Keep Going ;

It was Wednesday. Our work shift changed a bit three days ago because of the Daylight Saving Time. I was fine with it because I anticipated the shift. I was prepared for it. However, what I wasn't prepared for was the changes in the tasks assigned to me. It was chaotic and I wasn't expecting it. I struggled that day. I wasn't sure if I met any deadlines and I was anxious for more than half of the day because of that. Sitting there, in front of the monitor, tears were flowing from my eyes, but I continued my work. I had to.

The week before that was our final exam. I was anxious. I wanted to pass the first semester without trouble, but I could not focus. The week was hell. I knew I messed up my exams and I was not happy about it.

More than four months before that, I was so hopeful to get that law school scholarship. I prayed for it, told God I knew it was what He wanted me to do. Prayer heard; I enrolled with no expenses to think about. We even received an allowance every month for four months. However, during the same four months, there was not a day I didn’t think about quitting. I had only four to five hours of sleep, my eating habit was bad (unhealthy foods and late meals), I missed home and I was stressed. I had to wake up at three in the morning, go to work until two in the afternoon, then go to the library to read before the class at six. Then, I had to make sure I had enough time to spend with my father.

I had no time to breathe.

Law school was fun, don't get me wrong. I loved meeting my classmates and our professors were kind and fun. They weren't too strict. Probably because I couldn't find my footing that I kept on stumbling. I told myself more than a dozen times that it was okay, but I knew it wasn't. I kept reminding myself that it was for the greater good, but what greater good? There were too many violent protests around the world, too many crimes, the planet was in a climate crisis, the poor were becoming poorer while 'leaders' were only serving their own interests. What could I possibly do?

None.

Last year, I had no permanent work. In April, I resigned from my employer of two years and 10 months and dedicated my unemployed self to volunteer work. In July, I was able to contract a three-month job with payment of barely the minimum wage. I enjoyed the work, but it was too exhausting. In November and December, I only accepted one government part-time work which although paid me well, the wage was delayed until January. During those months, I was lost and was hoping for a job that I would love. As the eldest child, the burden of giving my family a better life was a must for me. I had to do it.

Some three years before that, in 2015, I graduated from college with flying colors. I had to be honest: I wasn't happy. It was not because I graduated, but because I knew I could have done better. And I was still regretting this: I should have immediately looked for work in the media industry right after graduation. I wanted to be a filmmaker. I wanted to tell stories, to show stories. However, I made myself believe that there was also a good life in the province. Then I found out I was only fooling myself. I did meet good people on my first job and I had kept the friendship with them, but the thought never left. What if...

It was in 2012 and I could still vividly remember that day. I was riding the bus on my way to the university. The day was bright and clear, and so was my mind: I wanted to die. It was selfish; I realized a few years after. But that day, I was fervently wishing for the bus to get into an accident and just take my life.

For weeks before that, I thought of death and dying. I just wanted to leave this hell of a life, but I could not do it myself. I had stared at the knife many times, imagining what it felt on my skin. I thought about getting in front of a vehicle, jumping off the window of our classroom from the fourth floor of the college building…

I talked about being suicidal to a friend who only laughed at me. My family was, at that time, on the verge of breaking apart. I didn’t feel I belong to our class, I felt like an outcast. I wanted to reach out to someone, but whenever I started talking, everyone would also begin to talk; no one was willing to listen. It was hell.

More than seven years passed. I was still at war with myself. No, I never sought any professional help because one, it was costly and two, I had no one to accompany me. However, I became more aware of myself and my issues. I hadn’t been properly diagnosed and only usually looked for distractions whenever I felt not okay. I kept going.

Still, it was scary. I was anxious. Honestly, I feared that I might not reach the age of 25. Since high school, I had a clear picture of what I wanted to happen in my life, but whatever I desired never comes to fruition. I also never thought about it when I get older. That was why the fear—the fear that I might either die of accident or natural death or I’ll take my own life before 25.

And it was only weeks before I turn 25. I was at peace with myself. I had no idea when the chaos would strike again, but I was thankful that I was able to surpass the past seven years. It was difficult, yes, but I had to go on with my life because, despite the painful everything, I was curious—curious about what surprises were there waiting for me. My future battles would be no less than hard compared to recent years, but I had to keep fighting.