LIFE WAS comfortable growing up—so much so that it started to feel unsettling at some point.
As the youngest or the bunso in my family, I was showered with affection by almost everyone. Whether it was my mother, my siblings, or my relatives, they gave me all their undivided attention.
I basked in that treatment until my moving up ceremony in 6th grade. My mom was unable to attend. While my Dad, kuya and ate were physically present, it felt as though their minds were elsewhere. Back then, I never thought to question anything, but I knew that there was a hidden truth behind the smiles that did not quite reach their eyes.
Eventually, it had finally dawned on me: I had been living life with rose-tinted glasses. The perfect life I thought I had was painted with only dull colors.
When high school started, I became more independent—maybe excessively that my parents decided to miss my senior high school graduation too. Yet, I did not shed a single tear that day. Neither of them really went home anymore anyway, leaving only my siblings to care for me.
At one point, ate and kuya had to leave home, too, to chase their own dreams.
Life went on and numerous questions continued to plague my mind: “Where are my parents?” and “Is growing up like this for everyone?” Yet, I never found the courage to actually ask these out loud.
It seems that ate and kuya were aware of my thoughts, though. Out of nowhere, they started giving me life advice, constantly telling me to focus on my studies; to make sure that I do not get distracted by anything.
“Just do your best,” they would say. Four simple words that carried a thousand unspoken truths—ones that told me not to be burdened by whatever their troubles may be.
Four words that told seemingly innocent expectations of becoming greater than they are, than everyone else in the family. After all, they’ve already gone through the “harder things in life,” so I can walk with ease.
Oftentimes, I would try my best to follow their advice. I would grit my teeth whenever I experienced anything even mildly challenging, thinking they’ve probably had it worse. Yet, I would occasionally find myself questioning their guidance.
Is it really a good thing to disregard their burdens for my own benefit? Do the sacrifices of one’s family mean that we no longer have the right to struggle?
The more I thought about it, the more it weighed on me. Apparently, “just doing your best” is not as easy as anyone makes it to be.
How can I live in comfort, knowing that the people around me—who deserve the same kind of luxury—are holding all the weight of the world on their shoulders, all so I can live a happy life?
Despite their efforts, I found myself slowly becoming aware of all the burdens they tried so hard to keep from me for years. I could never tell them how I knew or that I knew long before they finally had the courage to tell me, but one thing is certain: I am burdened; I choose to be burdened.
Besides, no one ever said that I cannot carry their burdens alongside them. If doing my best means pursuing my dreams, then acknowledging their sacrifices and honoring their struggles—these are how I will do it.
Ana Rufa is a third-year Communication student at the Ateneo de Manila University. Through her passion for storytelling in all forms, she hopes to shed light on the various realities and lives surrounding the communities that she covers.
Editor’s Note: The views and opinions expressed by the opinion writer do not necessarily state or reflect those of the publication.
