It’s been a long road, millennials
It seems that we’ve become so busy trying to keep up with what modern society demands from us—careers, bills, deadlines, responsibilities—that we sometimes pause only for brief moments of nostalgia. It’s been a long road for our generation. And to my fellow millennials, I just want to say: congratulations. We’ve come a long way, and it’s okay to stop for a while and remember how it all began.
There was a time when life was simple. We were just kids playing outside our homes, barefoot, sweaty, and happy. We played tagu-taguan, tumbang preso, and patintero until the sun went down. I grew up as a city kid, well, a “cemetery kid,” to be exact. My friends and I used to jump over tombs, doing what we called parkour long before we even knew the word existed. Life was full of adventure, even in the oddest places.
Whenever I went home to Pangasinan, we’d swim in irrigation canals, run through the muddy fields, and fly kites. We didn’t care about fancy food or restaurants. Just buying chichirya, halo-halo, or fish ball after school was enough. Those were simple yet genuine sources of happiness.
At night, we’d sit outside with our friends, talking about random things: computer games, anime, dreams, etc. When the conversations quieted down, we’d look up at the sky and imagine who we might become someday.
When we think about it now, as adults, we seldom look at those same stars anymore—too busy with work, deadlines, and the rhythm of everyday life. But on the rare nights when we do, it’s strange how those memories come rushing back: the laughter, the dreams, the feeling that the world was once small enough to hold in our hands.
Then came high school—arguably the most colorful chapter of our youth. We were rowdy, curious, carefree. Being a current educator—first as a senior high school teacher and now as a professor—I sometimes can’t imagine that I was once that student who defied the authority of teachers in the classroom. But as a former adolescent myself, I can truly understand the sentiment we all shared: we lived by the saying, “You only live once.”
After classes, we’d head to computer shops, hang out in town, or go swimming with friends. We usually saved a portion of our allowance not for food, but for a few precious hours at the computer shop. Three hours of gaming felt like pure bliss. We didn’t realize back then how precious time really was—the way we valued it then is worlds apart from how we value it now as adults.
We had our favorite tambayans, spots in town where we’d gather and just talk about anything. I can still remember the manongs and ates who sold us snacks, yosi, and drinks, and sometimes I wonder where they are now. After exams or during Christmas breaks, we’d plan swimming trips. Funds were tight, but everyone chipped in for food and drinks. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was pure joy—simpler, even happier than the kind of get-togethers we have now as adults.
Some nights, we’d sneak a few drinks, even if most of us weren’t of legal age yet. I still remember some of those “what ifs”—the crushes we never got, the people who might have been “the one” if life had gone differently. Sometimes, I think about them and wonder, what if we ended up together? Those were the days filled with carefree joy—the kind of happiness that didn’t need to be posted online. We didn’t worry much about the future then. We just lived in the moment.
College was the bridge between our youthful chaos and the reality of adulthood. We were still wild at heart, but there was also a growing sense of purpose. We joined organizations, met mentors, and built friendships that shaped who we are today. There were nights of endless laughter, spontaneous parties, deep talks, and heartbreaks that taught us about love and resilience. It was the age of becoming—of figuring out where we belonged in the world.
Now, many of us are professionals. Some are working abroad, others are teachers, engineers, nurses, government workers, or entrepreneurs. The dreams we once whispered to the night sky—some have come true, others have changed. But once in a while, when I walk around the same university where I once studied, I see flashes of my younger self in those hallways. The classrooms, the benches, the laughter—they all whisper, “You were here.” That thought alone brings both comfort and sadness.
Maybe that’s what growing up really means, not forgetting the past, but carrying it with us. Those memories of childhood games, high school laughter, and college adventures remind us that before we became who we are today, we were once dreamers—wild, messy, and free.
To my fellow millennials, take a pause. Look back, smile, and remember. We’ve survived a lot, from economic crises and pandemics to heartbreak and uncertainty. Yet here we are, still standing, still dreaming.
It’s been a long road, and it’s far from over. But as we continue walking forward, let’s never lose that child in us: the one who once looked up at the night sky and believed that the future would be bright.
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Kurt Zeus L. Dizon is an assistant professor at Saint Louis University, Baguio City.
