Two years ago, I wanted to feel like an adult—responsible and in control of my destiny (or that was what I thought being an adult was like). So I made a list of things to realize this, which boiled down to two: Land a job after graduation and feed myself. They seemed simple but they weren’t SMART (specific, measurable, achievable, realistic and timely), as objectives should be. Well, I only wanted to get a brush of independence, and I thought they were enough.
So after getting out of school I moved out of the house and enslaved myself in the corporate world for more than a year. I did volunteer nursing work at a public hospital in between because I believed my heart was set for it. Later last year, I finally got a full-time job at a private institution whose reputation and standards are great. I looked back and realized that in a span of two years I had jumped from one job to another. Then I had three. Or four, if you count the volunteer work.
When I got to the fourth one, I thought this was it, I thought it was the job. And maybe it is—because it allows me to put the theories I learned in school into practice. It doesn’t pay well but it gets me through paying the rent and utility bills, and it gives me extra rice privileges. It provides growth in a career that most people would give up on because of the troubles in the employment arena. And the eight-hour shift sometimes extends up to 12 hours. I know, my heart is full.
But you know what they say—not all days are about chasing rainbows and butterflies. There comes a point when doubt creeps in, and you begin wondering if you’re still passionate in what you do. You become jaded at work and you emerge unproductive in a place where you thought you would be most comfortable. You become like the concept in physics where they speak of scalar and vector quantities; only you are the former—you don’t have a direction. You look in the mirror and you see a different girl. You argue that maybe it’s a different mirror but no, the girl you see now is so unlike the one two years ago—brimming with enthusiasm and idealism about changing the world, one intervention at a time.
The other day, I approached a person of authority regarding this predicament. I told him I’m on the verge of losing my sanity and drive. I remember telling him of difficult patients and, sometimes, coworkers. And he told me to “inhale, exhale.” And I did.
I realize that we all go through moments of confusion, disappointment and heartbreak. It happens. Life happens. And maybe he was right. I needed to take every day as a challenge. And learn to breathe through moments where my patience is being tested.
Today I try to remember the good stories—the patients who say “thank you” at the end of the day, the people who inspire and motivate, the ones who believe in you. And most especially, the heart to serve.
This overused road I’ve taken, this profession and this battle—I know it’s something I’ll win over. For now, I’m finding my own niche. But I believe I’ve become that person I wanted to be two years ago. Yes, I landed a job after graduation, and I’m literally feeding myself.
Maybe that’s the thing about independence. It lets you make decisions for yourself—which detergent is better, why you should take the train or jeepney instead of a cab, why you should get the trash out of your apartment instead of waiting for the garbage man.
Some days, I miss the comforts of home. I miss waking up to a parent calling me to breakfast. I miss not having to pay for anything to live. I miss my grandmother’s stories in the middle of the day. But I know I wouldn’t have grown if I didn’t leave my comfort zone. Independence taught me how to make the best decisions and, sometimes, when it can’t be helped, the worst ones. I survived a typhoon, a burglary. But I don’t claim to be a veteran at this. I’m still getting the hang of it.
But there’s more to adulthood than what I have narrated. Kids, it’s a cutthroat world, prepare two units of packed red blood cells. You’ll grow up to experience this yourselves. And when you do, perhaps you’ll be singing Paramore’s “Ain’t it fun, living in the real world?”
But for now, breathe.
Reda Regina S. Galapia, 21, is a registered nurse working in a private hospital in Manila.