Growing up, the first words that slipped from older people’s mouths after not seeing each other for a long time were, “Ano ba ang pangarap mo, hija?” As a 5-year-old child, my eyes would always start forming hearts as I sighed deeply, getting ready to talk about what I was passionate about. I’d rumble about all kinds of things like how I helped mom cook our dinner and how I’d constantly get called into our kitchen to help every Christmas Eve as I cutely made little jumps expressing my excitement.
I still vividly remember how I’d always answer “chef” without fail whenever someone asked about what I wanted to be when I grew up.
I’d always lower the volume of our television and get up from the sofa after seeing my mom getting ready to cook our dinner for the night. She’d instantly assist me with the ingredients and I’d help her put ingredients and still claim I cooked them. I’d hear laughter filling the room as the scent of the newly cooked adobo filled our evening.
Fast-forward to my teenage years. I stopped answering, “chef po” to the question “Ano ang pangarap mo?”
Instead, I answered, “Hindi ko pa po alam” with traces of hesitation, knowing I considered lots of things but never came to the extent that I’d wholeheartedly pursue them.
Perhaps, you can even name all of the jobs out there just by pointing out what I’ve answered to the same question these past few years: flight attendant, forensic scientist, chef, detective, baker, journalist, nurse, and an endless loop of what I used to want to be. It was hard for me. Not knowing what I wanted, what I’m good at, and what’s good for me.
Until one day, my dad asked again. “Ano ba kukunin mo?” He rephrased it. I was hesitant to tell the truth. Who would want a daughter who never really knew herself? Who would want a daughter who came from answering those questions fast to not answering at all? I sighed heavily, this time, it wasn’t because of excitement to talk about the dreams I wanted to pursue but because I didn’t have one anymore.
I looked at my dad and told him, “Wala pa po pero may gusto po akong strand.”
He started asking questions as I finally said it. I wanted to take HUMSS (humanities and social sciences) as my strand.
The room was filled with silence. It was as if heaven heard me and made the time stop— because how come I always said I’d be taking STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) but changed my mind in my last year of junior high?
My dad broke the silence: “Basta kunin mo ang gusto mo.” Those words lingered on my mind, making me pause as I felt my heart skipping beats. I was not on the verge of crying as I could not process what my dad just said. I expected him to say, “Sulat-sulat lang?” but instead, he became supportive.
So I asked myself what I really wanted.
I asked, and asked, and asked, and asked—but nothing came to mind. I was disappointed. I don’t have the privilege of attending a private school as we struggle financially and I am not naturally smart to begin with but I do have the privilege to take the course that I desire the most without the worry of disappointing my family, but what is it exactly?
I excel in lots of things and lack in many aspects, too, but what I lack the most is having a dream to reach. The ability to have ambition and a burning passion for something. Perhaps, that is my biggest flaw.
Growing up, I tended to overanalyze dreams and view them as a way of living as I grew up in a household with limited privileges. I had this thinking that I couldn’t dream deep and big as I’d just make myself hopeful or label myself as “feelingera” so my dreams would constantly change. I would always consider if we were financially ready for it or If I’d be able to provide a better life with that job for my family.
Because growing up, “walang kinabukasan diyan” made a big impact on me. It made me question professions that are good. Most importantly, it made me question if I deserve to dream as we struggle to make a living. My thinking was, I don’t have to dream big but rather, I need to make a living that was good enough for my family. So here I am, ending up with no path to take or future to look forward to.
That’s why when someone would say, “Gusto ko maging scholar ng bayan” or “Gusto ko maging writer ng milyon-milyong nobela,” I’d instantly feel envious because I couldn’t even answer simple questions like what my favorite color is.
Maybe I could be a writer? But the problem is, I don’t see myself in the future being a writer. I deeply love writing but not to the extent that it’ll be my future.
That’s why, someday, I’d love to look back and read this essay and say, I finally have something to call my dream.
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Phoebe Geradila, 15, writes and releases poems on social media, and is part of the school band.