Highway to Happy

Sometimes, life gets really tough, making me want to give up and just let the world succumb me.

Last night was a perfect example.

Because of four straight days of merely 3 hours of sleep, my system just gave up and resisted to bear another (almost) sleepless night. I got home around 8pm, had my dinner and sat in our sofa. The next thing I knew, I was staring at our clock in horror, realizing it was already 1am.

I panicked; to the point of just freezing right there for a few more minutes. It felt like sleeping for 4 hours was a crime. I had a 1-inch thick, back to back, reading assignment and a case to finish for that day’s class. And no, I wasn’t cramming because I set those things aside for the past few days. It was assigned that same day. So the moment the professor announced our homeworks, crunch time started.

For some, perhaps, this may sound too shallow but I reached my breaking point right there. I cried. I cried as if someone took away something from me; I cried not just because of what happened; I cried because of all the pressures, the disappointments and the fears that were all piling up in my heart.

Without even thinking, I reached for my phone and called him. Hearing his voice, I knew, would take away whatever was hurting me.


In the moment I thought I was ready to let my dreams slip out of my grip and just stop to watch everyone overtake me, it took him only 8 words to stop the sobbing and hurting:

Gawin mo na lang para sa kin, ha?


That was it.

In my low point, he picked me up and carried me in his arms until I was strong enough to walk again with my own feet. And as I ended the call, I could almost hear (one of) our song (s) playing on the background.

Whenever I pick up the newspapers to read, I often find myself freezing for a second to think whether it’s still worth my time. Newspapers are supposed to contain news, among others, and news is a report of recent events. But how in the world will I be sure that what I read about are facts and not just some made- up yarns?

Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not questioning the credibility of journalists. Well, not this time, at least. What I am protesting about is how some ‘well- respected’ personalities intentionally manipulate this country’s history.

Day by day, I watch interviews of politicians uttering selfless words yet not meaning them. I mean, for Christ’s sake, how can they lie with a straight face? In front of the entire country?

Today, our dear Philippines is in a really bad shape. We lack the budget to sustain growth, or even just to maintain whatever we have. That’s what they’ve been trying to put into our heads, anyway. But who knows? Even the papers might be wrong. Only those rich, famous and powerful know. They treat our country as their little board game.

And now, as another controversy unfolds, or rather, as shortly forgotten accusations resurface, prominent figures are doing what they do best again: appearing on stage, delivering speeches they don't even write, themselves. In fairness to a handful of courageous souls, they came out to tell the truth. Right now, we still can’t tell who’s who. Everyone’s sharing the same limelight. But, at the end of the show, I’m sure, there are people who’ll be marked with disgrace and would be willing to trade faces with dogs.

They came as clowns, after all. They’ll leave as one, too.

After killing several brain cells while working on my thesis, a kind of funny question popped in my mind: IF I HAD NO IDEA WHEN MY BIRTHDAY WAS, HOW OLD WOULD I THINK I AM TODAY?

Silly question- but a difficult silly question at that.

So how old would I think I am right now?

If I will base my answer on the way I converse with my dad, I’m probably 12 years old.

If I will base my answer on the way I handle pressures in school, I can consider myself in my early twenties.

If I will base my answer on how I behave whenever Keng and I argue about something, I’m probably 15.

If I will base my answer on the way I view life, especially when I’m being profound, I’m already in my thirties.

Spending a few minutes mulling over this question made me realize that age doesn’t show how we deal with life. On the contrary, it's how we deal with life that reflects how old we are. The decisions we make, the goals we set, they are based purely on our level of maturity. The candles on top of the cake will never be the basis of our actions. In that case, it’s never scary growing older.

So to all teenagers out there, don’t make stupid and careless judgments just because you think you’re young and you can afford to make them. You will never be able to turn around everything you’ve done when you realized you’re old enough to start taking life seriously. Oopsie. Pardon my unsolicited advice; I’m just a no- longer- a- teenager-in-a-few months-time trying to share what life has taught me.

By the way, for the sake of answering the question, I can say I probably would think I am 23 years old- for the sole reason that my brother is 22 and I am definitely, definitely more matured than he is. *wink*

Late last night, while I was (as usual) cramming for our thesis’ first draft, I received a message from Keng inquiring about this guy who left a comment in my friendster account.

Well, Keng wasn’t really the jealous type so I thought he just wanted to know who he was, since the guy was my friend way back in Elementary and was someone he obviously haven’t met. Apparently, though, he got really jealous. The next thing I knew, he sent me this message:

Sorry, I can’t meet you on Wednesday.

Got other things to do. Meet you on Vday n lng.

Honestly, I smiled upon reading that message- not that I don’t want to have a corpodate on Wednesday. I smiled for two reasons: I felt ‘kilig’ knowing he still gets jealous and, the fact that he said we’ll meet on Valentine’s day means, despite the petty tiff, the future is still clear. I’ll have him there, and he’ll sure have me in his, too.

If there’s anything that has been really our secret for staying this long and this happy together, it’s the certainty we hold in our hearts; that despite and in spite of everything, we’ll come home to each other.


I love you, dear.. I’ll wait for you on wednesday...

I really don’t know how to say this; I honestly have no idea where to start. So rather than squeezing my mind for droplets of perfect words, I’ll just say it in the exact way it occurred in my mind:

Sitting in a chair while I watch people work so, so hard to the point of spending sleepless nights in the office, I finally accepted the fact that life is, indeed, a race.

As students, we work doubly hard just to attain good grades in the hopes of getting closer to a bright future. As someone who is in her last year of playing that role, I thought the race-like feeling of living my life would end upon graduation.

Apparently, I thought wrong.

Being exposed to the corporate/ real world for more than a week now has opened my eyes to the reality I have long been trying hard not to notice. I really didn’t want to accept the fact that people are natured ambitious. Not that it’s something negative; I just find it tiring, that’s all.

But sooner or later, I know, I’ll also unravel that ‘natured ambitious’ side of me. I will soon set concrete goals for myself and I will do my best to attain them. However, unlike some who lose track of the other more important things in their lives, while running after their dreams, I will never forget the people who make my life complete.

So now, more or less, I’m ready to live life the way it is to be lived- I will dream and reach my dreams no matter how far they are. I will work doubly hard without complaining about stress and pressures. But when it gets really tiring, like how I don’t want my life to be, I will crawl back to my own little world where disappointments don’t exist and achievements are attained effortlessly. I will let the loving arms of my most favorite person in the world embrace me. And there, no matter what, I’ll always be above everyone else.

Few hours ago, a quite disappointing reality struck me:


Life is a race.


Howbeit, right this very minute, I realized:


If life is, indeed, a race…..

…then Keng is definitely my sweetest pit stop.