As I Sit Here

It’s 5 minutes past midnight, the house that shelters me is now free from the noise of the crowds I used to soak myself into. I stare into my laptop. Taking a YouTube crash course on how to use a software is not how I imagined myself to be today.

Six years ago, I was a fearless and stubborn kid at the raw age of sixteen. I have just ran away from home for the first time. I had dreams and aspirations I just couldn’t give up. I had high hopes, and even higher dreams. My mom used to say the words “Pag masyadong mataas ang lipad, masakit ang lagapak.” (If you fly too high, you’ll fall hurting yourself.) And I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to be stuck in a place where people doesn’t seem to know how to dream. We were living in a small town in a province where everybody knows almost everybody. One day when I was in fifth grade, my English teacher and I started talking after classes. She’s always encouraged me to write because she said that I have a nice narrative and point of view. She said that at my early age, I already have reasonable opinion about things. While we were talking, I told her that I want to leave that place someday.  She asked me why, as if questioning my mindset. So I told her that I want to be someone, not just anyone. She then told me how she’s happy and fulfilled with her life being a wife to her high school classmate and a mother to their children. She teaches in the same school where she and her husband, and their kids have all graduated. Even then, I find it disgusting to romanticize a simple life, but of course I didn’t raise the argument. She then told me that one day I would be known in my chosen field, that I may be someone who would make a name for myself.

Six years ago, I decided to take my own advice and try to make a name for myself. I know it wouldn’t happen right away, i had to start early. I have a goal that by the time I’m twenty years old, I have already established myself. It was a little ambitious, but I haven’t realized it then. I was so focused on my dreams to be realistic. I was sixteen, jobless with no particular skill to get one, underage, and a runaway. Soon after my High School graduation march, I packed up my bags and left, and never returned to this day. I had a estranged relationship with my family after that, only communicating with them on certain occasions. I was too busy to survive on my own that I hadn’t realized the importance of personal relationships.

I was in and out of jobs, not being able to bear the eight hours of minimum wage. But lo and behold, came my seventeenth year. I was sending myself to school in a prominent state university, shuffling between my studies, work, and thirst for new skills to catapult me into my ambitions. I stumbled into a hobby that later became my profession. My English teacher was right, I will make a name for myself. By the time I was of legal age, I have already made a living, and a name in the small scale industry. I was nothing sort of special, but I was ambitious and I did all that I could to bring myself up.

As my life changed from struggles to success, so were everything in my life. I guess liberation was never meant for the youth, much less to those of the likes of me who was experiencing financial growth. I became someone who found happiness in being on top of the world. I was successful, young, and rich. I have slowly patched things up with my family. I had cool friends. I was looked upon by people my age, envied even. I became a standard.  And I enjoyed every moment in the spotlight.

But not even the spotlight could conceal my loneliness. For deep down, I long to be in someone’s arms, not just in a romantic way, but I want to belong to someone. After the all nighters I pulled for my work, I still go to bed tired and alone. Even after all the crazy party nights I had with the coolest people, I’d still go home to an empty house. No matter how confident I appear in public, I was nothing but a sad, insecure teenager who grew up too fast because of my ambitions. I was still a kid. I longed for attention, understanding, and belonging. But I was too focused to realize that, again. Instead on dwelling in my loneliness, I entertained myself in all ways possible. I drowned myself in the crowd, for the loud party music makes me forget how I feel. I drank my heart out in alcohol, burned my feelings along with the packs of cigarettes I consume in a day, and partied my way out of the loneliness that overshadows me. And it worked. For a while, I have ceased feeling. Or maybe I have forgotten how to feel. I haven’t shed a single tear since I ran away from home.

But tonight as I sit here, writing this, I could feel the tears creeping down on my face, as if they didn’t want to be noticed. It sucks when it finally dawns on you that you are not perfect as you hoped you’d be. Life has a crazy way of fucking everyone up. Two months of isolation (because of the pandemic) made me realize that everyone else is busy with their own fucked up life to care about yours. I looked at all the people on my social media and realized that I don’t have friends. These people are the ones I used to hide my insecurities in the superficial world I built for myself.

Today, at twenty two, I feel like my life has come to a turning point where I have to rebuild everything again from scratch. I didn’t finish my degree, working freelance for years had left me jobless, and this empty house has tormented me since day 1. And if I’m going to be honest enough, I am worthless. After all these years, my mom was right when she said that I would get hurt falling down from my high ambitions. I was wrong when I thought my English teacher was romanticizing her simple life. I was wrong to think all that I thought of the world.

I believe that we are a product of our own experiences. Those are what makes us. But I couldn’t help thinking – what if I’m already made?