Until when is it okay to not be okay?
Sometimes, I ask the universe: Until when is it okay to not be, okay?
I don’t have a photographic memory—but it feels like a memory card in my brain, repeatedly playing the times I prayed so hard to forget. Maybe for others, it was just a simple mistake, something not worth dwelling on. “Ang tagal na no’n, hindi ka pa rin okay?” (It’s been so long, why are you still not okay?) as if healing were as simple as flipping a switch. As if a mere word could erase the pain.
Every day, I face the challenge of moving forward while bearing the weight of past traumas that seem to hinder my progress. To others, it may appear that I am making slow progress, but they cannot see the invisible struggles. It felt like I was crying for help but people blamed me for being loud. Sometimes, I ask the universe, until when can I continue to shed tears over a downfall that still brings me pain?
I wake up every morning with a heavy heart, sometimes burned by the pain of events that happened months or years ago, and other times, by the fresh wounds of yesterday. It’s exhausting to cycle through old problems, only for new ones to take their place. But perhaps the most draining realization is that some wounds, which I thought had healed, still hurt the same.
The universe, ever silent, doesn’t answer my pleas directly. However, it might convey its answer in the gentle creak of the sunrise or the soft rustle of leaves in the morning breeze. It could be in the cup of tea that warms my hands or the sliver of sunlight cutting through the blinds, beckoning for me to welcome the day. I inhale deeply, the air is cool and sharp. I recognize the heaviness of the past as a familiar pain in my chest. But this time, I also recognize my strength. I haven’t broken under its weight. I’ve continued to get up every morning, to face each day even the ones stained with tears.
Perhaps the memory card isn’t stuck in a loop of pain. Maybe it holds snapshots of my resilience too—the times I picked myself up, the moments of unexpected joy that flickered through the darkness. Maybe those hold the key to moving forward. Today, I choose a memory that brings a flicker of warmth. It could be a small victory, a moment of connection, a silly inside joke with a friend. I hold that memory close, a tiny ember against the vast chill of my past.
Today I have decided to rewrite the question. “Until when?” becomes “How can I move forward?” It is a small change but a powerful one. The focus shifts from the length of time I have been struggling with something to the direction in which I need to go for healing.
With newfound resolve, I started small. I reached out to a friend, someone who understood the language of unspoken pain. Sharing my struggles, even if just a sliver of them, felt like releasing a held breath. The conversation wasn’t a magical cure, but it wasn’t empty either. It was a bridge built, a reminder that I wasn’t alone on this path.
The days that followed were filled with instances of resilience and relapse. During certain moments, I felt overwhelmed by the memories, but I tried to remember that one happy memory that brought brightness. I began writing in a journal dedicated to positivity—I wrote about things like how the sun shines through the trees, how coffee tastes in the morning, and how it felt to receive a smile from a stranger. These small memories weren’t to say that the bad things didn’t exist, but for me to remember the world still had beauty in it, even if it was damaged.
The journey to recovery was not straightforward. There were many deviations, unexpected rain, and times I slipped a few spaces back. With every stumble, the surface felt a bit less harsh. The map of past battles, once etched with pain, started to hold a new meaning. It became a testament to my strength, a reminder of the battles I had fought and survived.
One day, as the sun started to set, it occurred to me that this whisper of thanks I sent to the universe had turned into an unspoken conversation. The universe did not respond in words, but in the amazing colors that painted the sky, the gentle rustle of leaves, and the quiet hum of life around me. It was a reminder that I was a part of this grand symphony, and even a broken note could contribute to the melody.
I know it won’t be easy because there will be days when the weight threatens to pull me under.
But I’ll also find moments of grace, of unexpected beauty, and of quiet strength within myself.
And on those days, I won’t be crying for help. I’ll be whispering a thank you to the universe, for the sunrise, for the resilience it ignited within me, and for the journey toward a future where I am not just okay, but truly alive.
The wounds might still be there, a map of past battles. But a map can also guide me on a new journey. I can choose a different path, one that avoids the old pitfalls and leads me toward healing.
Francine Keith B. Corpuz, 19, is an industrial technology student from Mariano Marcos State University. She is passionate about storytelling.
