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“The scroll is handed, the robe is worn, the applause is brief but I still ask what is truly being recognised?”

The Ritual and Ceremony

I stood in line behind others who had also endured. The robe was borrowed, the scroll pre-printed. We were told to smile, to walk, to pause for the photograph. I did, I smiled, I walked, I paused.

The applause was polite. A ripple a gesture. It lasted less than a minute.

Later, someone asked what I had learned. I couldn’t answer. Not because I hadn’t learned, but because the ceremony had nothing to do with it.

Recognition, they said. Achievement. Merit. But what was being recognised? The hours? The compliance? The silence?

I thought of the others who didn’t walk. Who couldn’t. Who weren’t invited.

I thought of the rituals I performed alone, making tea, opening windows, lighting candles. No applause. No robe. But meaning to me, nonetheless.

The ceremony was a performance. The ritual was mine and that was good enough to end an era.