I want to live
Have you ever thought of how you’ll die?
The hardest season of my life has always been the first half of each year.
It starts in January when the air’s still a little cold and still smells a little like Christmas, and ends in a warm, spring-like, sunny May.
Visually, it’s cinematic, especially if you are studying in a scenic rural university like mine. The plot twist, however, is in the in-between. The new year always replenishes my tank of hope and drains every ounce of negative and self-destructing energy in my system. But it’s one thing to start the year right and own your life, and another to sustain your hope tank while dealing with your circumstances.
The first five months of this year depleted my tank, and the source, aka my faith, is also running dry. Every single day comes with gut-wrenching news about my performance as a student, paired with constant reminders of how limited my resources are.
The anxiety of graduating later than my batchmates and whether the path I took will lead to the future I have always wanted, plus the guilt of not being able to help my family financially, are eating me alive as an eldest daughter and a dreamer.
Somehow, life goes on. The world will always be spinning; time does not stop running. No matter how you feel, you must keep moving. But somewhere in the middle of juggling my daily responsibilities, I felt empty and unmotivated. I ran out of enthusiasm to tackle the goals I have set for myself. Nothing brought me joy, not even the hobbies I genuinely enjoyed before.
With nowhere else to go and tap inspiration from, I dropped by the church one day after receiving consecutive heart-dropping exam results. I genuflected out of habit and sat down on one of the church pews at the back. I stared at the altar for a few minutes, trying to organize my thoughts and determine which one on my long list of worries I should prioritize praying for. I figured I needed to be very specific in asking for God’s help, but I didn’t know where to start. A few minutes passed and I finally knelt. With a shaking voice, I said, “God, I want to live.”
I felt tears coming out of my eyes, so I looked around to make sure no one was watching. A moment of silence followed. I cannot remember what I said next, but I know I ended that prayer with a desperate “Please, gusto ko mabuhay.”
Back then, I was not asking for my problems to be solved and for things to finally go my way. I just wanted to not give up. I just wanted assurance that I can make it through. Working with uncertainty, not knowing if what you’re doing is going to work out, can sometimes be tiring.
During times like this, we are always told to go back to our why. But there are certain situations in life, I believe, that do not require a grand, life-changing, and deep reason. Our why could be as simple as just wanting it. Why do you want to live? Because I want to live. Why do you continue down this path? Just in case it’s for me. Living and doing things do not always need profound justification.
When everything seemed to be going wrong, I found myself praying for strength and hope to carry on. When I said I wanted to live, I was not sure how God would do it for me. I did not know if He’s finally going to give me a scholarship or a part-time job to help my family financially. I did not know if He would allow me to ace the rest of my exams and end the semester successfully. I did not know if I would finally get out of the slump. I did not know if he would send people to help me. I did not know if things would get really good for me. But God woke me up every day.
I showed up in all my classes. I did not miss any of my exams. I spent time with my friends, whether at the library, on lunch breaks, or on dinner dates. My family is in good health. We managed to pay my dorm fees and other bills on time. My life was not eventful, but I was just grateful to live and see another day.
Because to exist means I can still try applying for other scholarships; I can attend classes and learn valuable things; I can call my Nanay and tell her about how difficult my exams were; I can enjoy the healthy and delicious meals that my Tatay cooks; I can witness my brother get into his dream school; I can remember and honor my late grandmother; I can listen to my friends talk about what they love; I can still work on my dreams.
I stopped searching for a grand explanation for every setback. These days, I still live with uncertainty and fear of the unforeseeable future. But I wake up every day with renewed hope, because to exist means I can try again.
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Jesusa Grace Calingasan, 21, is a dreamer.
