In some lazy afternoons back in high school, I often visited the Naga City Public Library that used to occupy the second floor of the old building on the corner of Panganiban Avenue and Elias Angeles Street. One time, in 1999, I serendipitously pulled a thin paperback from the library shelf full of children’s books. I was sixteen then when, in one sitting, I read The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
The novella influenced my self-image and worldview that, for instance, like the pilot and the little prince, I shared the same opinion about the grownups: they are strange, unhappy, and unappreciative of the essential things that are invisible to the eye. However, being sixteen and going to college, I understood that, like the pilot, I will then have to face a more serious chapter in my life and later become a grownup. So I set this teenage yet sacred goal: I will be a grownup only when I reach the age of 30. Thus, I had fourteen years to ignore the strange matters of consequence of the grownups: getting married, raising kids, fulfilling responsibilities and obligations, and dealing with some serious issues that parents, like the grownups at home, would normally think, talk, quarrel or worry about. I had fourteen years to be young, carefree and happy.
Faithful to my goal, I decided, after high school graduation, to be away from home and avail myself of Manila education. I was not so certain about my motivation for my departure, if for freedom or for education or both, but I had my excuse – I was young and ambitious; Being impulsive was still forgivable. The grownups at home did not protest and, consistently in the perspective of a grownup, they thought that my decision would land me a good-paying job and a secure future.
My admission to the premiere University of the Philippines-Diliman facilitated my sweet independence. There, people did not know and care about my achievements in high school. There, I was not a son of a first-rate teacher. There, I was an unfashionable probinsiyano. There, I was a beginner. There, I had to prove myself again. But I was determined and highly competitive. As an iskolar ng bayan, I strived be an artist in my own right. I continued my passion in writing. I joined a new choir, the UP Vocal Ensemble. I was truly independent: cooked my food, washed my clothes, cleaned my room. I was exactly what and who I desired to be at seventeen, eighteen and nineteen.
At twenty, I was too proud of my small victories, still overwhelmed by my freedom, and consumed by my uncontainable youthful energies and creativity. Consciously or unconsciously, I turned into an agnostic: too arrogant to believe in the supernatural, too strong to pray for anything that I could possibly not do, but afraid enough to dismiss my Catholic faith and guilt. I was a superman: I did what I wanted to do, without pause for reflection, without weariness, without much regard to rightness or wrongness.
At twenty-one, I began to sense some meaninglessness in my vanity, my pride, my disconnectedness with the world. I felt some emotions I was not comfortable with, like loneliness, purposelessness. I was recalling the joys of a real long-lasting friendship – the rituals of taming, the beer sessions, the gimmicks, the kiss-and-tell talks. I was missing my memory of a first love - the love letters, the warmth of her hand on mine, the beautiful sunset in our eyes, the candlelit dinners, the walks under the stars, the talks about forever, the breakup, the heartache. I was missing memories I never had!
So I tried. The letters, the rituals – I tried them. But the sunset looked the same; the stars twinkled unexcitingly as they did. The breakup was a relief. The heartache was… There was no heartache. I knew from the start, I only tried. I did not love. At twenty-one, I was not like any other guy of my age. I was not in love.
At twenty-one, I was out of school. I was jobless. I was wandering day and night without purpose. I stopped singing. I forgot how to dream. I found it hard to sleep. The grownups did not know; I was ashamed to tell them what I was going through. If there was one thing I still had that time, it was pride. The rest was darkness, vagueness, senselessness. I forgot who I was and who I was supposed to be at twenty-one.
At twenty-two, everything was not lost. I came home to the familiar, to the grownups, to my family – to my old “matters of great consequence”. There, forgiveness was embracing; hope was waiting; love was promising to heal me. I was not sure if I deserved all the consolation and reassurance, but love was unconditionally given to me by my family, despite my angst and my flaws.
At twenty-two, I knew that there is such a thing as second chance in life. But I also realized that messing up has its consequences. I had to deal with the unfamiliar - the humiliating, the hurting, the humbling. I was never the same: my self-image and world-image were not anymore of a seventeen. It was the first time that I realized I had evolved in five years. My disposition was not yet of a grownup, but my experiences were not of a twenty-two year old.
I virtually rebooted my life at twenty-two. I started with a clean slate, only with some experiences that needed closure. I did not know when or how they could be processed. But meantime, I clung to the comfort and reassurance of home. I hoped that time would eventually heal my wounds.
I was at school again – the Ateneo de Naga University, but the circumstances were different this time. There were too many rules for me to follow, but I just consoled myself by thinking that I needed them after a long time of deviance. I was too old for my new mates and friends; they seemed too way childish for me. I thought that I was not with who I should be at twenty. But I thought wrong again. They were the best people I should meet at this point. With them, I was happy and safe. Slowly, I was loosening up and opening up myself with others. And as I shared my humanity – with some ugly details of it - the pain gradually subsided.
At twenty-two, my sense of community broadened up. I took up the challenge of leadership in an organization: the Liga ng mga Estudyante sa Agham Pampulitika (LEAP). At last, I sensed some purpose of my existence. I was not sure if I was ever a good student. My grades were just fine, but definitely not the best I can come up with. I was not the obedient student a teacher or a prefect of discipline can wish for. In fact, I was once under disciplinary warning status for minor violations. But of this I was most certain: I led and served LEAP by heart.
When it rained, it poured. I was fortunate to have earned many opportunities: the Ayala Young Leaders Congress formation, the National Youth Parliament linkages, among others. But more importantly, my leadership formation helped rebuild my self-confidence and worth. I was praying again. I was trusting again. I was dreaming again. I felt I was much stronger than I should feel at twenty-three.
At twenty-three, I rode on a rollercoaster of emotions. I felt tough not to handle any challenge – except maybe love, which came to me when I least expected it. I must admit that I felt happier, more human than I ever was. I was singing again. I was smiling again. But as much as it caused me deep joy, it also gave me moments of sadness, of longing. I had ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’. I thought that it was too much of a risk to be weak again at a time when I was just regaining my momentum. Did I regret? Painfully, no. But remembering the ride was intense; forgetting was long. Indeed, at twenty-three, I was less than a teenager when it came to issues of the ‘heart’.
At twenty-four, I knew it would take some time before I could ride a rollercoaster again. Meanwhile, like a consolation, I saw that the future looked bright again for me. At least according to my curriculum vitae, I was very promising and competitive. But I appreciated myself a little too much. I was already twenty-four but I had to start at the bottom like any other beginner, only with longer curriculum vitae.
Having believed that I was for something bigger than my hometown, I tried to leave again. I did not pay attention to the grownups. I hastily dismissed other possibilities. But then all the ugly details of Manila: the smoke, the traffic, the senseless rush, the insomnia caused me palpitation and hypertension. Maybe I was unconsciously malingering, but my disposition seemed to tell me that I was not for the career path I was taking, and led me to a journey back home again.
Like a gift, exactly on my 25th birthday, my formation as a worker at the vineyard of the Ateneo de Naga University began. I started at the Social Involvement Office where I understood community outreach in a more enlightened perspective and received basic office work training. Soon enough – exactly six months after, however, I knew that I was not to stay for long in the job when I was given an offer I cannot refuse: to be a formator of student leaders and organizations at the Office of Student Affairs (OSA). At first I found formation work too big for me to chew, but with the support of people and a lot of self-confidence, I took up the challenge. Being a former student leader myself, it was a fitting opportunity for me to help facilitate student leadership formation through concrete development programs. Amazingly, in a short span of time, positive evaluation and response, even awards affirmed my work. Overjoyed, I imagined myself at the Ateneo de Naga for a long time.
But at twenty-six, I was just too fluid. What I thought quickly changed. At this time, I left OSA to work for no less than the President. At my new niche, I met, talked and dined with prominent people – grownups and not, listened to and inspired by their matters of consequence. I worked with nice colleagues – mostly not thinking like grownups, thankfully. With them, I was pushed to live out excellence and magis, be it in writing, organizing, or even clerical work. True, I had a prestigious and convenient job, but I was not happier. It came to a point when I was so sure of leaving Ateneo de Naga.
I realized that, at twenty-six, I was underpaid. I did not have my own house, or my own car. I had no savings in the bank. I was dependent on the grownups. I felt underappreciated, unable to maximize my potentials and skills. But I kept myself busy at work, and busy with extra-curricular activities when not at work to sustain my busyness, and to evade from the thought of leaving due to some frustrations. My desires to help my family and to have a stable future were strong that at the end of the day I had to confront the issue. My reflection – in the silence of my retreats and in the noise of my daily struggles - however, always led me to stay and be grateful for my gifts, but also to be attentive to my internal movements and the options that life presents to me. As if an answered prayer, before summer ended, I was home at OSA again, this time as its Deputy Director. I then embarked on a new journey that has been challenging, not materially rewarding, but inspiring.
At twenty-seven and twenty-eight, I was a jetsetter flying near and far, awe-inspired by the Byzantine and Ottoman landscape of Turkey, the skyscrapers and subway of Singapore, the motorbikes and conical hats of Vietnam, the chopsticks and kimchi of Korea; the waves of Calaguas, the mangroves of Cagsao, the fireflies of Donsol, the heights of Albay, the rocky roads of Bagolatao, the mountain ranges of Puerto Princesa, the rice field and port of Sagnay, the rice terraces of Sagada, the pine trees of Baguio, the river of Lupi. More importantly, I met and interacted with many people, mostly not grownups, of different races, backgrounds and matters of consequence. My perspectives were widening; my linkages, expanding. But underneath personal and professional development, I was on a journey to myself: chasing liberty again, but a more guided one this time; seeking deeper meanings in life; forming interpersonal relations; finding my true place under the sun; desiring to be a better person.
TODAY, at twenty-eight, I am still underpaid. I still feel underappreciated. I am still not romantically in love. I am still having thoughts on leaving or not the University or the country. But today, I recall having earned Mayoral Award at a young age. I have traveled four countries abroad in the last two years. I have 788 Facebook friends from 35 countries. I have found a new passion – photography, and organized 44 albums in eight months. My brother has just been promoted Associate Manager of Manila Water. My mother is in the peak of her career as a teacher and school administrator. My father is still the kindest father a son can ask for. My sister has been blessed with a child, Princess Reigne, who has made home livelier and the grownups happier. Today, God affirms His great love for me, through the love of my family and other people and the many gifts I have received all these years. It would be too ungrateful and unjust of me if I rant a lot. After all, I am not underpaid.
Today, I remember myself at seventeen and my plan to be a grownup at 30, and I laugh at my foolishness. Maybe, given only a year left before the deadline, I will not be ready for the matters of the grownups: settling down, getting married kids, fulfilling responsibilities and obligations, and confronting some serious stuff that my parents still think, talk, quarrel and worry about. Maybe I should give myself five more years, or maybe not. Maybe I should plan a bit less, and let life surprise me a bit more. Maybe I should just live each day like it is the last.
Maybe I should learn from the past thirteen years of my life, how I in each year tried to control my life, succeeded and failed; how I sought and happiness and love, succeeded and failed; how I tried to make myself productive and relevant in my community, succeeded and failed. Maybe I have not reached my best form yet, or known my real purpose and vocation, but my journey has been towards something good. And I believe God will not protest if I claim that despite my inadequacies and excesses, I have been good. Not perfect. But good.
And these I believe are most important for me: I have been loved. I have been good.
TOMORROW, on my 29th birthday, I will still be the little prince and the pilot that I was at sixteen. I will still not be a grownup, but only a year older than today. However, with my hairline receding, I would be lying if I say that the thought of being a grownup someday does not affect me in any way. Truth is, it does give me some emotional stress as I go through some normal transition from 20s to 30s and make some adjustments in my lifestyle. It is just that there is so much in youth that I have not outgrown yet. There is so much that I have not experienced yet. And these youth issues have surfaced lately. It is funny, but maybe I am just having either a premature midlife crisis or a late quarter-life crisis. Maybe I am just too anxious of the future. Maybe I am just overanalyzing things. Or maybe, I am just normally living. Maybe, I am growing up – without being a grownup.
Tomorrow, at twenty-nine, I will continue to live and grow up.
Tomorrow, at twenty-nine, I will seize the chance to be stronger, wiser, more grateful, more forgiving, more loving than today.
September 5, 2011
