My seniors say that dating an orgmate is a horrible idea. It’ll be awkward and complicated, and it almost always doesn’t end well.

But when it comes to you, my mind and body seems to refuse to listen to reason. My eyes always seem to avert your gaze. My shoulders clench up whenever it slightly touches yours in our org tambayan. And my normally articulate self turns mum when you yap about unreasonable professors and BINI’s discography. 

I admire how everything comes easy for you. From how you helped us gracefully handle our apps night fiasco to your effortless organizing of our flagship event, I am constantly in awe at how you work and handle yourself. 

I feel that grace, that easiness, in the short moments that we spend together. Even if fleeting, the small things you do make me linger in the fantasy that perhaps there’s something more. I hope there was when we shared your earphones to listen to The Ridleys because you said they were your favorite and you wanted me to listen. Or that time when you leaned your head on my shoulders for a little while.

I’ve been mulling it over with my friends—whether or not it was wise for me to line up for hours along the academic oval for a date I’m not even sure will happen yet. It’s the first time I’ve ever let myself be driven by impulse. It’s hard for me to do anything without thinking of the million different scenarios where my actions become unmitigated disasters. I don’t want to scare you away and lose the few interactions we have that make my university life a bit more bearable.

But as some of them said, nothing ever runs on pure logic alone. We are driven by our emotions, whether it be passion or love. Besides, we can’t miss the Ridleys, right? I listen to them now almost every day and I’ve already bought the tickets anyway. Maybe, just this once, impulse is good.

I’ve been holding on to these tickets for weeks, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask you when I was sitting next to you during our org’s general assembly. Or when we went out for drinks at Pop Up. Or when we bought canton at the kiosk, just us two. But perhaps this publication’s stringent deadlines will finally push me to action. ●

First published in the March 31, 2025, print edition of the Collegian.