The game-changers

I once told myself:

Live your life while you are still young. Collect memories,
travel, meet people. Dance in the eye of every man’s storm.
Break the rules. Love many.

Act your age. Be young at 19. Be classic at 70. Light up your eyes, not with stars, but with dreams. Raid the beaches, dig the woods. Damn the world and the stench of its corrupted heart. Ride until the red light blinks in the distance.

So when the time comes and the great divide reaches with its icy claws for your loosening life belt, you will retrace nothing but the immortal ghost of your good old days and not the bitter visage of regret or contrition.

For a 19-year-old, that list is an array of big bold checks. But in my case, it wasn’t.

It was summertime of 2016 when I made my first job-hunting attempt after graduation, with a degree in secondary education as my lone platform.

I was 19 then, a dewy bud under the blue sky of self-doubt. I was too young, too careless, too inexperienced, and wholly unsure of the world I had pushed myself into and of the future that was as unsubtle as pitch-black night.

I seemed to be a cat thrown into an arena with lions and vipers. I was afraid to take a step and dip a toe in life’s strangest waters, in life’s perfect places for the brave and the secure. Possibly I was born an underdog. Possibly I was born to live life as a constant loser.

My job-hunting days passed slowly, like scattered sunlight between mountains, gracefully falling into coarse fatigue. The rhythm went from worse to worst, from nightmare to incubus — until I found myself queuing for a slot in a modest private school. On that day I thought everything would turn out satisfactory for me. But I was mistaken.

Being young, I never thought of such a load to drain the spirit animal lurking within me. As soon as I stepped into the school’s antechamber-like entrance, all I had in mind was fear of my metaphorical death.

The strong vibes of pressure grilled me to the core. The tension of the mock class demonstration and the panel interview soon after squeezed me dry, and provoked a constant anxiety.

It was one tiring experience. I was a well in the Death Valley — parched and useless — and the stars at night seemed to be the entire universe of people.

I was left down below, alone and feeling less what I was worth. I was nothing special, just painfully different.

Right there and then, I completely turned myself down. Deliberately I let the grains of my aspirations fall between my fingers. I decided not to act my age. I did not drive myself ahead of life and merely let life take the best of me.

At 19 I decomposed. Family, friends, travel goals, ambitions — they appeared dead to me.

These must be the scary aftermath of a bullied childhood. My confidence had been at surface level since my grade school days, since I was picked on for looking different. I was always scared of everything, especially of people and their dark side. I was conscious of my actions, decisions, thoughts, spoken ideas.

It was my thing to isolate myself from people, to be alone and free from any criticism or judgment. It was imperative for me to shut myself down, especially in social gatherings, forums, or meetings where conversation is required.

I was sad at 19 — when teenagers are social mobilizers, outspoken and bold, traveling everywhere and dealing with people all day long. I was sad because I had never tried any of the teen stuff. I was a plain design, just a boring blank slate.

Until one day I realized that someone has changed my life and my perspective of myself and of the world around me: my mom. She is my biggest support system.

I can clearly think back how she guided me through my academic and nonacademic accomplishments every time she felt that I was nervous or uneasy; how she shared with her friends my graduation pictures; how she posted my photos on Facebook and proudly replied to our relatives’ comments that I am her son.

My mom has made me realize that I am equal to my peers, that I have my own potentials, that life is too short to be lived within my comfort zone.

She has made me understand that self-doubt will continue to be my cancer if I don’t fight it, and that being young means, not just going with the trend, but pushing yourself to the limits and showing the world that opportunity sees no age.

Three years later, I may not have lived the life of a supercool kid, but I am proud of myself. Other young people out there may have relished the beauty of Maldives, caressed the softness of cherry blossoms, or tasted the most bizarre food. Yet one thing is for sure: Never have they traveled and inspired the world like I do.

At the moment I am a licensed public school teacher in the central school of my humble city. I have been a teacher for
almost two school years.

My first school year was in a private school, where I started at 19 as a senior high school instructor. After I took and passed the board examination and applied for a teaching position, I am now a junior high school teacher.

And I have never been more fulfilled. I am so thankful to my mom for encouraging me to do well in every endeavor in life and for advising me that fear and self-doubt are mere words needing to be erased from the novel of my possibility.

Without her, I would have never stood the young generation, though funnily I am also a part of it. I am now in a position to influence kids to be better individuals in the future.

Why bother going places when the world is just a few pieces of chalk and several textbook pages away? I know I have not
only touched and reached a student’s heart and soul, I have also touched and reached the world’s as much as other people my age are doing.

I don’t see myself as a poor cat in the arena now, because I have learned to roar and claw. No more bullies to be afraid of. No more tears to be wiped off. No more insecurities to be borne.

My list has been changed — by my mom and my profession, by their lessons that I will forever treasure.

Now I often tell myself these:

Live your life while you are living. Collect memories, travel, meet people with the scholars. Dance in the eye of every intellect’s storm. Break the rules for once and learn something valuable in return. Love many; love many a wandering young soul.

Act your age, be a role model. Be young at 19, be sweet and kind. Be classic at 70, be mature and refined. Light up your eyes, not with stars, but with dreams (this I will keep in mind). Raid the beaches, dig the woods (these should be with mom, who knows best). Damn the world and the stench of its corrupted heart. Speak up. Ride until the red light blinks in the distance.

Ride until your chalk wears thin and your board breaks apart.

* * *

Sherwin French C. Anson, 21, is a teacher at Sagay National High School.