanifeh Ahmet.

And there I was, running from the furthest row, passing my classmates while holding my poorly-placed cap on my head. I didn't even feel the pain in my feet.

Once we were on the stage, the dean of faculty handed us--not our diploma but--a certificate signed by the university chancellor, and told us to wait on the stage while waiting for the rest for a picture. I noticed then that a friend of mine was already standing by with a camera between other friends and families who already descended from the upper floor. I can't thank him enough for the picture of me standing proudly alongside my friends.

I was waving and smiling and feeling proud of myself. For a few moments, the pain and the heat were nothing.

It feels like a lifetime ago but I remember the feelings bursting in my chest like confetti. How I tried to awake all of my senses to absorb the surreality of the moment.

But I also remember when anxiety was swallowing me months before that, months before the final exam. I was so scared of getting lower than I had already been.

I spent my days regretting the days when I didn't push myself enough to read and understand the subjects. When plans to meet a professor and ask questions were never realized. When I was too shy to make friends with the smart Turkish students. When I limited my circle to my foreign friends who were brilliant but also struggling with the Turkish subjects.

I remember when the stress tightened my chest that I had trouble breathing, I thought I was gonna die from suffocation. I remember the nights I couldn't close my eyes and dream because my head was full of the noise of all of the overthinking about my failure. I remember crying most of the time, no matter how happy the song I listened to.

On an Instagram post (which is now archived), I wrote about when I confronted my fear to talk to my parents. I was calling my dad and talked to him about how I was finishing school in the near future. And like an ordinary Asian parent that he is, my dad went on to ask about the sensitive 'number' that will be printed on my diploma. I replied, mentioning a number and proceeded to ask him back, "are you disappointed?".

Are you disappointed in me, Dad? Because I am.

On the post I wrote:

The last five years have been a big chunk of my life when I find but also lose so many things. I often try to convince myself that 'finding yourself, knowing yourself a bit better is an achievement in and of itself'. But the question is; did I really? Find myself? This 22 year-old self seems to be better but is losing the entirety of that 17 year-old naïve and full of wonder girl is really what I want? I wonder why finding a new me also means losing the best part of my old self?

I was raised with the mentality that I should excel in school. That no number below 90 is allowed in my report card. My parents and teachers would start questioning what could be the reason for my 'regression' to becoming the second-best.

Every exam was like a war I wanted to be perfectly prepared for. I would begin to painstakingly arrange my notes and create a comprehensive list of all the topics highlighted by each teacher. I couldn't stand the thought of knowing that my friends (especially the smart and competitive ones) were more prepared or studied longer than me.

I was ruthless when it comes to succeeding in exams. Which was actually a good thing until I let the determination and the acknowledgment that came after becoming something that defined me. The only thing I cared about was whether I came out first in class or at least didn't regress to a lower rank. It didn't matter if what I studied would evaporate as soon as I exited the exam room.

I had my ups and downs. I had become the second-best as much as I rose as the first. Boys and phones were frequently mentioned as the reason behind my so-called failure. My mom almost gave up on me and thought that perhaps my 'glory' in the realm of academia had come to an end when I was the second-best for 2 years in a row during high school. Although then I proved that I was still 'bright' and managed to graduate with the highest grade in the entire school.

For 17 years, I was convinced that I could beat every subject easily. That I was gifted. That I could always be the best if I wanted to. But when I went to college, I realized that I was so far from being smart.

Among those brilliant minds, mine was like an old engine trying to catch up. I grew up valuing my grades more than anything else so when I failed, it felt like losing everything I had.

The result of my upbringing wasn't the only thing that dig the hole I fell into. There were times when I underestimated the importance of some exams and couldn't stop procrastinating. And I've paid a huge price for that, including spending most of my senior year regretting the actions.

I was ready to watch my world crumble. To have faces that once clapped for my victory pointing fingers at me and deemed me a disappointment.

But that night, the night I talked to my dad, something he said pulled me up.

"Disappointed? We never are. You've got yourself there by yourself and went through everything on your own. It's okay."

I've told my parents how hard it was to study in a totally new language. How no matter how hard I try, I didn't always get the result I've expected.

At that moment, I realized that they listened. They always did (and still do). They have changed.

And soon I learned to be proud of myself like my parents found their way to be proud of me. I learned that despite my failure, my loss, I've gained so much in exchange. Everything that happened during my 4 years in university taught me everything about myself.

So that day, I set aside all of the anxieties and disappointments and let myself celebrate. I let myself be proud of the new me. The one that values more than what some number on a paper could offer.

My body was stickier than a melted candy from all the sweat. But there was laugh, smile, confidence, and new hopes filling the room as our caps flying to the air.

I spent the rest of the day hugging my close friends, congratulating my classmates who were the best I could ever hope for (and without whom I could never survive university life), taking a bunch of pictures, and saying a lot of thank you's.

To God who blessed me with such supportive family and friends, to my parents who weren't present but continued to pray for me. And to my friends:

Rafida, who helped me prepare with flawless makeup and accompanied me during the morning hustle.

Nyakti and Dien who brought the sweetest bouquet and helped to freeze the moment in pictures.

Nour, who continued to give me hugs and tell me how proud she is of me.

Fauzi, who was always ready with a camera and didn't miss a moment.

Natul, my junior, who made time to come and congratulate me.

Kak Via, who also came and congratulate me in person with flowers and made the day better.

And everyone else who supported and congratulated me with the kindest words.

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Bonus images:

The hall where our graduation took place. No air-con or fan in sight.

I was somewhere in the crowd, celebrating a new milestone of my life. (Credit to: Fauzi)

I am third from left after my classmates Raneen and Ajtana who were always so kind to share their notes. (Credits: Fauzi)

(Left to right) Dien, Rafida, me (with tilted cap), and Nyakti (Credits: Fauzi)

(Left to right) Raf, me, and Fauzi (Credits: one of the girls)

Nyakti, Nour (who doesn't post her face on the net), me (with foggy glasses), Dien, and Natul

Me and Kak Via in front of my faculty

Me and Faozah who was always so supportive and kind. The first person I looked for everytime I came for class.

Me with Camilo, Nil, and Fao. Always so relieved to find either of theses faces at class.

The awesome squad (minus Nil, Ajtana, Bojana, and Raneen). The ones who played a major role in my college life. The best classmates I could ever wish for.

Raf organized an after-party at her apartment. There were ballons, snacks, and drinks in a cute bottle.

"For me, becoming isn’t about arriving somewhere or achieving a certain aim. I see it instead as forward motion, a means of evolving, a way to reach continuously toward a better self."

(Becoming, Michelle Obama)