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The 5 Stages of CRS Grief: Enlistment Period
- 6 days ago
- 10 min read
Written by: Ynah Ordoñez and Viking Chua
Art by: Ynah Ordoñez
TRUE OR FALSE: Enlistment period is one of the most stressful things about being a UP student. Meron bang extremely true?
Before the start of the semester, the first generational lock-in the UP Diliman Student Body performs is the one where they fight for the subjects they need, which is also known as enlistment period. Enlistment period is a month-long process that involves checking anything and anywhere for subject and professor suggestions, enlisting for our desired units, waiting for results to come out, raging over our schedule or lack thereof, trying again, and constantly refreshing CRS in the hopes that a miracle happens.
“I think that getting units in UP is a mix of tiyaga or perseverance and luck (but honestly, mainly luck),” shared by David Silava, a third-year student from BS Business Administration and Accountancy. “I say this because there are the 1 percenters who are still able to secure a full load despite starting out with 0 units at the start of pre-enlistment.” For David, he prays for luck because CRS’ algorithm for assigning students is randomized. He adds, “Then, you need tiyaga because you have to search for classes with open slots and go to professors who accept prerogs.”
Sometimes, despite searching and begging, we still don’t meet the ideal, glorious fifteen units. It is extremely understandable to feel sad, angry, anxious and everything in between. In line with this, many students display the five stages of grief (whether they know it or not) during this dreadful period in order to cope with that feeling of struggle. Ever had to go through hell and back just to enlist for a class here in UP Diliman? Here are The Five Stages of Grief: Enlistment Period Edition.
What are the Five Stages of Grief?
According to Kübler-Ross, the five stages are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
To understand it quickly…
Denial is refusing to accept reality by maintaining hope, even if past evidence suggests otherwise.
Anger is the feeling of extreme frustration around the situation.
Bargaining is trying to improve the situation and feel better through negotiation.
Depression is characterized by deep sadness or hopelessness.
Acceptance is finding peace with the situation, coming to terms with reality and understanding that even if things can’t be changed, we must move forward.
Denial
Denial is a river in Egypt… and a feeling caused by CRS.
Denial often starts with us thinking about maybe’s. Maybe I will get that slot in the class I want, maybe someone will drop their slot or maybe the department will feel bad and will add more slots or classes. Because of this, we still end up enlisting or waitlisting in it despite the fact that the odds are most probably against us. Here, denial is the small spark of hope we have as we try to manifest our golden schedule. This comes with us not wanting to put any negative energy into the air, because what if doing so might jinx our chances? And so, we enlist our first choices of subjects and wish for the best.
We also resort to posting manifestation memes on our social media stories. Usually, these have candles that make up a summoning circle and a caption that says “full units this sem” or “CRS, choose me, pick me, love me” It’s a fun spin on the classic coping mechanisms we have, turning our anxieties into jokes and rituals that are relatable to every UP student. Just like what they say, “delulu until true-lulu.” After posting these rituals and enlisting in classes, we feel like we are on top of the world! Albeit all the uncertainty, we are just glad that the first round of enlistment is over. We close our CRS tabs and sleep with a tiny spark of hope that when we wake up the next morning, we are greeted with a good schedule and full load.
Anger
Anger hits the moment all that hope from Denial collapses. After carefully planning our priorities and choosing only the subjects we truly need, we hype ourselves up into believing that this semester will finally go our way. Then, we open CRS and see the dreaded words: “0 units enlisted”
Suddenly, all that manifesting, all those summoning-circle memes, all those positive vibes, all those prio-setting and strategic plotting... for what?
And that’s where the anger really comes in.
It’s not just the frustration of not getting our classes. It’s the deeper, collective rage of realizing that the real problem isn't us — it’s the system we have no control over. It’s the fact that year after year, thousands of students scramble for slots because there simply aren’t enough classes, teachers, rooms, or resources to match the needs of the UP students. It’s the anger that no matter what we do, how early we enlist or how strategic we plan, the odds are stacked against us because the supply isn’t there.
So, we start to spiral. How come the system hates us? Why does CRS never manage to give us the classes we want? How do some people manage to get all fifteen units while we’re still stuck with nine? The frustration builds up until we’re staring blankly at your CRS, questioning our life choices, and even starting to reconsider our choices, thinking, “Maybe I should’ve clicked a different class. Maybe if I tried another section, I’d have had a better chance.”
This is the stage where the social media rants begin. Instagram becomes your diary, and every UP student seems to be collectively losing it with you. You laugh at the memes, but deep down, you’re fighting the urge to throw your laptop across the room. Some people try to channel their rage productively — like sending polite but emotionally charged emails to professors, while others straight up crash out and rant to their friends who are equally cursed by CRS.
Anger during CRS season isn’t just frustration; it’s the cry of every student who just wants a fighting chance at a balanced schedule. It’s the rage of knowing that, somehow, no matter how early you enlist or how hard you try, the randomizer always wins.
Once we’ve exhausted that anger, once the shouting in the void turns quiet, we enter the part of the cycle we all know too well: When the fury settles, and we tell ourselves, “Okay… so what now?”
Which leads us to the next hurdle: Bargaining.
Bargaining
After anger, we realize that we need to do something about our situation because we can’t let ourselves be underloaded without even trying yet. Enter the prerog process, and with it usually comes a new mantra: to just get regular load, even if it’s not the class, professor, or schedule we initially wanted.
[Re] It takes a community to build a UP student, and in the same way, it takes a community to get the classes we want. In this shared struggle of attaining units, UP students don’t hesitate to help each other out by spreading news on newly opened classes and professors accepting prerogs, and asking for contact details, office locations and classroom numbers, if we plan to visit professors in person if necessary. People do this through online forums, groupchats, and even word of mouth. It is ultimately rooted in the idea that no one gets left behind. We may hear jokes like “Kahit ako nalang makakuha ng units, hindi na kayo,” but at the end of the day, we don’t really mean it, and hope that everyone gets their classes. As UP students, we are well aware of the system that is full of uncertainty and lacks fairness, so we show up and try to provide help in any way we can.
Next, we email professors to inform them about our current load, explain why we need their class, and ask if they can extend a helping hand by accepting us. When Red Espiritu, a second-year student of B Public Administration, was asked about his prerog experience, he said, “Personally, I believe in the power of prerogging as I managed to get complete units this semester because of it. I have to say that it really takes effort because I spent so much time searching for classes that still had slots or a low demand, and of course, contacting professors.” He added that there were some instances where he emailed professors, but they never got back to him or did not allow prerogs entirely. He has also heard stories from his friends that they had to sing, dance, or recite a poem in front of their class in order to “earn” their slot. He said, “Thankfully, I haven’t had to do any of those, but if I had to, I would still do it just to be part of the class.” Desperate times call for desperate measures, is truly a motto UP students know all too well.
Depression
After the anger and bargaining stage, silence takes over. We stare at your CRS dashboard in defeat, the numbers “9/15 units” haunting you like a ghost. Suddenly, the once-bright hope of a perfect schedule feels like nothing more than a dream. We stop refreshing CRS because you already know nothing will change.
This is the stage where reality sinks in. The classes we wanted are gone, the professors we emailed never replied, and the only GE left open is one that meets at 7 AM. We start to ponder and ask ourselves these questions:
“What did I do to deserve this?”
“What am I gonna do now?”
We scroll through your friends’ stories and see some of them celebrating their full loads and fixed schedules. We smile for them, but also… ouch. Because deep down we remember how, just a few days ago, during the Bargaining stage, we literally pray, manifest, and joke around, saying, “Sana ako na lang makakuha ng units, hindi sila.” Now here we are, stuck with nine units while the same people we helped find prerog profs are posting victory announcements. Suddenly, we’re hit with thoughts like, “Sana hindi ko na lang siya tinulungan mag-prerog”, or “Sana mawala na lang bigla yung sem para hindi ko na kailangan maghanap ng isa pang unit para maging regular load.”
We start romanticizing the misery in every way possible, blasting a sad playlist at 2 AM, zoning out in front of CRS, imagining alternate universes where a single slot magically opens, or contemplating dramatic lines like “CRS said no, so I guess the universe did too.” The negativity piles up until it feels like we’re drowning in it, stuck between my envy, regret, and the quiet horror of realizing we might actually start the sem underloaded.
This stage isn’t just sadness; it’s exhaustion. You’ve fought the system, begged professors, and lost sleep, only to be left underloaded. Still, there’s a quiet comfort in knowing that there are other UP students like you who are tired, confused, and emotionally drained as you are. In a way, that shared misery becomes its own kind of solidarity.
Acceptance
Eventually, we reach the stage where we just… let go. We stop fighting the system, stop refreshing CRS every five minutes, and finally accept that maybe this semester just isn’t meant to be perfect, and that’s okay.
Acceptance doesn’t come with joy, but with peace. We start saying things like “At least may slots ako,” or “Bawi next sem.” We rearrange our schedule, fill in the gaps with random GEs, and slowly make it work. Maybe it’s not the prof we wanted, or the time slot we hoped for, but hey, it’s better than nothing.
This is also the stage where we begin to laugh at the whole experience. We start sharing your CRS war stories with friends, joking about how we survived with sheer luck. The same ordeal that once made you cry now becomes content for future chika sessions.
Somewhere along the way, you realize that CRS, for all its chaos, somehow always works out. You meet new classmates you wouldn’t have otherwise met, discover professors you actually enjoy, and end up learning more about patience, resilience, and surrender than any GE could teach.
Acceptance, in the end, is the realization that the UP experience was never meant to be smooth; it’s meant to be survived. Being an Iskolar ng Bayan comes with its ups and downs, and that journey starts even before the first day of class. From the moment we fight, for slots during enlistment, to navigating campus life, to lining up for graduation papers and eventually waiting to purchase a Sablay, the path we take is never straight, clean, or effortless.
CRS is just the first reminder of that. Every semester, it throws us into yet another challenge — one that tests our patience, our humour, our adaptability, and our ability to thug it out until things somehow fall into place. And as much as we accept our fate in defeat, we also accept it as a challenge, as it is what UP has always asked of us: to find ways, make do, adjust, persist, and rise above systems that don’t always rise with us.
In that sense, enlistment becomes a small but defining piece of the bigger UP journey, chaotic, unpredictable, and rocky, yet something we learn to navigate with resilience season after season.
At the end of it all, CRS season feels less like a system and more like a personality test, one that reveals your patience, determination, and ability to function under emotional distress. Every UP student knows this cycle too well: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. We joke about it every semester, but deep down, it’s a shared experience that unites us all.
But as much as enlistment is a personal battle, it’s also a reflection of something bigger. Our collective frustration, the underloading, the overflowing waitlists, the endless prerog emails, the “0 units enlisted” – all point toward a deeper issue: a lack of academic resources that can keep up with the growing UP student body. We feel anger not just because we missed a class, but because the system itself wasn’t built to fully support us. And that reality shows that the fight for slots is also a fight for better access to quality.
Enlistment isn’t just about getting classes; it’s about surviving the process. It teaches us to adapt, to keep trying even when the odds feel completely random, and to laugh at the absurdity of it all. That’s what UP trains us to do— find humor in chaos, comfort in struggle, and community in collective pain.
So when CRS season comes around again, remember it’s okay to feel frustrated, tired, or even a little dramatic. Everyone’s going through the same thing. Just take a deep breath, refresh one last time, and trust that somehow, you’ll make it through. Maybe not with the perfect schedule, but with another story to tell.
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