What’s the plan?

I’m on the last roll of my 20s. Hell yes, I am scared.

I grew up in a small town. A town where everyone knows each other and with a little tracing back on who’s your Lola and Lolo, most are related by blood. Placed between the lush, untrodden mountains footed by rice fields at the east and bounded by pastel-colored sunsets at the west, soothed by pristine, calm, or sultry sea, depending on the season, this small town shaped a little girl’s big dreams who was once three.

Having a Barbie, eating a can of Spam, and having the first-gen model of a Nokia phone were considered luxuries in my town. My father was a seafarer, and in our small town, there were only three. I got to experience private kindergarten, threw a flamboyant seventh birthday party, and spent one summer enrolled in piano lessons. Our small town has two sides: living in either abundance or just enough to survive and providing at least two meals a day. It only hit me that I belonged to the former when I was in fourth grade. With all the abundance in life growing up, I thought the concept of being comfortable meant a family car, screened doors, and an air-conditioning unit present at someone’s home. You have a comfortable life when you call your parents Mama or Papa and are considered rich when you call them Mommy or Daddy. I called mine Tatay and Nanay.

As the eldest daughter, I wonder if having a strong sense of independence is innate. I vividly remember doing my homework on my own without asking Nanay’s help. Then there I was, sheepish little me landed top three by kindergarten and graduated valedictorian from elementary. In our small town, graduating with flying colors means you are destined to do great things. Since this is the society I grew up in, I fed myself the big dreams and shoved those high expectations in my mouth that I would actually and eventually will make it. By graduating at the top of my elementary class I had my life all laid out perfectly before I reached 30. It was a bluff.

The world will end in 2012—a hoax that most people fell for during that year. Even a movie was created with the same title depicting that this was the end game for Earth and its mankind. The truth is that a part of my world ended in 2012. Tatay’s death, no life savings, all our properties sold, and a pregnant me at 18. Just like the movie, the abundant life that the Earth once had was washed down by the great tsunami. That was my great tsunami, washing away the comfortable life and big dreams I had all in one go. The abundance of family, friends, finances, and food became a distant memory.

At 19, I became a mom. My timeline for motherhood should be when I reach 25. Fate got it mixed up, and mine was too early. While some of my batchmates passed licensure exams, secured promising internships and job offers, and moved abroad, I was navigating how to start a family. This was out of plan. In our small town, they were praised, and I was criticized. They had their diplomas, I was changing diapers and preparing infant formula.

Once my daughter turned three, my big dreams started haunting me. Suddenly, I felt the daydreamer 10-year-old me again. Tracing back the plan she once had, coloring and hoping that this time, she will make it happen. I worked the entire peak season at a beach resort to save up for enrolment. Seeing my school ID sealed the deal for me. Here it is, another shot to finish my studies. At 25, I finished college, passed my licensure exam, and eventually landed a job. In our small town, finishing a degree is the pathway to a successful life. At that time, I held that belief dearly.

Life after taking the boards is another hazy timeline nowhere in my plan. I thought that this stage in life is when marriage, establishing a career, and saving your first million are supposed to happen. While my college peers worked in logistics, I worked in the academe. While they were arranging christening ceremonies, I was attending elementary PTA meetings. Then, the pandemic happened. The 12-year-old me does not have this word in her vocabulary. Again, 2020 reminded me of the movie 2012, except there was no great tsunami but a virus. While mankind faced death, the Earth tasted healing. The truth is that a part of me was healed in 2020. I enrolled myself in an MBA program, lost 40 pounds, made money through writing, and finally, I had a plan. It was all an upshot.

One of the panel interviewers asked me, “What is your plan five and 10 years from now?” I answered with just pure honesty and said, “None.” I got the job.

Now on the verge of bidding adieu to my 20s, screw that plan. With all the things that happened in my life—the good, bad, and everything in between, whether I like it or not, this is my reality. Priorities over dreams, the present over the plan. Yes, there will be moments when I daydream about my what-ifs, only being interrupted by the bills I need to pay, the food I need to prepare, the laundry I need to fold, and the list goes on. The little 10-year-old girl’s dreams were buried, along with the abundant and comfortable life she once knew because she chose practicality and living in the present. What remains is her independence, bravery, and resilience.

Inches away from 30, I took a deep breath, and again, asked myself, “So, what’s the plan?”

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Gillian delos Reyes, 29, writer, and is a proud mom to Hayley.