Law School, Closure, and Happiness
By Janina S. Fernando
Have you ever watched someone slip away without you knowing why? It sucks. Not knowing, I mean.
People come and go. It’s a given. But when someone who’s become part of your life walks out of it, leaving you without a clue, it creates a void inside you. Denying it doesn’t make any difference because no matter how many friends you try to convince that you really don’t need closure, you can’t fool yourself. You only get bitter, if not still hopeful.
The dilemma arises when the situation is beyond your control, such as the physical impossibility or the utter lack of concern from the other. How do you deal with that? When legal and emotional issues concur within a particular time frame, one can only pray for endurance and maybe, a little luck that he or she may be spared from being called for recitation. And although it is healthy to ask for closure from that someone, it is not always the available option.
Frankly, in this wonderful world of the study of law, emotional balance is a mere idea, imbalance being the hottest craze. We sort of assumed the risk of becoming a little less human for at least four years. As students in the Law School, we tend to “compartmentalize” issues, categorize and prioritize so as not to impede academic productivity. So we set aside matters personal in nature in hopes of a better grade - or a passing one, at least. And maybe, if we turn numb, the pain will go away and the void might get filled up with the doctrines and provisions we stuff our brains with.
Cheesy as it may seem, however, the heart cannot be subject to the writ of mandamus issued by the brain. You continue to bear the burden, although you try to postpone having to deal with it. The pain becomes dormant just until your schedule allows you to be all mushy and sentimental again.
My friend, Freedom, once told me, “Pretend that you’re happy, and one day you’ll realize that you are no longer pretending.” At first, it seemed so superficial to act as if you’re not hurting. I was thinking that if I do, it might eat me up inside or make me miserable. But did miracles- pretending and, eventually, forgetting. I was happy. Happier, even.
It works for some of us, I suppose. For self-preservation. Others just need to face the problem head-on. Right here, right now. After a few semesters, we learn through experience and determine which emotional strategy will make us better law students. Happiness comes in a different shape here in the Law School. It is not always apparent, but it does exist.
It lies in the spaces between midterms and the day when recitation actually starts to stress you out again. It applies in the moments you share with block mates (a.k.a. those who are similarly situated) getting drunk, loud, and wasted. And you learn to appreciate (or laugh at) those unforgettable episodes that take place on the rare occasions you can afford to lose yourselves. It creeps up during our worst, when we’re not inclined to see, when we’re too busy sulking over 75’s and 68’s. But it’s most likely to be there - waiting to be found. Probably just staring right back at us. It exists between the tears in our eyes, sits on the curve of our lips, manifests in the friendships we gain and heard in the laughter we share.
I have always believed happiness to be something that everybody is entitled to. Law School shouldn’t be a hindrance. One only becomes unhappy when he deprives himself/herself and others the freedom to hope for a better day.
As for closure, whether you sit and wait for it or grab it by the balls, it’s just an option. When we grow up, we realize that you don’t really need to know the what-ifs and the whys anymore; that what is so special about tomorrow is that we never know what it brings; that whether it’s good or bad, there is always a reason to hope and that it is only hopeless if you give up on it.
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