Standing at the crossroads

The streetlights draw sharp lines across my glasses, blurring my sight and clouding my vision. For a while I couldn’t identify which road to cross.

I took one step forward.

I hesitated.

I took three steps back.

As a Gen Z, I find myself caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. Being one is more than just a label for my generation. We carry the weight of generational frustrations and are often notoriously compared to other generations before us through ethnocentric perspectives. We are labeled as depressive, entitled, mere “keyboard warriors,” and overly opinionated. These labels have shaped my identity, labels I accepted and conformed to. I am anxious, entitled, constantly online, and openly opinionated.

At 18 years old, I stand on shifting ground—overwhelmed and confused. I am a struggling college freshman, commuting every day and returning home burdened with schoolwork. Yet, every time I get home and sit down, the headlines are saturated with news of “corruption.” I hear about it on the television, in the alleyways, and while riding jeepneys.

We, Gen Zs, are slammed with lists of do’s and don’ts, expected to be like the generations before us. But most of the time, these expectations drag us down. The anxiety borne from belonging to this generation and the continuous curations of who we really are became the explicit reasons that either fuel us or burn us out. We are unlike the others; the pressures of being digital natives, never-ending economic anxieties, peer pressure, academic burnout, and drive for pragmatic stability in the future are on our shoulders.

In the mornings, we are at the library studying for a quiz. Later, we are given additional piles to add to the growing stack of requirements. We procrastinate. We doomscroll. We see ourselves smaller than others. We hear our leaders slowly steering the country. We worry that our country will lose hope. For Gen Z, or at least in my case, this has become a daily cycle.

I wonder if I’m taking this label too seriously. I do my schoolwork, read my assignments, but truthfully, I hate myself for not doing enough. I procrastinate. I open my textbooks but close them right afterward. I have neither motivation nor discipline. I think I can do it all later. Maybe not, but I have to. And I’m forcing myself to hold everything together.

On nights, we crash out. Even as a digital native, it has never seemed so easy to figure out and get used to convincing myself of the distinction between social media posts and real life. A comparison that pulls us apart.

I cheer for my peers, the people my age who speak in front of crowds, those who earn money themselves. It seems to be going well for them, or maybe not. I’m happy to see them get what they hope for. But even so, the feeling of incapability and skill issues linger. Some Gen Z, like myself, feel the constant pressure to keep up with our peers, to become the “hope of the nation” as we are expected to become.

To be the hope of the nation, according to society, means excelling in school, striving to become professionals one day. In that way the Philippines will become better. I want to, I want it so bad that I am ambitious enough to wish for that “Atty.” title before my name. But now, I find myself lagging, having midlife crises whether I qualify for the standard of becoming that so-called hope of the nation.

Do I belong here? or do I merely qualify as a keyboard warrior and not as a hope of the nation?

It’s frustrating that while Gen Zs still hope for a better Philippines even though it’s getting worse, it seems that we are seen as disgraceful to hold placards and demand for accountability. We are constantly told to stand up for our nation, and we are doing it.

Our generation has become more empathetic, fighting for what we know is right, for the future we hope to be despite the constant personal struggles and battles that we carry. Some go to the streets and call for accountability, and some type passionately on their keyboard, extending support and promoting awareness online.

I’m happy for the millennials, they went past the generational traumas. Some of them are in the workforce, living the life they wanted. Maybe not all, but they have passed that stage. Unfortunately, the curse of generational pressure is upon us this time. Something that we ought to break and pave the way for succeeding generations.

As I stand here at the crossroads, I hope these streetlights will not blur my vision, but light up the road I’m supposed to cross.

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Ana Mae Kinomes, 18, is a first year college student at Saint Louis University, Baguio City.