Fifteen, eighteen, twenty-one

I once was certain of what lay ahead, even when it was still settled within the vast plane of the unknown.

At 15, I believed that the world was large enough for me to explore but small enough for me to whirl it to my whims.

I take a lot of pride in the child I once was. The one who fitted the narrative of an ever-enthusiastic honor student. The one who often got pulled out of classes for her journalism contests and other academic endeavors. The one who would rather lose sleep for the sake of her self-inflicted pursuit of academic extravagance than settle with “okay” work. The one who believed that she was destined for nothing but greatness in all the years ahead of her.

The one who was really firm with what she wanted.

Looking back, it was quite funny how certain I was of all the roads that I would supposedly take. I was too sure, back then, that I would end up pursuing what guarantees, as they would say, the bright future ahead of me and make it my consistent present in all the years that would come. I never really knew what the bright future really meant, but I was always acquainted with the idea of making a name for myself and excelling somewhere, anywhere.

I had never experienced failure as a teenager. At least, in a sense, it caves a hollow void in your stomach, rips your heart into pieces, and reminds you how you are much less of the person you think you are. Thus, my strong belief in myself only grew stronger over time, with the shiny medals with the mix of gold and silver and stacks of certificates as its testaments.

But, at 18, I started to believe that maybe, the world was large enough for me to get lost in and small enough for me to have very little room to breathe into.

There were a lot of changes that I encountered as I neared adulthood. I became a person completely different from who I took a lot of pride in. The one who dreaded attending classes. The one who would rather sleep than appear in any gathering simply because she believed that pretending to be fine was an exhausting task she never wanted to repeatedly do. The one who started to give her minimum in all the things she once loved doing. The one whose faith in herself started to lose its luster.

The one who barely knew what she was doing. The one who barely knew if she was really what she believed herself to be.

I was 18 when I first thought of how much of a failure I had become. It was not as gradual and profound as what I have always thought. It always came crashing, quickly and barely comprehensible. It did not come in a grand feeling of heartbreak. Rather, it came through a series of small losses. They were in the form of the most mundane things. As mundane as the refusal to look at yourself in the mirror. As mundane as the pitiful reminiscing of memories that you would find yourself mourning for.

But, despite all that, I did manage to convince myself that I would eventually get the hang of it and tread through the confusing, suffocating, yet defining and refining ebbs and flows of life. Eventually.

Now, at 21, although I am still freely floating into the unknown, I still believe that the world is large enough for me to explore, but also small enough to know its crevices and make it my home.

Growing older meant knowing myself better. While I was still confused about where I would fit in the bigger picture, little by little, I grew familiar with the portrait of myself that only I would ever have the privilege to know. The one who finds joy in seeing images of cats across the streets. The one who leaves clusters of her thoughts in her notes. The one who finally appreciates the presence of herself while also loving the existence of the others. The one who sometimes loses her sleep doing the most unimportant things. The one who finds fulfillment in writing, regardless if it is taxing. The one who is still very unsure of what lies ahead of her.

Regardless, I became the one who sees the loss of certainty as an avenue for being boundless.

I still struggle to find comfort in the lack of certainty at times. I still contemplate my past choices and dwell on them as if they were retractable and capable of change. I still wonder where I will be a few years from now. I still become discouraged and feel so little whenever I realize how much of a liability I can be.

But, unlike when I was 15 and 18, I have already accepted the world to become so unpredictable that even if I am sure or unsure of myself, it would still end up spinning.

I will always be the person I once was at 15 and 18, even when I become older than 21.

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Cassandra Delysse D. Liporada, 21, is a philosophy student at the University of the Philippines Los Baños who considers writing her thoughts as a favorite chore. She navigates life with music blasting in her ears.