"I am sorry, but the presentation that you have reported to us panelists didn't satisfy the criteria that we have set," said one of the panelists who is also a professor.
"But Mr. Calerio, we adhered to the guidelines of the capstone," Matthew protested as his bead trickled down his sweat.
This is the fourth time he failed the design project 1 course, and failing in this report would mean another semester wasted, and a delay to his graduation.
"You followed the format of the presentation, but the project that you have reported is not aligned with the mechanical engineering program, it is mostly aligned with sanitary engineers. It is obvious that filtration tanks are more of a sanitary engineering expertise, not mechanical."
"But the design of those filtrations is not exclusive to the sanitary engineers, there are courses in mechanical engineering that were used in the design process," Matthew didn't waver and continued. "Courses like Thermodynamics and Fluid Mechanics were applied in the design process. The optimization of flow rates, pressure regulation, and material selection are integral parts of mechanical engineering."
The panelist shook his head and a sigh escaped his lips. "But does your design adhere to the guidelines and specifications of government standards for filtration systems? And did you validate it through simulation or real-world application?"
Matthew's voice faltered as he answered, "I conducted simulations to test the structural integrity and efficiency…"
The panelist cut him off. "Simulations, Mr. Borja, are only as good as the assumptions behind them. Did you consult with experts in the field? Did you account for real-world variables like wear, maintenance, or unforeseen environmental factors? Or did you simply rely on theoretical calculations?"
"I… I used the resources available to me," Matthew stammered, his confidence dwindling. "With the limited budget and—"
"Limited budget? That is no excuse for insufficient rigor," another panelist interjected, their tone sharp. "Real engineers find solutions, not excuses. Your project lacks depth, and your defense shows that you failed to anticipate basic questions. This is not the level of work we expect from someone at the brink of graduation."
Matthew clenched his fists, trying to suppress his growing frustration. "I poured months of effort into this. I've worked late nights, consulted every resource I could—"
"But effort alone is not enough. Engineering is about results, not intentions. This project is a failure in the context of this program. I recommend you reconsider your approach if you wish to succeed next time."
The words struck Matthew like a sledgehammer. His vision blurred as he heard the final, decisive comment.
"We're sorry, Mr. Borja. But we cannot approve this project."
With that, the panelist filed out one by one, until there were three of them left in the reporting.
Their faces were blanketed with a depressed expression, and one of them wrapped their things such as the projectors they had borrowed, papers that they printed for the panelist to see, and the food that wasn't eaten.
"It's too fucking impossible for a student to get those data!" one of Matthew's groupmate cursed. "Why the heck are they making it so hard for us students? What do they expect from us? We're just students, of course, it'd be obvious that we wouldn't know everything!"
"They expect us to deliver like we're seasoned engineers with decades of experience. It's ridiculous. Do they think we have access to industrial experts and unlimited funding?"
Matthew remained silent, staring blankly at the floor. His mind replayed the panelist's words, each one cutting deeper than the last.
"They didn't even give constructive feedback. All they did was point out what was wrong! How is that supposed to help us improve? Do they expect us to just magically figure it out?"
"It's not just us," the second groupmate said, shaking her head. "This system is broken. How many students before us have failed because of these unrealistic expectations? And now it's happening to us."
Matthew finally spoke. "It doesn't matter what they expect or how broken the system is. We failed, and that's the reality we have to face."
His words silenced the group.
"I don't think I can do this anymore," Matthew added, his voice barely audible. "This is the fourth time I've failed…and it could be my last."
"What do you mean Matthew?"
"My father said that if I fail one subject again, he would throw me out of the house. So I don't think I'd be able to enroll next semester," Matthew said depressingly. "I'm going to go home now. Thank you for the effort guys…"
Matthew grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he avoided the sympathetic gazes of his groupmates.
"Matthew, wait," one of his group mates called after him, but he didn't stop. The last thing he wanted was more pity or empty reassurances. None of it would fix his situation.
The bus ride home was silent and cold. Matthew stared out of the window, the city lights blurring as his thoughts spiraled.
His father's ultimatum rang in his ears: "One more failure, and you're on your own."
What would he do? Where would he go? His family already saw him as the black sheep, the perpetual disappointment. Another failure was the nail in the coffin.
When he finally reached his house, and to his bedroom, the small space felt more suffocating than ever. The clutter of textbooks, notes, and half-finished models mocked him.
He dropped his bag by the door and sank into the creaky desk chair.
For a while, he sat in silence, the ticking of the clock the only sound in the room. His phone buzzed with messages from his groupmates, but he ignored them. He didn't have the energy to explain himself, to answer their concerns.
Then, his father called.
Matthew stared at the screen, his heart racing. He hesitated, knowing exactly how the conversation would go, but eventually, he answered.
"Well? How did it go?" his father asked with an impatient tone.
Matthew swallowed hard. "I failed."
The line went silent for a moment, and then his father's voice erupted. "Again? Matthew, do you have any idea how much money I've wasted on you? How many chances have I given you? And for what? Another failure?"
"I tried," Matthew said weakly. "I really did—"
"Trying isn't good enough! You're not a child anymore. At this point, you're just throwing your life away, and I'm not going to let you drag this family down with you. You're done, Matthew. You hear me? Pack your things. You're out of this house."
The call ended abruptly, leaving Matthew staring at the blank screen. His chest tightened, and a wave of despair crashed over him. His father's words confirmed what he already feared: he was alone now.
Hours later, Matthew found himself standing on the rooftop of their condominium. The cold wind bit at his skin as he looked down at the city below. There was traffic, occasional horns of the cars, the city lights, everything that is making the city colorful. But to his eyes, they were all lifeless.
"This is it," he whispered to himself. "There's nothing left for me."
He stepped closer to the edge, his heart pounding in his ears. He closed his eyes, ready to let go.
"Stop."
Matthew's eyes shot open, and he turned around, startled. A figure stood in the shadows holding a small, ornately carved wooden box.
"Who… Who are you?" Matthew asked, his voice trembling.
The figure stepped forward, he had a mask on so he couldn't see his face.
"Let's just say that I am you…"
"You are me?" Matthew repeated. "What are you talking about?"
"There's not enough time," the masked figure interrupted, extending the small wooden box toward Matthew. "Take this, and don't ask questions. It will change everything."
Matthew hesitated, his eyes darting between the box and the figure. "Why should I trust you? I don't even know who you are."
The figure tilted his head slightly, as though pondering the question. "Trust isn't the issue here. Your life is hanging by a thread, and this is your chance to pull yourself back from the edge. If you don't take it, you'll never know what could have been."
Matthew stared at the box, he wondered what's inside the box, and why is it so important for that man to give it to him. But slowly, he reached out and took the box.
"What's in this?" he asked.
"Hope," the figure replied simply. "Hope and a future you can't even begin to imagine. Use it wisely."
Before Matthew could press further, the figure turned and walked towards the exit.
"Wait!"
Matthew ran towards the door, hoping he could chase after the man. But the moment he reached and opened the door, the man was nowhere to be seen.