Extra big everything

Growing up, I never thought having an extra could be something to regret. Like an extra big pancit canton.

One pack always seemed too little, but two felt too much. Somehow, it leaves you wanting more while making you wonder why you cooked so many in the first place.

For some people, pancit canton is comfort food at midnight. For others, it is their go-to meal while working on a thesis. For many, it is simply the most affordable thing they can eat. In my case, as someone born and raised in the province, I never knew “extra.” I only knew “enough.”

In a big family like mine, an extra big pancit canton was never really mine. It was meant to be shared. Even when my mother cooked three packs, it somehow still left me wanting more. Maybe that is why I always wondered what it felt like to have an extra. What does it mean to have more than enough? The truth is, I did not know.

In school, I was taught to join extracurricular activities because extra experiences were always better. They came with extra opportunities and extra points. In life, I was taught to dream extra big. As people would say, “Mangangarap ka na lang din, lakihan mo na (If you’re going to dream anyway, dream big).”

So I did.

I dreamed big. But no one told me that “extra” could also be overwhelming.

I finished high school with many awards. Some would call that extra. I delivered a long valedictory speech because of the extra points that raised my average. And in the province, or maybe in life itself, once you become that student, people begin writing a future for you.

You are supposed to study in an extra big school. You are supposed to take an extra difficult program. You are supposed to move to an extra big city.

Now, I am here.

Manila.

An extra big city. An extra large crowd. Carrying what I believed was an extra big dream.

Then reality arrived. Not all at once, but enough to make itself known.

I learned that having an extra dream requires extra energy. Extra strength. Extra time. Extra money. To have an extra is to carry an extra. And somewhere along the way, I got tired. I failed. I cried. I got lost. For a while, I thought I had lost my extra. The spark I thought would always be there. I was extra tired. Extra scared. Extra uncertain. I never thought I would feel that way.

I never thought the boy who once stood behind a podium would someday struggle to recognize himself. But then I realized something.

This, too, is an extra. I am not the same person I was before. I am stronger. Bolder. And somehow, happier. Not because everything worked out. But because I survived the things I once thought would break me.

I am still searching for another extra. Maybe an extra motivation. A new spark. A new goal. But I no longer think I need to be extraordinary just to belong here.

I do not need countless achievements to prove that I am alive. I do not need an extra anything to know that I am enough. Sometimes we are extra weak. Extra scared. Extra confused. And that is okay.

I live in an extra big city where, honestly, nobody has the time to wonder whether your dreams are bigger than theirs. People are busy carrying their own extras. Their own worries. Their own expectations. Their own battles. And strangely, that comforts me.

I still miss the younger version of myself sometimes. The hopeful one. The dream-filled one. But then I remember that he is still here. He did not disappear. He just grew up.

Now we are here. In this extra overwhelming place. Surrounded by extra big buildings, extra busy streets, and extra loud dreams. Still surviving. And that is extra good.

Today, I still carry many extras in my life. I used to have a bigger bed than the one my small apartment offers. I used to have more space.

More certainty. More familiarity. But I am okay.

At least I am here.

And now, I can eat an extra big pancit canton all by myself. Though I still cannot finish two packs.

Maybe that is the lesson.

Sometimes having an extra means worrying extra and working extra.

Sometimes it means carrying more than you expected.

But sometimes it also means being lucky enough to have more than enough.

So wherever life finds you, good luck with your extras.

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Gevan Raye Madanlo Yap, 20, is from Bani, Masinloc Zambales.