Lessons on adulthood

The thought of explaining the present to my younger self is downright terrifying.

When I can barely grasp the complexities of life, I often dream of the extravagance and greatness that’s in store for me. I’d imagine all sorts of glorious things happening, and I can’t wait for a future full of possibilities.

I remember counting all the coins I’ve been saving. Each clinking peso fueled my excitement for things I didn’t yet have—a bright Nickelodeon lunchbox, a double-decker pencil case, a box of Crayola in every color imaginable, or even a house with my own room. While I never really had the chance to buy those things, my piggy bank still overflowed with dreams.

I never lost that spark of hope I had as a kid.

In a way, it was hope that allowed me to be confident in showcasing my skills when I was studying. Hope is my constant companion. Even after having a clear sense of reality, I bring it with me, hoping that it could help me someday. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt anyone but me, right?

Because of this, I naively believed that chasing dreams was as simple as reaching for them.

After earning my degree, everyone seemed eager to know what I’d do next. Former teachers were convinced I’d take the board exam, peers anticipated a high-paying job offer, and old friends expected immediate career success. The pressure was overwhelming, to the point where I believed these expectations myself.

Who can blame them? I was always at the top of the class—always available to help those in need. I was never lacking in terms of academic success, and I had a handful of extracurricular activities.

Reality outside the university, however, was way messier. It was nothing like I was told. I had to wake up one day with reality slamming the doors shut on me. There were limited opportunities for girls like me who had nothing else to offer but their skills and minds. I don’t have a family name that opens doors or connections whispered in high places. Even financial support from my parents and brother wasn’t an option because they had helped me enough.

Armed with my hope, I spent days drafting applications and cover letters. I initially sent out about 10 each day, but as time passed, I lost track of the exact number. It even became impossible to keep count of how many application letters I passed.

My frustration only grew from answering unknown numbers daily, knowing they likely wouldn’t reach out again after our brief interaction. When I almost landed a job in a prominent company, I had it taken away right in front of me by an acquaintance with connections within the organization. To be frank, I almost lost it when I received the news. But you know, life happens.

Whatever.

I keep repeating those words to show that I’m fine. I’m going to be fine. However, a storm is brewing in me and I’m just using “whatever” to coax myself. I was on edge every single day and in agony every single night, but I had to cling to the little bits of hope that were left.

Thankfully, I did.

I want to give myself credit for not giving up because there really is an end to the frustrations. I found a career in the field I’ve always wanted. Now, I own multiple art materials that I put in different cases. I still don’t own a Nickelodeon lunchbox since they’re not my cup of tea anymore, but I believe I can buy it when I want to. I can even support my little sister’s education and hobbies.

The only problem I have is, how do I tell my younger self that living the grand life remains a distant dream?

I’m somewhat frightened to tell her that I still don’t have a room for myself, that I still commute to work, that I’m not really made for that lifestyle. I can’t even talk back to rude people, and I developed the habit of biting my tongue—which was very unlike what my younger self envisioned.

I became the opposite, but happier.

Nowadays, I just let things be and live my life as freely as I can. I eat outside when I want to, I go on spontaneous trips when I’m free, and I slack off for days.

In fact, my deepest desire now is freedom. I want to reclaim the joy poverty stole from me and find fleeting moments of happiness. Though I still am terrified of falling short, I hold on to the hope that I can do it just like how I did it the first time.

As someone without a safety net, adulthood is scary, yet exciting. It makes me feel anxious, hopeful, and everything in between. There were times when all I wanted to do was cry. Nevertheless, I’m glad I realized that it’s not all about chasing glory and dreams. Sometimes, it’s about having a good night sleep and feeling good about yourself.

I just hope my younger self understands that I did it for us.

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Aureen Kyle Mandap, 24, is now a writer. She wishes to travel around the Philippines and explore the world.