THE DREAM I ONCE TOLD
“What’s your dream?” my teacher once asked me in front of the class.
I was only nine years old then, holding a pencil in my tiny hands, with eyes full of wonder.
“Gusto nako teacher kanang mahayahay ko, makalingkawas sa kalisud, ug makatabang sa ako pamilya ug sa uban pa,” I said with a bright smile, my voice trembling with innocence but filled with determination.
Back then, I thought life was simple: study hard, grow up, achieve my dream, and make my family proud.
But years passed, and life turned heavier. When I finally stood in college, I realized that dreams are not only built with books and pens, they are tested with the weight of people’s words. The same people I once vowed to help became the reason my shoulders sagged.
Discouragement came like heavy rain. Their swearing cut deeper than I expected. And the worst part was the constant comparison, as if my worth was always measured against someone else’s success.
One evening, I sat in our living room, my books scattered on the table. My parents’ voices echoed louder than the ticking clock.
“Dili ka kabalo mu-manage sa imong oras. Tan-awa imong mga ig-agaw, mas maayo pa sila kaysa nimo!”
Their words pierced through me. I bit my lip, holding back tears, but finally I broke.
“Dili na nako kaya, kung ing ani lang mo permi sa ako!” I shouted, my voice shaking as tears finally fell.
Silence filled the room. I lowered my head, ashamed yet exhausted. The dream that once gave me light now felt like a burden pressing down on my chest.
I went to my room and stared at my notes. For the first time, I asked myself, “Why am I doing this? For them? Or for me?”
That night, I realized something important: no matter how much I loved them, I couldn’t let their wounds become mine. I couldn’t allow the cycle of pain to continue.
If parents don’t want their children to suffer the way they did, then they should not repeat the cycle. Support, patience, and understanding are heavier than gold. Because sometimes, the biggest help a child can ever receive is not money, not gifts, but simply acceptance and encouragement.
And maybe, just maybe, if that nine-year-old girl could speak again, she would still say the same dream—but this time, with one addition:
“I want to become successful, help other people, especially my family… and protect my own heart along the way.”
