The fuel that runs us

As I continued living through the same rhythm of days, I began to notice the contradiction. I used to think this was just responsibility taking shape—that this was what it meant to grow up, to become careful and disciplined, and to live within limits. I told myself that if I worked harder, managed better, and stayed focused, things would eventually ease. Yet the more I repeated the same days, the more I realized that effort alone was not changing the weight I was carrying.

Prices continued to rise, expectations remained fixed, and opportunities felt unevenly placed, as if they were never truly designed to reach everyone equally. What I once understood as a personal challenge began to feel like something else entirely. It is something the system continues to function on, fueled by the endurance of ordinary people constantly adjusting their lives just to keep up.

Living in the Philippines is often reduced to “adjusting” and “adapting,” as if it is simply a lifestyle trait rather than a response to constant instability. In reality, it means learning early how to survive conditions that are rarely stable to begin with. It shows in how families divide meals that are not enough, how students endure poor facilities and limited resources, and how workers bear conditions that demand far more than what is returned. We are often praised for resilience, as if endurance is a virtue we freely choose, when in truth it is something required just to remain afloat. And the real fuel that runs us is not our dreams alone, but the conditions imposed upon us—where survival becomes relentless pressure, forcing us to adapt, endure, and keep moving within systems that deny stability and demand constant struggle just to get by.

And that is where my understanding of what fuels me began to shift.

Discipline alone cannot explain it. Motivation cannot sustain it. Dreams alone cannot carry it. What keeps me moving is something more difficult to admit and harder to ignore—the awareness sharpened into refusal, the refusal to normalize conditions that demand endurance as a way of life, and the refusal to accept survival as the highest expectation placed upon us.

So, I move through the day with that understanding. I go to the university, calculate what budget I have, choose what matters, and pace myself so I do not burn out before the day ends. It’s an awareness that I am not just managing my life but navigating a system that requires more than I can give. And to dream in the Philippines is also to survive the harsh realities that the system will throw upon us.

Across the Philippines, this is not an individual story but a shared struggle, where waking up early is driven not by inspiration but obligation, and where survival depends on endurance more than stability.

So the real fuel that runs us now is not comfort, and it is not blind hope. It is the decision to keep going while remaining fully aware of what we are moving through—to speak for society, to hold onto the dream of a better one, and to confront and change the conditions that make struggle feel normal.

I do not want my life to be defined only by how well I can endure. That is the truth I return to, even in the middle of an ordinary day. I do not want to become so used to this cycle that I stop questioning it. I do not want to measure my worth by how much I can carry without exhausting my body. Because continuing, by itself, is not enough if the direction never changes.

That becomes the routine I return to each day, and one I realize is shared by many others moving through the same cycle of dreaming and endurance.

By the time evening arrives, the weight of the day settles differently. The numbers quiet down, replaced by something harder to measure. I am tired, but I am still thinking, still aware, and still unwilling to accept that this is the only way things can be. And as the night deepens, I lie down carrying both exhaustion and clarity, knowing that tomorrow will ask the same things of me again.

So before I close my eyes, I reach for my phone and I set my alarm for 5:30 a.m., again, waiting for it to ring to remind me that there is another morning to wake up to.