Midnight dates with ‘multos’
My ‘multo’ is not a person, it’s …”
This phrase may have stormed your newsfeed some time last year. We’d often click that gray-colored “see more” option and go on to read their stories, if we’re interested. And as we read their stories, we feel a blend of emotions: we sympathize, are comforted, and feel validated for the struggles that felt isolating. This was a way for netizens to express their experiences of hurt and regret, of undoable decisions, irreconcilable relationships, and forgotten dreams.
It started from the Cup of Joe’s “Multo.” The song’s soft and nostalgic production echoed what pining feels like: a gentle yet reverberating whisper into the void. The message resonates with millions of listeners, delving into themes like yearning, guilt, and regret—feelings many of us are all too familiar with. Not surprisingly, it became last year’s most listened song in Spotify Philippines.
Originally, the song was about being haunted by a past relationship. However, it took on a whole new meaning because of that six-word punchline.
There was this entry I came across that stuck with me, “my multo will always be the opportunities and chances I’ve missed just because I refused to believe in my own potential and because of my shyness.” It has been a recurring message that appeared on my feed, and this may be the most relatable experience so far.
My entry is somewhat similar, “My multo is not a person; they’re lingering questions: “What if I had done better? If I have to unlock my potential, where on earth is that stupid key?”
I’m often seen as the hardworking and competitive type in academics. But deep beneath that vestige is someone who struggles with discipline, time management and doubt. It stings me whenever I fall short of my own expectations because I know I hadn’t done my best.
Where did my “best” go? It has been spent on TikTok and YouTube shorts. A few Facebook reels here and there. Just one episode, or half the episode. I pushed assignments aside, always convinced that I can tackle them all … later. I attended social events as if my to-do list was slate-clean, and swept the backlogs under the rug.
At the same time, I looked at the achievements of my peers and honestly felt pangs of envy. Ironic, right? But how could they all reach their potential while I’m left to watch it collect dust? What is their secret?
These tormenting thoughts usually visit past midnight. It’s peculiar how a day can go well, but takes a dark turn at midnight. Why do they choose to emerge at our sacred hours of repose? Is it because it gives them the space to be pondered upon while the rest of the world is tucked beneath blankets? Are they afraid of the noise, or do they seek my undivided attention?
The idea that ghosts don’t really appear at three in the morning; they show up at two began to make sense. Maybe the 3 a.m. folklore was just to have us sleep early, because the adults back then knew the hour before invited spirits scarier than translucent black mists, knocking at my consciousness, dressed as questions, guilt masquerading as thoughtfulness. They come to steal my sleep and disturb the souls of the aspirations I’ve buried. They make a dramatic entrance, but they don’t come to reap my soul, but to force me into an internal dialogue I’ve been running away from.
They’re novels half-read because their endings were never written. They’re regrets and what-ifs that will never have answers and relationships that could have been saved.
But the stories have reminded me I am not alone. I found strength in their vulnerability, courage in their quiet conviction, and reasons to push forward in the fortitude these people have shown.
The year has just started. Looking back, my midnights have become less messy. But it did not become peaceful with a snap of a finger. It was a slow yet sure process of growth, a change of habits, and healing. Before I knew it, the diaries that caught my melancholies became filled with pages of renewed faith and gratitude for the blessings.
I’m praying for your quiet resolution. We can’t be fighting the same monsters.
We can busy ourselves by engaging in relaxing habits, saying prayers, opening diaries, or even confronting them with raw and honest thoughts.
Even if we do these, the multos may still materialize, but we can choose to “ghost” them. Their cries can still bury the buzz of electric fans and drill through our ears, but we can start with a small yet stubborn resolution to let go and change our ways, if need be.
And as we wage the battle toward inner peace, may we find the courage to break up with them and move on.
No more midnight meetups. Just silence, and sleep.
—————-
Vince Claridad, 19, is a dreamer who finds comfort and chaos in late nights, and peace after prayers and worship to God.
