Thirty (Parts 1, 2 and Epilogue)

Some lazy afternoons back in high school, I used to visit the Naga City Public Library which at that time occupied the entire second floor of the building on the corner of Panganiban Avenue and Elias Angeles Street. During one of those times, I serendipitously pulled out a thin paperback from one of the shelves which was filled with children’s books. That year was 1999, I was sixteen then, and, in one sitting, I read “The Little Prince” by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

The novella greatly influenced my self-image and worldview. With the pilot and the little prince, for instance, I shared this same opinion about grownups: They are strange, unhappy, and unappreciative of “the essential things that are invisible to the eye.” However, being sixteen and on the brink of college life, I understood that, like the pilot, I was about to face a more serious chapter and later become a grownup. So I imposed on myself this juvenile yet sacred goal: I will be a grown-up 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 move far away from home and avail of a college diploma for myself in Manila. I was not so clear then about my motivation for this departure, whether it was for freedom or education or both, but I had a good excuse – I was young and ambitious; being impulsive was still forgivable. Fortunately or unfortunately, the grownups at home did not protest this decision and instead, consistent with their being grownups, believed that it was one that would land me a good-paying job and pave the way for a secure future.

My admission to the University of the Philippines-Diliman facilitated my sweet independence. There, people did not know or 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 strove to be an artist in my own right. I continued my passion for writing. I joined the UP Vocal Ensemble, a new choir. 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 a doubter: 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 for 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 which I was not comfortable with, like loneliness and purposelessness. I recalled the joys of a real long-lasting friendship – the rituals of “taming,” the beer sessions, the gimmicks, the kiss-and-tell talks.  I missed my memory of a first love - the love letters, the warmth of her hand on mine, the beautiful sunset in our eyes, the candlelight dinners, the walks under the stars, the talks about forever, the breakup, and 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 as unexcitingly as they always did. The parting was a relief. The hurt was… There was no hurt. I knew from the start that it had only been an experiment on being in love. But in fact, 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 around day and night without purpose. I stopped singing. I forgot how to dream. I found it hard to sleep. The grown-ups 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 grown-ups, 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 was such a thing as a second chance in life. But I also realized that messing up had its consequences. I had to deal with the unfamiliar – with feelings of humiliation, of hurting, of being humbled. I was not the same person of my past: my self-image and world-image were not that of a seventeen-year-old anymore. It was the first time that I realized that I had evolved in five years. Still, my disposition was not yet that of a grown-up while my experiences were not those of a twenty-two year old either.

I virtually rebooted my life at twenty-two. I started with a clean slate, holding on to only a very few experiences that still needed closure. I did not know when or how these could be processed. But in the meantime, I clung to the comfort and reassurance of home. I hoped that time would eventually heal my wounds.

I soon after found myself in a school again – the Ateneo de Naga University --  but the circumstances were different this time around. There were too many rules for me to follow, but I consoled myself with the thought that I needed this after a long period of defiance. I was much older than my new mates and friends who seemed way too childish for me; I initially thought I was not with those whom I should be at twenty-two. But I was proven wrong again. These friends turned out to be the best people that I should meet at that point in my life. With them, I was happy and safe. Slowly, I loosened and opened up myself with others. And as I shared my humanity – even the ugly details of it - the pain gradually subsided.

At twenty-two, my sense of community broadened. I took up the challenge of leadership in an organization. At last, I sensed some purpose in my existence. I was not sure if I was ever a good student. My grades were just fine, but definitely not the best that I could come up with. I was not the obedient student that any teacher or prefect of discipline might wish for. In fact, I was once put on a disciplinary warning status for minor violations. But of this I am certain: I led and served my organization with all of my 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 be at twenty-three.

At twenty-three, I rode on a rollercoaster of emotions. I felt tough enough to handle any challenge – except maybe love, which came to me when I least expected it. I must admit that I felt happier and 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 it? Painfully, no. But the ride was intense; thus, 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 would 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 had to start at the bottom like any other beginner. The only difference was that my Curriculum Vitae was longer this time.

Having believed that I was meant for something bigger than my hometown, I tried to leave again. I did not pay attention to the grown-ups. I hastily dismissed other possibilities. But 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 (or not yet) ready for the career path I was pursuing. This led me to journey back home again.

Being Happy at 30 (Part Two)

Like a gift, exactly on my 25^th birthday, my formation as a worker in 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, I knew that I was not to stay for long in this first job as I was given an offer I could not refuse: to be a formator of student leaders and organizations at the Office of Student Affairs (OSA). At first, I found formation work too much 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 evaluations, responses, and even awards affirmed my work. Overjoyed, I imagined myself working 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 of the university. In my new niche, I met, talked and dined with prominent people – some of them, grownups, others, not --  listening to and being inspired by their” matters of consequence.” I worked with nice colleagues who, mostly, did not think like grownups, thankfully. With them, I was pushed to live out excellence, be it in writing, organizing, or even clerical work. True, I had a prestigious and convenient job. But I was looking for something more. It came to a point when I was so sure of leaving the 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 grown-ups. I felt underappreciated, unable to maximize my potentials and skills. But I kept myself busy at work and with extra-curricular activities when not at work to sustain my busyness and to evade the thought of leaving due to some frustrations. My desires to help my family and to have a stable future kept me hanging on when, at the end of each day, I was forced to confront issues at work. My reflections – in the silence of my retreats and in the noise of my daily struggles - always led me to stay and to be grateful for my gifts. They, however, also led me to be attentive to my internal movements and to the options that life presented me with. As apparent answer to my prayer, I found myself home at OSA again before the summer ended, this time with a new assignment. 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, and the fun in the Philippines. More importantly, I met and interacted with many people of different races, backgrounds, and matters of consequence. My perspectives widened, my linkages, expanded. But underneath all this personal and professional development, I was still on another journey – this time, to depths within 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 questions of whether or not to leave my present work or the country.

But today, I recall having earned a Mayoral Award at a young age. I have traveled to many countries abroad in the last two years. I have gained 788 Facebook friends from 35 countries all over the world. I have true friends. I have found a new passion – photography -- that has resulted into the creating of 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 and most hardworking father a son can ask for. My sister has been blessed with a child, Princess Reigne, who has made our home livelier and the grown-ups happier.

In the Ateneo de Naga University, I have been given opportunities which have allowed me to create a positive impact on the life of other people, especially the youth and the external community.

Today, God affirms His great love for me though 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 ended up just ranting a lot. After all, I am not underpaid in the area of blessings.

Today, I remember myself at seventeen and my plan to be a grown-up at 30, and I laugh at my foolishness. Maybe, given that only a year stands between now and this self-imposed deadline, I will still not yet be ready for the matters of grown-ups when I do hit that age: settling down, getting married, having 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 instead -- or maybe more – to reach my goal . Maybe I should plan a bit less and let life surprise me a bit more. Maybe I should just live each day like it were 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 found 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 uncovered 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.

TOMORROW, on my 29^th birthday, I will still be the little prince that I was at sixteen. I will still not be a grown-up. Rather, I will only be a year older than yesterday. However, with my hairline receding, I would be lying if I say that the thought of being a grown-up someday does not affect me in any way. Truth is, it does cause me some emotional stress to go through the normal transition from 20s to 30s and make some adjustments in my lifestyle. There just seems to be so much in youth that I have not outgrown yet. There is so much that I have not yet experienced. And these youth issues have surfaced of late. 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 grown-up.

BE that as it may, tomorrow, when I turn twenty-nine, I will continue to grow up. Tomorrow, at twenty-nine, I will seize the chance to be stronger, wiser, more grateful, more forgiving, more loving than today. Tomorrow at twenty-nine, I will continue to search for deeper meanings and long-lasting happiness.

-September 5, 2011

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Epilogue

The old musty smell or the rough feel of textured pages in books read during my teenage years no longer exists. In its stead now sits an iPad on my lap with its cold, weighty, and disengaging visual display. One day, I browsed through an e-copy of “The Little Prince,” which I had downloaded, once again. The emotional connection was still there. But I was reading the book with the eyes of a 29-year-old this time. In one chapter, the little prince says: “The people where you live grow five thousand roses in one garden... yet they don't find what they're looking for...” What fitting backdrop these words were as my long journey to self-awareness continued.

At twenty-nine, I had asked myself: What is my one matter of consequence - one that motivates me in all my endeavors, one that could sustain me. These are serious questions. Yet they are not questions of a grownup as they lead one to reflect on things beyond figures. With ‘being thirty’ lurking just around the corner, I felt a bit of pressure to engage in more serious discernment so as to, hopefully make bigger decisions when I turned thirty. Being thirty, I imagined, would be a turning point in my life, a time when I would get to have a clearer picture of how and where I would spend my life at least for the next ten years. I did not want to grow old regretting what I should have done today.

Now, finally, I am on the saddle of my thirtieth year. As I sit here today, a few hours before the year 2013, I find that this thirty-year-old still has no complete grasp of the future. So at some point, I ask myself, "What happened to my experience of retreats and other discernment activities? Meaning next year, should I expect to still feel the same feelings and confront the same questions about recurrent issues - such as my career, for instance?

More than frustration and impatience, however, what I feel while writing this is a sense of courage, openness, and excitement about life’s options. I believe that surprises await me as well as opportunities which shall be given to me as a consequence of my decisions and life’s inherent kindness. These positive energies are enough self-reassurance that things will turn out right.  For indeed, despite some personal struggles, my 30th year has been unfolding as one of the best years of my life. In 2012, I experienced some firsts, went to places near and far, and achieved dreams that have changed me forever. I met new people, strengthened old relations, and made fresh ones that I hope to nurture for good.

Being thirty today, I have so far made more conscious efforts to move towards my personal happiness. And yes, I'm happy to be happy. It is a new and strange feeling, but it is the feeling that, nonetheless, has settled within me after many years of pain. For all that I have done and accomplished in the last thirty years of my life, however modest they may seem to the world, I deserve to be happy.

The journey is far from over. But being thirty seems like a good place to be in.

-Few hours before December 31, 2012