I obtained my Masters in the late 1980s, pursuing the programme as a professional adult student. However, I did not get to attend the convocation ceremony because of financial constraints. Apart from receiving an embossed certificate in the post, I had no framed memory of the event which became an unrealised dream. The certificate holds pride of place in a document dossier of academic qualifications today.
This did not deter me from ensuring that my daughter would have a much-deserved and memorable moment when she graduated.
As a single working mother, I earnestly saved and sent my eldest daughter abroad to complete her degree. I kept in touch at a distance, and even though she had a much tougher time building her self-esteem, my daughter navigated her way to independence after three years.
Prior to the expiry of her student visa, she was informed that she had graduated with a double degree in Psychology & Economics from the University of Auckland. It came in the form of a congratulatory letter from her university informing her that her convocation ceremony would be held on May 2, 2011. She quickly informed me via email that I would finally get to attend a “real” graduation ceremony.
In preparation for the big day, she decided to pursue her three-month internship programme in Malaysia, and thereby earned enough money to finance her trip back to Auckland.
Coupled with a challenging on-job training programme and the reality of work-life balance, my daughter was exhausted from having to juggle too many expectations. By the time she completed her orientation programme, she had lost track of her personal email messages. She also failed to realise that the university was sending letters with regards to matters concerning the convocation ceremony to her hostel in Auckland (for which she had already given up the lease on).
We landed in New Zealand on a late Friday evening and quickly checked into a hostel very close to the university. Over the weekend, both of us took a quick tour of the deserted university grounds and we were informed that it was forecasted to be cold and rainy on that special day.
A friend managed to pick up her convocation kit that provided instructions on the requirements of the day, official procession, academic presentation, venue and gathering. On the eve of the occasion, my daughter was excitedly chatting on her mobile with friends, lecturers and fellow students close to midnight, when she gave out a loud scream!
One of her friends casually asked her whether she had collected her graduation regalia. That’s when she realised that the university had not sent a letter to our address in Malaysia.
The letter was supposed to have informed her to make prior arrangements to rent her graduation gown from a certain collection point. She was supposed to have made an online booking three weeks in advance.
With less than 10 hours to the grand procession, my daughter was restless with worry, angry for being under prepared and in a miserable teary mood. In her depression, she blamed herself for denying me the dream of seeing her graduate because of her oversight. We both hardly slept a wink. It was like a dull ache in the pit of my stomach which would not go way. The next morning with great determination, we hurriedly got dressed and ran to the old government house at the university to seek a solution from the graduate committee.
Taking the roads that winded its way through hills and slopes, I was frequently out of breath trying to keep the pace. By then, many students accompanied by their parents were already present in their dignified regalia awaiting the brunch served at the campus grounds.
I was aware of the sad and soul-bruising look on my daughter’s face as we failed to get any resolution to this problem.
Finally, she was advised to go back to the store that rented the regalia and plead her case. She was assured that they would definitely have had a contingency plan for similar cases.
Again, we ran a marathon instead of hiring a taxi, because the main road in the city was closed for the celebration parade.
By then, new graduates were seen walking excitedly - heads held in esteem, holding hands in achievement.
I should have been standing at the edge of the road, waving my daughter forward, instead of huffing and puffing my way to the other side of the city.
Taking note of the name of the store and its address, her friends gave her directions via mobile and we asked many strangers, until we finally sourced out the site. It was located six lanes across a busy highway. Thank god for angles because we risked our lives to cross the road against miles of oncoming traffic.
Thankfully, our exhausting journey was not in vain. The store had reserved ample stock of the regalia. The manager quickly sorted out the matter, and even though we had to pay a fine for the late order, we finally took ownership of her black and pink graduation robe.
By then, the rain continued to pour heavily, and without any raincoat or umbrella, we half walked and half ran 3km back to the hostel, to get ready for the main event - the conferment of degrees at 4pm.
Sheela's daughter, Dimithira Thavabalan, at her graduation.
