I could be doing tons of important things, but my eyes are hooked onto this thing called the internet. I die.
The Internet and I, hitched for life. Minsan gusto ko ng cool-off pag exam week, pero ang clingy
When I was a kid I always thought that things would be easier to handle when I got older. I thought that with each successive birthday some kind of irrationally-obtained wisdom will find its way to you so you can properly be called an adult.
I’m nineteen now. I don’t think things have gotten easier to handle at all — if anything, it’s tougher. With every single important event that happens I feel its impact more, maybe because now I do understand what it really means and how it changes my life. I wasn’t much of a crybaby when I was a kid (I was admittedly a little maldita), but now tears come naturally even at the slightest provocation. If before I thought being tough meant keeping a stoic face through everything, let me correct myself. That’s not it, and how it’s supposed to be. It’s letting yourself cry and just basically feel every emotion that hits you, full force, and swimming through its torrents knowing — and more importantly, believing — that you will get through. People always say that the journey is the destination. That’s only because the hope that there is a destination makes it so — as you doggedly keep moving forward even without anything in sight, just the belief (and maybe knowledge) that you’ll get somewhere is enough.
I’m turning twenty in a few months. There are still days when I have the emotional maturity of a seven-year old. Sometimes I speak words of advice I didn’t know I could string together. Sometimes there are days when I just walk around feeling helpless and insignificant. When I have a really bad one I still cry and eat tubfuls of ice cream, and when I eat too much my body starts rejecting it. And that’s exactly the point — there will never be too much of anything you can’t handle. What does not kill you makes you stronger, and in turn, what makes you stronger makes you harder to kill.
Please note that at five years old I was already failing at dancing. I was raising the wrong hand up and obviously not in my proper place. Some things really don’t change!
