from anya, love anya.

from her heart to yours.

[annnaanya]

First Breath Above Water.

I told a friend once that I feel like drowning. I’m not underwater but I feel like I’m under the deep dark sea and I’m flailing my arms, wasting energy, like I’m instigating my own demise. Most times, I feel like I’m doing everything wrong. Most times, I feel like I’m an impostor in a room full of people who effortlessly succeeds and I’m just there because I managed to jest my way into the function. I constantly had to overwork, overstress and overthink just to prove that I will not choke and that I belong here. 

Fake it ‘till you make it, they said.

Can I finally say that?

Did I really make it?

Standing in front of our panel this afternoon, introducing our team, was definitely something I avoided doing because I had a tendency to choke and out of fear of becoming a laughing stock or humiliating my group, rejecting such parts was familiar to me—like a programmed reaction. And this isn’t the first time I rejected major roles, my therapist told me once that I, in fact, have a Jonah Complex (see? Psychology is all fun and games until a professional tells you that you are actually one of the things you’re studying lol). But that’s besides the point. (if my therapist finds this, i know she won’t but if she does, i’m so sorry :P) That information was made clear to me just over a year ago but I only got the chance to do something about it now, and I somehow did it without realizing it. Does it mean I’m getting better? Does it mean I’m different from who I was a year ago? I sure hope I am.

Because a year ago, I couldn’t even figure out how we were going to make it to the deadline. A year ago, I was sitting on my mom’s lap like a child crying about how terrified I am of getting delayed because of my thesis. But it’s here now. 

I didn’t understand anything after Congratulations, it all seemed like a blur. It didn’t feel real but it sure did feel like my head was above the surface for the first time after a while underwater, fighting the current, using all the energy I had to keep myself alive. It felt like the first gasp of air and everything just makes you feel glad that you still managed to make it out alive. I didn’t feel like a real person. I have never felt that kind of happiness in a while—the kind that isn’t fleeting or the kind that I’m not expecting to disappear after a few counts.

So, did I make it?

I’m not really sure. I’m not built to assume that I did. But what I am sure of is that as of right now, I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore. I don’t feel like I’m fighting for survival. For the first time since we started this thesis, I don’t feel like I’m fighting for my place in the function. 

For the first time, I feel like I did something right.

I may be a little too old to realize this just now, but there are really good things that come off as scary at first. There are good things that come off as the most depressing shit you’ll ever encounter in your life. There are good things that will drag you through the mud first—but it will be good in the end. It will pay off and you would see what the agony had been for. 

x, anya.

[annnaanya]

through goes 2024.

If there’s one thing I learned this year, it is to hold on to the little things. The little hopes, the little dreams and the little gestures that make you realize that you are in fact happy that you’re still here. I always say that if it makes you want to stay, then it is no small feat. The thin string of hope that you feel like is about to snap anytime can withstand just about anything if it is joined with other thin strings of hope.

Battling yourself is never easy. I questioned myself multiple times if I was good enough, if I deserved the good and the bad things. I was angry and belittled myself more than many times, it’s ridiculous—because on every occasion that I did, I managed to come out of it alive. The pain of failures sometimes gets the best of us, and that is completely valid. Sabi nga nila, “At least tapos na.” It’s going to feel weird at first but the world is what it is. All will be well. It’s cliche, I know but it gets better—the tear stains on my therapy journal is a testament to that.

It’s the first time I’m going to do  this, but in the last hour of this year I am going to try and write about all the little things and the big feats that I have gone through this year.

First, we managed to make it out alive out of our thesis 1 and our pre-oral defense. The hell that our group and I, especially as the neurotic person that I am, is truly a wonder that I will never stop talking about. In this moment of my life, I realized that while working hard, it may seem like an unless cycle of failures, but it all pays off in the end. If I had not stayed until 2AM e-mailing possible authors overseas if they can help us in our thesis project, we wouldn’t have made the deadline. If we all did not spend day in and day out trying our very best to perfect our presentation for our defense then we wouldn't have defended it successfully. The universe was on our side that day. The author of our research instrument responded to my email just when we were told the night before that we would not be allowed to defend our unfinished paper the following week. Someone’s lucky stars aligned for us that day and I will never stop yapping about the timing of it all. Eunice, Elaisha, Hazel and Monica, my girliepops na laging cause ng pagtaas ng altapresyon ko, we all did great.

Second, hearing our respondents experiences about being spinsters for our qualitative research. I had strong opinions about how I wanted my life to be before hearing about how their lives turned out. They all live respectable lives, but honestly, I did not think it would be that hard. I was given a perspective that I never had before and I will forever cherish my groupmates, Eunice, Hazel and Monica for going through HOURS of transcribing and coding with me just to see this research through. In my eyes, though someone else’s grades would be always be higher, we did the best (kasi hindi ko naman sila nakitang mahirapan at hindi ko naman sila kagrupo)

Third, going to therapy. No small feat, indeed. The mental health journey was a trainwreck and I definitely went through a lot more than was necessary by being too afraid to ask for help. I was on medications last year and to be quite honest, while it worked wonders to other people, it was not much help for me. I did not feel like myself and it took me an entire year to come into terms that maybe the meds are not working and that I should approach it differently. I got formally diagnosed with clinical depression this year and went to therapy, which worked for me (I gained back my confidence when all those goddamn medication-caused acne went away). I have never felt better than ever and have never felt more urge to go about things the healthy way than before. I am glad I asked for help. I hope that whoever is reading this, if you think you need it, may you never find fear in reaching out and getting the help that you think you need. 

Fourth, OJT. From learning how to take the bus from home to Manila and Manila to home on my own during my pre-requirements era to taking the LRT to my ninang’s home to the office and back—the office experience may not be for me, but on a deeper level, I would say that a part of me was healed when I was stuck in traffic or in standing inside of a cramped train. The Manila dream that was once crushed had its short lived moment during that era. And though most of the experiences that I could share would come off as a whine, I don’t regret anything. I loved the Manila pollution.

Fifth, writing. From getting a small bit of recognition for my writing to getting paid for the first time for writing—the author dreams… that I am so fucking glad I did not let go after all of my setbacks, has finally done its course. I intend to achieve more. 

Sixth, getting my student driver’s permit and learning how to drive. After pestering my dad for YEARS AND YEARS to teach me how to drive, at the big age of 21, I was finally able to sit on that driver’s seat and drive my own car for the first time. Still a terrible driver (ANTAYIN NYO TALAGA AKO MAGDDRIVE NG SASAKYAN NA MAY DALA NG KABAONG NYO NG 90 ANG TAKBO)

Seventh, passing the CHRA Examination. Fuck. I don’t even know how I did it. After weeks of procrastination and cramming everything in the last 2 weeks, I can’t believe I made it! Anya (not my real name, lol), CHRA is a real thing guys. WTF.

Eighth, finding interest in F1. Having something to look forward to every weekend really does wonders to get me through every passing hour of the weekdays. Who cares if I have to stay up until midnight to watch the goddamn race? Who cares if people think I only watch it for the ABSOLUTELY INSANELY ATTRACTIVE Drivers? I am enjoying myself and loving the thrill of watching rich men drive in funny circles. No one can take that away from me.

Ninth, surviving. There’s a bunch of people that I want to credit for helping me survive this year. Khenj, our other highschool friends, my college (former) roommates: Pangkeng, Marian, Ems, and Shiela, my thesismates (Eunice, Hazelz, Monicakes, Elaishagirl), my co-intern (Trisha), JC, Tristan, Sandy and Xyki. On multiple accounts, I called some of them up on a random Tuesday, asking for chika, but really it was my way of asking for help because I was getting too over my head again and I don’t know if I can survive it. But with the help of these people (not everyone is mentioned, sorry, I will edit this and add more people if I must) I made it out alive. 

And just like that, through goes 2024. This season is over. I’ll see you again, next year. Hopefully with R.Pm after my last name and when I can finally call myself a psychology graduate.

Thank you for hanging around.

[annnaanya]

"i used to have a plan."

I used to know what I wanted to do at a very young age. I used to have a plan.

I used to say, nothing can stand in my way if I really want something to happen. For so long, that kept me going. I have spent my highschool years being a force to be reckoned with. I was unstoppable. Whenever someone gives me something to do, best believe to consider it done. I did not take my tasks lightly. I used to be passionate. I used to be so full of energy and so much driving force but now… if my younger self were to look at me, I’m certain she will react in two ways, it’s either she will be the ever empathetic person that she was and feel pity for how far down I’ve come, or she will be disappointed because she would not recognize me at all. 

I’m barely surviving now. I don’t know how things work anymore. I don’t have a hobby, I can barely write an article like I used to. I’m damning myself to failure and I’m blaming it on some pandemic that someone with more sovereign power than me could have stopped because I don’t have that kind of power. I’m stuck in an endless loop of self-doubt if I'm ever going to make it out successful in the peering eyes of everyone who saw me at my best. 

How could she fall so far?

How could she fall so deeply that she forgot how to climb back up?

How could she let herself fall in the first place?

I am standing in my own way. I’m frozen in my place, unable to move, crippled by the anxiety that I may not be able to do well and I would forever be known as the girl who failed. And I know what you’re going to say, standing there wouldn’t do anything, might as well try and give it your best shot. That’s the thing though. I know. But still my feet are glued to where I stand, while I shake in my shoes out of fear that someone out there will yell out that there are a dozen more people that can be better and be more deserving of the chance that I got. I am terrified of meeting someone who deserved the chance better than me face-to-face and have to tell her that I failed and she could’ve done a better job than me. I could’ve done a better job. But I didn’t. And some eyes are looking at me wondering what the fuck did the world see in me to give me the chance because whatever it was, it did not make me deserving.

Some nights I still find myself hyperventilating, as if I’m waking up from a nightmare where I wasn’t good enough anymore—but it wasn’t a dream. I am not dreaming. I’ve hit the ceiling fan and it’s decapitated me from my ability to drive myself through zero vision. I’ve flown too close to the sun and I’ve met my demise while I fall with my burning wings as the wax melts and scorches my skin. I’m just skin and scars now. From the wounds that I had to endure from fighting too hard. Now, I don’t know if I can still fight or if I still have it in me to put up a fight. I don’t feel strong enough. 

I’ve broken all my bones in the hardest fight that no one had to witness or even cheer me on because it all happened in my mind.

What used to be filled with flowery ideas is now rotten and corrupted, always waiting for the next strong or draught to hit. Barely having time to blossom in the moments in between. There’s no more extravagant plans. There’s no more butterflies or rainbows because the storm was too strong and the sun was too hot. I only intend to survive, to keep on breathing as I battle the demons that used to be the fairies who were far too abused to stay kind. 

I used to know how I am. I used to have a plan. 

Now I don’t.

[annnaanya]

an ode to twenty.

i blinked and suddenly, i am no longer 12, or 15, or 18. i am no longer a child.

I complain a lot. Awfully a lot for someone who hasn’t experienced much at all. May it be over something I cannot control, may it be about someone who has a mind of their own. Stepping into the 20’s club was a journey I never thought I’d get to experience ever. I never planned on living this long, but I guess it’s not too bad. You get your ups and downs, but everything matters, right? Could be for the better for or for the worse, but everything qualifies to be packed up to experience. On the brighter side, it's a more valid reason to complain.

Oh, 20. You’ve done a number on me. If I didn’t know better I wouldn’t have recognized the girl who I was before you. I blinked and suddenly I’m no longer a child. Suddenly, I’m dragging myself out of bed, making myself pretty to pretend like nothing ever fazes me, even if everything does—everything shakes my very being, but I’ve learned to never blink even when things go downhill. I’ve learned how to function even when I’m under the bus, getting drowned in the mud that I personally made myself. I’ve learned how to push through even through the moments that feel suffocating—even through moments that feel like it’s never going to end. I’ve learned how to let go of the heavy things, maybe even some of the pretty things that make my heart feel nice in the name of pushing through. I don’t know how to feel about it, it doesn’t feel fair that I still don’t have the best decision making skills and my judgment is still basically questionable, but hey, if I’m still here, maybe I’m still doing something right, no?

I could go on picking bones on every single questionable thing I’ve done during you, but this is an ode after all, so I will refrain. You’ve done good amid it all, I guess it’s only fair to tell you how proud I am of you. 6 months ago, you were told (by someone professional btw) that you were afraid of success, mostly because of the discomfort that it came with. While it’s already been years of fighting yourself, I’m glad you’re still winning. I’m glad that we’re still here. I’m glad you’re growing to be okay with the discomfort that life throws at you. You’re still shit at it, but you’re okay. You have people to hold on to. They want to be there for you, you need to stop gaslighting yourself that they don’t and that you don’t deserve them. It’s okay. It’s cheesy, but man, everything will be alright in time. You’ll figure it out eventually. 

Life didn’t stop when you were 15. It didn’t stop (in no particular order) when you failed your finals, or when flunked out of the dean’s list, or when you were in the brink of not finishing your thesis on time for the defense, or when some guy broke your heart, or when you physically didn’t walk the stage to deliver your high school speech that you dreamed of for 6 solid years, or when you didn’t get to your dream college—it didn’t stop even if you were too tired to think straight. Life didn’t stop at 15 and all of the other times you wish it would. So now you’re here, finally at 21. It’s not what you expected it to look like, but hey, it’s going to make sense in the long run. Just hold on. You have loved and lost and you’re going to feel more of those but it’s always better to love and have lost than to lose and never have loved at all. 

Fuck whatever happens at 21, let yourself have fun even just for the hope of it all.

[annnaanya]

remember october.

i learned from a stranger that you should never waste a crisis. alas, here i am, the frustrated writer who never seems to find herself finishing anything she starts.

he'll be in the early fall breeze. in every car's stop lights that keeps me awake whenever i take the jeepney home. he's in my game history. he's in my recommended conversations though i would often find myself rolling my eyes whenever i see it. it meant so different before. it meant so much more. remember october, for he was in the nights that were starless and somber.

maybe it's in the way he spoke. maybe it's in the way he knows the knots and twists and turns in this screwed up brain maze that i created for myself. i used to think it was an impossible one to solve. it turned out that it wasn't that hard after all if that's how easy he managed to flip everything down. maybe it's in the way i was made to feel like i was the most important person in the world because someone managed to solve the puzzles i made for walls and the riddles i used for gates. maybe it's in the way i left the answers by the doors and hoped someone will have the guts to lift the rug and use it to their advantage. i'll always remember october. october was when you moved the rug and read the clues that i left.

i learned from a stranger that what comes easily goes easily. it was absurd that lived for the hope that i would be spared. but who was i to be skipped from the cruel reaping that i had no say in? in as quick as a glance, he pulled the rug under the one who gave him the map of the maze that lead him around the rambles and scribbles of my mind. he knew just the right amount of things to know how easy it would be for him to just turn and go. and turn and go he did. october will find it's way to the core of my memory. i remember october so vividly. he was there.

it's not that hard to recall—every word and every letter of it. it's not that hard at all when you have shame tailing behind you for how big of a mistake it was to get involved and invested in something so frail and so fragile. it felt like walking in a tightrope, just waiting for myself to fall to catch my death. i was there, anxiously waiting for someone to push me over and make me lose my use. i'll remember october. october was when i took the hit once and for all, and fell to my death.

now the cold is fast approaching. october went by so fast and so did he. to him, i'll be someone he'll marvel as someone he managed to swindle in a whirlwind. to me, he'll always be the whirlwind i mistook as the dry monsoons. he wasn't my wind to lose. never mine.

when he left the table, i stayed in hopes that it was a mistake and he meant to come back. but i valued myself more than waiting for someone who only stayed for a mean time. he wasn't mine to lose. so in the end, i lost no one and nothing in october. i'll always remember it though.

—fin.

[annnaanya]

random thought dump

in the past few posts, i have really been trying to make everything make sense. every word, every punctuation, everything. i'm sorry if you are expecting that on this one because it's not going to be it. this one will be just a post half-full of my word vomit, in hopes that someone will still find the time to pause and read what i have to say. that's okay too if you're not into that. it's not really my business to tell on you.

it's been a long time since my parents last bought me a doll. a barbie to be exact. as a child i was really obsessed with dolls and dressing them up. maybe once or twice, i might've given them an unruly hair do or dumped their heads in water and conditioner in hopes that it would help it's already bad condition. still, either way, it's not the point that i am trying to make. as a little girl, i tried to hide the fact that i enjoyed playing with barbies whenever i was in school. somehow, i was taught that it was too feminine and too feminine sometimes, well, most times actually, can be seen as weak. you don't have to defend yourself if you think otherwise. you're free to stop reading this post. but from my experience, people view hyperfeminine girls as something that needs protecting rather than someone who does the protecting.

so, as a child, who barely knew anything in this world, i decided that my favorite color was green; lied that i didn't like dolls and ruined every single one i had; lied about disliking make-up and skirts and dresses and high heels; lied about liking roughhousing, even though the tiniest change in someone's tone makes me flinch. everything that made me seem weak, i forced myself to dislike. i don't like being weak. to help that i threw all my dreams away.

this is probably the first time that i'm going to admit this to a platform, but i have already told this to one of my closest friends. sometimes, i fantasize about being a runway model or any kind of model. i wanted to work in the fashion industry. if not the one carrying the clothes, i wanted to create art with clothes. but as a child, i figured that it was too feminine. and if you would add everyone's opinions about art not being a practical program to take in, i pretty much had no choice but to abandon that dream. i was afraid to fail anyway. i am afraid to be nothing. i am afraid to be a disappointment. and with all the negativity that i observed from my family members who wanted to take up art, i was afraid to get the same reaction. so i packed up my dreams and left them on display.

i guess my younger self, whom in solace dreamed of being a lot of things, is disappointed in me for ending up this way—gaslighting myself that i wanted to take a pre-med program and be a doctor because it's the only way her family can view success. barbie said, "you can be anything." younger anya believed her before she was taught that there was no money in art, and men often dominated the fields that she wanted to be in. i'm not barbie. i'm just a struggling woman in this society because somehow, there was no in between my childhood and adulthood. i can still vividly remember the last time my parents bought me my barbie princess charm school doll and then i blinked and i am now 20. a social casualty. not a writer of anything. not a director. not a singer. not a model. not a fashion designer. i am soon-to-be a doctor, if fate permits it. but it's someone else's dream. not mine. i don't know whose is it but it's not mine. i just grew to like it because i'm halfway through my undergrad and it's too late to go back now.

as i grew up, i learned how to retaliate for what my younger self did when she made herself seem boyish and masculine to make herself seem stronger. i learned how to dress in pink, wear high heels when i'm feeling it, wear my dresses and dress more feminine. i have never felt a will stronger than my will to prove that i am not something that needs to be protected. i am someone who can protect and make a name for myself even without a man who will change my miss to missus.

i am still afraid of failure. so i need to make sure i will march one day with my degree in my highest heels, for my younger self who had to suppress her femininity to appear stronger. i need to heal her. i need to protect her and teach her that feminine is strong too and everything else is bullshit.

[annnaanya]

will you still love me when i'm old and everything hurts?

will you still love me when i'm old and everything hurts?

when my legs are too weak to move,

when my arms are too limp to touch your face,

and my voice shakes when i try to tell you just how much i love being around you?

i figured it made sense. growing up and growing old.

reaching a point in life where i have to let go and look back

to the life that has passed, all the laughter and the tears

the hardships and victory, the love and the loss.

but there goes the fear again,

will someone still love me when my brain could no longer produce the right thoughts to express the love that i still have so much of?

no fountain gives me back my youth,

there's nothing to wind back to bring back all lost time

i am here and i am stuck

with my thoughts because my body no longer cooperates

it no longer does what i want it to do

time has rendered me helpless, and it's meant to be.

all lives must lead to this—old age and eventual death

my fear has finally come, my thoughts swarm me like bees, they ones were butterflies

no one longer wants me, i am but a burden, no longer at ease

no longer young and beautiful, no longer worth anything but rest

i should go, i feel that it's finally my time

but it hurts to do so.

everything hurts and i've grown up and grown old

i have won the right battles and learned from the ones i've lost

if you have loved me now,

if you have loved me in the morning and in the afternoon,

will you still love me when the night finally falls?

[annnaanya]

tw // allusions to depression.

twenty... or something.

Life is funny. Well... mine at least. Twenty years into this chaos, I still fail at the things that, as a child, I thought I would already have figured out at my age. In my last post, I mentioned turning twenty and not being able to see myself falling in love. It sucks, but then I realized that love, or the lack thereof, really does a lot to how you see life. As for me, I can never find myself falling in love with myself. Hate would be a strong word, so I avoid using it as much as possible. I am trying to get better after all, and if I really want it, I should stop hating myself. But damn, I really cannot stop myself from heavily disliking myself.

Okay, maybe it is easy to let it go and make something good from my mistakes. But my brain does not permit me to operate that the moment I want to. I would have to beat myself up for those mistakes, get angry at the world, burden someone else about it, and then when I am guilty enough for the more mistakes that I made because of that one mistake that I did, only then, can I let it go. When it already hurts too much to hold on to. When the noose is too tight and I can't breathe anymore. Mistakes feel like dying to me. It makes me a bad person. It makes me a person that I don't want to be. Being the bigger person, maybe after being one for so long, just got tiring for me. I eventually got tired of trying to stay above the rubble. So I just let myself get buried in it. I've turned into a mad woman. I guess, with time, I just learned to accept that no one wants that.

So I make efforts to cover them up... by loving too much... by being willing to break if it meant someone will be happy. I kid you not, Mirrorball broke me, into so many pieces; enough shattered pieces to create your own little mirrorball, shining with all my best parts, like it didn't hurt to get where it was. It's depressing to think about it. In the back of my mind, I would always do it again. Though it wouldn't be my first thought, I would still end up trying to break myself just to show someone how important and shiny and beautiful they can be. I still want to keep on trying to show the people around me that I believe in them; that there's still beauty in this world that crushed the living hopes in me. I would still break my bones for the people who, give or take, are not as on board with this as I am. I love people more than I should. I love them twice as much as they could give me. Thrice even. And I've accepted that it's just how it's going to be for the rest of my life unless some miracle comes down on me and reverses everything. I doubt that there will be though.

Twenty years of this have made me fragile and weak. The amount of times I've been broken doesn't make me stronger or less susceptible to breaking. But hey, I'm still trying. Though I've turned mental trying, I'm still here. That's what's important, right? My parents do not spend so much on my medication just for me to give in to my thoughts, be selfish and just disappear, right? I'm still here and as much as I dislike myself, I am proud that I am still here. Twenty years... damn. That's a lot of years. I never really planned to stay this long but I'm here and I have different plans now. I guess, that means I have no more choice than to deal with this like how it's always been. I may not go on with life with my usual "kakayanin" mindset, but at least I'm trying.

[annnaanya]

Far-Fetched.

I had a lot to say about love when I was young. When I was 13, I think I read too much fanfiction and YA fiction for my own good to make me think that I was eligible to write about something so complicated and confusing. I felt like I knew so much about it and how it works—the fun and the mundane things about it. But I was merely a child, still. I barely knew anything about how the world works, let alone how love works.

When I was 15, I thought I was finally fit to write about it. It's a shame but I guess the world works in mysterious fucked up ways. 15-year-old me got her heart broken long before she understood what love should really mean. Maybe there was some truth to it. Maybe there was some fucked up lesson behind all the pain that I had to endure as a 15-year-old teenage girl. But one thing's for sure, I may have the slightest bit of idea of how the world worked back then, but I was still clueless... about who I am, where I was supposed to be, and who I want to be. There was still so much out there more important than falling in love. Figuring out who I really am is one of those things.

Turning 18, you would think that it would make some kind of change in how I view love... Well... Adulting only diverted my attention to more important things than finding someone to cherish. Adult life was more complicated than I thought it would be. With my depression lurking in the corner—waiting for their graveyard shift, college applications, going to college, friendship break ups, trying to make new friends, and dealing with the pressure of maintaining the class standing that I once had no problem keeping... learning personally about love... it was completely out of the picture. As much as the idea of having someone to hold me while dealing with all of those is charming and romantic, my brain did not permit me to be in a state that is capable of feeling it.

In a few days, I will leave my teenage years behind. I'll be twenty. Witnessing the first wedding that my family had in years made me realize how far-fetched the idea of falling in love was for me. And there really is no one to blame for this but myself. I find that I became too ambitious to figure out if I want to do the same. I realized that maybe I wasn't fitting for that kind of committment, maybe not until I pleased the eyes that are leering at me or until I've pleased my heart with the things that I want right now.

I was always proud of how many books I've read in my entire life, and how early it was when I took a liking to reading books. But maybe it was more of a curse than it was a blessing. For the cherry on top, I've been fangirling since I was 13 (hence, tumblr as my choice of platform for writing my word vomits), obviously, it's already a dead giveaway that the standards are through the roof. I expect so much from love and I can't expect so much from people. It's a losing game to risk it with such high expectations. Taylor Swift A philosopher once said, falling feels like flying till the bone crush. It's only going to hurt. And being too hurt to function is the last thing on my list right now. I have responsibilities and people to tend to and I am already faltering. I cannot let my guard down or I will fall completely and lose everything I have worked so hard to have right now.

That being said, whenever I am told what to do when I commit to that kind of obligation, my response will always be... "Mapapanis nalang ako sa bahay ng nanay ko." (I would rather rot in my mother's home) But we all know, I am just not ready for that kind of conversation. Maybe not until I've carried out my dues.

[annnaanya]

Afternoon shadow.

I haven’t written anything to indulge myself recently and I could barely remember when was the last time I was comfortable allowing I-don’t-know how many people to read what I wrote. With that in mind, I would like to send my apologies in advance if you end up encountering lapses in my writing. Again, this is self indulgent. With the amount of people I’ve allowed to read my compositions before, and you being one of the people curious enough to read what I have to say, consider yourself lucky that you are able to read this in a time that is convenient to you.

The riddle of the Sphinx went: “What walks on four feet in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three at night?”. I’ve had a knack on who Oedipus is and a little bit more on some things associated with his name but that’s besides the point. A man—that is what he answered. A man who crawls as a child, walks on two feet as an adult and walks with a cane when they become senile. Recent events had me confirming that after toeing the line for quite some time and not really knowing where I really stood, I have finally stepped on the afternoon line. And I am not excited about it.

The afternoon is dreadful. The sun is always burning on your forehead and the air is too dry for me to breathe properly whenever I have to walk my way home from university to my dormitory which is not very far away—still, being the ever-so complaining child that I am, I still find it dreadful. Most especially when I spent the last year in the comfort of my own room, dealing with my own sucked-up fantasy world. The afternoon is dreadful. I hate waking up every morning, contemplating, and ending up guilt-tripping myself to get up and go to school because I have to and I don’t want to fail and be the family disappointment… especially when I am the only one capable of doing that. The afternoon is dreadful. I have to face the consequences of the failing government, the elevated inflation rates, the expensive living and struggling to budget the allowance until the end of the week. The last time I went out, I was in the comfort of our family car, singing to One Direction, annoying my brother because it’s all he hears whenever we go on excruciatingly long car rides that we all secretly enjoy even with my father’s explosive temperament whenever he hears something wrong with the car. Now, I’m stuck for another hour and a half whenever I’m lodged in traffic every time I’m on public transportation to get home, with the jeepney’s never-ending Journey playlist blaring on my ears and the person next to me making me uncomfortable with him sleeping on my shoulder. Understandable though, with the amount of papers on his envelope with scribbles of formulas and numbers I was too afraid to accept into my college life, who am I to judge? He probably finds the afternoon dreadful too.

Now I know I sound like a whiny privileged little bitch, because it’s what I am. I know what you’ll say. “What’s life without a little hardship?” or “There’s people out there who barely get half of what you have,” but did you think that would faze me? I’ve encountered far more hurtful words than that and I’ve learned to deflect over time. The only things that could truly hurt my over-dramatic ass are what my mother’s sharp tongue will have to say and failing a subject I lost sleep over.

And this is why the afternoon is dreadful. When the shadow you have is at its darkest, it’s harder to fight. You might never lose sight of what and where you are, but half of the day has already passed and most of your energy has already been expended on your draining morning courses. Overthinking, too much walking, too many people, the sour mood of the gate guards that you have to put on extra patience over because they must’ve forgotten that most people your age would be lucky to have a blink for sleep. 

I’ve been told that the afternoon is their favorite part of life and as much as I want to see it, it’s depressing to think about because so far it’s hard and disappointing. I couldn’t even make one damn friend without thinking that they secretly hate me because I’m too bossy or too loud or too anxious at times.

Most people thrive in the afternoon. But I don’t. I’m faltering and as much as I know who and where I am at the current moment, I don’t know where to go next. It’s hot, under the burning sun and burning gaze of every single family member approaching the end of their afternoons and beginning their evenings. It’s scorching my skin and burning the back of my neck but I can’t move. I’m just standing there in the middle of torture, looking around for a place rest in but that’s not an option. You’re already in the afternoon, quit whining like it’s 4:50 in the morning and you're crying for your mom to give you an ungodly early breakfast because you are one needy pest. Yesterday that was still me. Now I cry for my mom at 4:50 in the morning but she’s not in the next room anymore. She’s an hour and a half away, give or take if I don’t get stuck in the hell-bent rush hour traffic of Friday afternoons, when I’m finally allowed to go home.

I looked forward to the afternoon earlier this morning. I hoped that it would rain. The cold is comforting. The dark is comforting. Like the night, when I’m ready to bid my goodnights and go to rest. I could pretend that the sun would not shine tomorrow and I could sleep all day because I haven’t had a lot of it lately. I could pretend that my life is perfect and I’m still enjoying the morning sun because it used to be healthy until it was too hot to be under the sun at 7:30 in the morning as well. God. Everyday is exhausting. The night is still a couple of hours away and I still have dues at 3:30. I can’t afford to dissociate but it’s all I do. All I do is think about what will be and what could be because right now is too much to handle. The sun is too hot. All that my mind could think of is if I’ll be able to finish my dues before 11:59 PM. If I’ll be able to be home on time before I become an inconvenience to everyone I eat with. If I’ll be an inconvenience to my group mates who are still waiting for my input, that I would only be starting to write once I get home. I don’t know what time I will be home. The chances change from time to time even after I have taken it.

As I try to finish this, it’s two days away from Christmas of 2022. It doesn’t feel like Christmas anymore. Is it one of the afternoon effects as well? Or does everyone feel this way? Does everyone feel like the happiest day of the year is just another one of the other days? Is it just me? Is it everyone this afternoon? I might never know honestly. It’s hard. Because it keeps reminding me that I am getting older after realizing that I could not remember the last happy Christmas that I had. Everything is so different now. I don’t even know if I’ll see every single one of my family members this Christmas. Everyone’s having their own family now. Getting married and having children. It feels like I’m losing them one by one and I cannot cry about it because I’m not a child anymore. I should be able to understand these kinds of things now. And I do understand them. Only that it comes with the fact that it hurts and it’s heavy and it’s hard to accept. I understand. I’m old enough to understand that all of these are just a part of life and I need to suck it up because everyone goes through it. But I was never good at coping. I pretend. I pretend that I could until it feels natural. Until it feels real. But is it? I don’t think I want to know.

Maybe somewhere along this fucked up road, I would find the spark that I lost on my journey to this afternoon. Right now, I don’t have it. I’m not sure I’ll find it but I sure will try.