The rusted teaspoon

Is this how it goes?

Growing up, the saying about being born with a silver spoon or a wooden ladle never quite resonated with me. It felt more like I was handed a rusted teaspoon—enough to scrape by, but never enough for true comfort.

I’m an only child in my early 20s, and while financial stability has always been a distant dream, we weren’t so hard up. My parents, both high school graduates, carved their path in the workforce, leaving the halls of academia behind.

Maneuvering through the difficulties of the lower-middle class can be isolating. While the struggles of those in extreme poverty and the successes of the privileged often dominate the narrative, the experiences of those in this precarious economic space remain largely overlooked.

The recent “diploma o diskarte” debate feels like a cruel joke. On one hand, education has always been positioned as the great equalizer, the key to unlocking a brighter future. I see the value in textbooks and lectures, the expansion of knowledge, and the promise of a secure job with a coveted diploma. But on the other hand, reality bites. A diploma isn’t a silver bullet, especially for those of us teetering on the edge of financial security. A college degree might open doors, but it doesn’t guarantee escaping the daily hustle.

Adding to the pressure is the fact that I recently switched college programs. This decision, to pursue a career that aligns with practicality as a more logical option, has come at a cost. Graduation will be delayed, pushing back the day I can finally contribute financially and achieve a semblance of stability. The dreams I harbored as a wide-eyed freshman now feel like distant mirages. Some memories and dreams, I realize with a sense of guilt, need to be abandoned or placed on hold. This harsh reality is a bitter pill to swallow, but it’s a reality nonetheless.

I live in a constant tug-of-war between need and want. Every peso is meticulously accounted for, and celebrating small victories like fixing a leaky faucet becomes a cause for genuine joy. The pressure to contribute financially weighs heavily on my shoulders. Unlike some of my peers with extensive family networks, I don’t have a safety net to fall back on. Blood might be thicker than water, but in my case, it seems more like murky pond water.

Their understanding of my situation is clouded by their experiences, and sometimes, their advice, though well-meaning, feels like a slap in the face. “Why are you taking so long to graduate?” they might ask, not understanding the financial tightrope I walk or the sacrifices my parents make to keep me afloat.

My parents’ income is anything but consistent. My father battles the scorching sun, taking on multiple jobs in agriculture or any other demanding physical labor he can find. My mother, a therapist, often works until her hands are numb, pushing through the pain to provide for our family. She leaves for work regardless of the weather, even braving heavy rain to be with her patients. A few years from now, they’ll be in their 60s, their health slowly deteriorating with each passing day. I long for the day when I can finally give them the life they deserve, a life filled with rest, relaxation, and the freedom to pursue their passions.

The irony stings. We see the headlines about government programs aimed at uplifting the underprivileged, yet our reality feels like a forgotten footnote. Are we not deserving of support because we haven’t hit rock bottom yet? Is there no safety net for those of us desperately trying to climb out of the cycle? Do we have to be stuck in a cycle of barely scraping by and being invisible?

Some might argue that assistance programs are sufficient or that personal responsibility is the key to overcoming financial hardship. While I appreciate the sentiment behind these views, they fail to acknowledge the systemic barriers that prevent many from breaking free from poverty’s grasp. Yes, personal effort is crucial, but it’s a lot harder to climb a ladder when the rungs are missing or constantly shifting.

So, how do I navigate the tightrope walk? It’s the ability to stretch a budget thin, to find creative solutions to problems, and to hustle for every opportunity that comes my way. It’s the late nights spent doing commissions, searching for odd jobs, and scholarships and grants becoming lifelines in this constant storm.

What if there’s a quality education that equips us not just for theoretical exams, but for the realities of the job market? What if there’s financial aid that addresses the specific needs of those who fall outside the cracks of extreme poverty but still struggle to make ends meet? And what if there is a system that provides us with the tools, not just the teaspoons, to thrive?

I am the daughter of hardworking parents who defied the odds, but whose sacrifices haven’t quite secured a life of complete comfort for us. I am burdened by the pressure to succeed, to break the cycle, and to achieve a level of stability that has always felt elusive. I am yearning for a future where education and hard work are not just pathways to survival, but to a life filled with opportunity and the freedom to dream, without the constant fear of financial precarity looming overhead.

Now, the rusted teaspoon might not be the most elegant utensil. But can it still stir a transformation?

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Jonamae G. Conde, 21, is a caffeinated student-writer at the University of the Philippines.