In March 2013 I graduated from college. I walked up a stage to claim my diploma and get a handshake from the university president, then made my way down while the others in line behind me followed the well-practiced routine. And that was it. School was over. I remember feeling immensely happy and excited at the end of the ceremony, when all the fake rolled diplomas were thrown into the air. I remember wanting to run to the guests’ seats to find my family. But most of all I remember that after all the hype of the event had died down, amid the hugs and congratulations, I had one question in my mind: What now?
My family has always been very focused on education and its importance. My parents wasted no time whenever my brothers and I needed help with studying, or anything related to school, for that matter. They didn’t really push us to be achievers, but they stressed the fact that studying well and finishing things on time were among the most important things in life’s phases.
This was why planning ahead was important for us. My older brothers were asked what they wanted to take up in college, and reminded that this would be what they would do for the rest of their lives. I didn’t care for a hair on my head about that matter at that time because I am almost a decade younger than my siblings. I thought I’d probably have an answer when my time came for that magical question that could potentially change the course of my life. As long as I kept a path in sight, I would never have to ask myself: What now? Not in 10 days, not in 10 years.
That question hangs around unanswered until now. I’m the kind of person who loves plans. I made lists of what to do for the day, I stacked sticky notes detailing what I had to accomplish, I almost never took my watch off my wrist for fear of missing my schedule. After graduating from college I had a plan set in stone about what I thought I wanted to do, and when I wanted things to happen. I went for the usual route expected of people who had completed their studies: Look for a job, get employed, earn for yourself, maybe give back to some people when you’re stable enough. And I did get that plan sailing immediately after leaving what I called “the practice world.” But as soon as I delved into “the real world” and started working and living independently, I found myself asking that dreaded question every night and every morning.
What was the point of all my vigorous planning, if every bit of those plans made me so unsure? Plans were supposed to provide a sense of order, of certainty. I was starting to think that Benjamin Franklin’s words made a lot of sense: that “the only certain things in life are death and taxes.” I was aware that I was very lucky to have a job, to earn money to keep me fed and sheltered, but while I kept this fact in mind, it didn’t move me forward. I realized that I had no idea what force in the world would be enough to keep pushing me forward, and that all I was looking for now was to be content, even at this age. We all say this at least once in our life: If I had this and that, I wouldn’t ask for anything more, it would make me content and happy.
At this point, I’m trying to figure out what constitutes a satisfied person.
I used to watch the evening news a lot with my father. I’ve seen plenty of interviews and footage on typhoons and other natural disasters, and it’s almost always the same setting for each one. The reporter stands with a huge crowd of locals behind him/her, most of them grinning or waving at the camera. In time I begin to notice the people in the background more than the person delivering the news. The reporter goes on and on about the extent of the damage and the high death toll. The numbers change from calamity to calamity, but what doesn’t change is how vibrant the people behind the reporter are. Yes, they’ve lost their homes, even loved ones. Some may not know where to go after showing up on camera. How, then, can they still smile and wave and make faces on live television? They have bigger problems than me.
It’s not that we should think there are others who have it worse. No, it’s more like: If they can find a reason to do it, then so can we. We ask the same questions: What now? What happens now? And yet these people who’ve dealt with so much loss and pain seem so much more satisfied with what they have.
Maybe it’s not about what you don’t have, but what you have left. These people who are devastated in more ways than one have plans in life, too, but they can carry on and rebuild. Tragedies don’t choose who to test; these amazingly happy people may have also graduated from college, with jobs on the line, or some may not have had the chance to even learn to read. Some may have families to feed and some may be young, free spirits. Some may have plotted their life plans for up to when they reach 60. The point is they find something to pull off a smile and to answer the recurring question. I’m not sure if this is something innate in Filipinos, where we all just seem to find ways to climb back up after being knocked down or thrown off-course.
I actually find it inspiring and heartwarming to be part of a nation where it’s natural and part of the culture to smile; where no one needs a reason to perk up, whether to a stranger or a familiar face; where everything can be associated with a joke, and ring up a unique sense of humor. Being perfectly satisfied with what’s going on suddenly sounds like the best plan I’ve ever heard. It keeps time moving properly, and it keeps us moving on.
Plans are good and they have a purpose, but there’s a time and place for each plan to happen—or so it seems. You can’t plan for something that you’re sure will keep you content a couple of years from now when you don’t even know how to appreciate your contentment for now. The clock will keep ticking and the days will pass, and we can only hope for the best, that all our ambitions and preparations will be in sync. I don’t regret being too organized about every single thing back then, but what I do regret is trusting that things will work seamlessly as long as they’ve been laid out in blueprints.
I’ve had people telling me that uncertainty is all a part of being young, of being a young professional. But that doesn’t mean I can’t start worrying about what I’m going to do with my life now. I will keep thinking about the question that’s been bothering me for quite some time, and so might others who are thinking of the same dilemma. But at the same time we have to deal with not getting to follow what we’ve prepared for, and we have to learn to be content that at least we can live day to day and learn a million answers, that we can count so much more blessings than curses.
When you’re satisfied with what you have, anything that unexpectedly lands on your lap becomes something that means more. So what now? Now we live on and be grateful, go forward, and let the clock tick the seconds away. Set a plan when events allow it and try to keep open a hopeful eye. Be ready to ask that question again when the plan fails.
Live out your plans, but arrange them one at a time. Be thankful for now.
Yvannessa Santos, 21, is an alumna of Ateneo de Manila University.