Tara Pancit?
Whenever people ask me what I will remember most about law school, perhaps they would expect me to talk about unforgettable professors or the countless nights spent memorizing provisions and doctrines or the never dying Chi Ming Tsoi Case or perchance Ma’am Elsa giving the signal that you did not pass the subject.
But to no avail, I would always respond that law school will always remind me of a plate of Pancit Batil Patong.
“Balor 150” to be exact.
Why?
Some of my clearest memories of law school happened around a plate of Pancit Batil Patong. As an Isabelino, I had a fair share and high standard in terms of pancit since we technically and culturally founded Pancit Cabagan. But upon entering the halls of Tuguegarao to study, Pancit Batil Patong being served in those cozy Panciteria’s awakened something in me.
Served on a humble plate, its flat noodles carried the richness of carabeef and the familiar comfort of a poached egg placed at the top of the serving and beside the bountiful plate filled with conventional toppings, it sat a bowl of hot egg soup broth releasing steam into the humid air of Tuguegarao.
And just like that, the delicacy became my sanctuary.
There was the pancit after surviving my first examination week, when everything still felt new and I was still convincing myself that I belonged.
As a summary, there was the pancit after I nearly flunked the 5-unit Obligations and Contracts, when the weight of the subject felt heavier than the panciteria chairs I sat on. There was the pancit after a surprise quiz in our Taxation Law Review and Integration class, the coverage of which looked forward instead of back where I managed to get only 8 out of 30 and learned that preparation sometimes still falls short.
There was the pancit after I flunked Public International Law, after losing precious minutes in the final exam and watching three unanswered items quietly decide my fate. There was the pancit after finishing a series of legal caravans in the towns of Aparri, Sta. Teresita, Cabagan, Amulung, among others, which is shared with friends, when exhaustion did not feel like defeat because it was softened by laughter, shared “AggabaoNotes,” and the quiet liberation of having made it through together.
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And finally, there was the pancit I consumed when Ma’am Elsa signed my application for graduation, after I finally passed the remaining subjects in the College of Law when the same hands that once marked uncertainty on my papers now confirmed that I could finally move forward.
Somehow, Pancit Batil Patong became a witness to all of it.
Soon, I will no longer be a law student. That thought still feels unfamiliar.
For years, introducing myself as a law student felt natural. It defined my schedule and my priorities. Now, as graduation approaches, I find myself preparing to say goodbye not only to a school but also to the version of myself that grew within it.
Perhaps that is why a simple plate of Pancit Batil Patong carries so much meaning because when I remember it, I do not merely remember the food.
I remember the student who ordered it. The student who doubted himself. The student who struggled through readings and recitations. The student who nearly quit on difficult days but returned anyway. The student who is now preparing to graduate.
Years from now, I may forget the details of many cases I once memorized like the case of G.V. Florida Transport, inc. vs Heirs of Romeo L. Battung in Commercial Law. But I suspect that all it will take is one plate of Pancit Batil Patong, a bowl of steaming broth, and the familiar scent of carabeef and egg to bring me back to Tuguegarao.
Back to UCV. Back to the people who helped me survive it.
Back to the young man who arrived with dreams and is now leaving with a diploma, a deeper appreciation for perseverance, and a gratitude that words can barely express.
And now, I say, some chapters do not end when you close them because they simply change the way they are remembered.
Tara Pancit?
