4 Years Ago

At 6:00 AM today, I got woken up by the sounds of my cats trying to jump off of my bed. And then in the attempt to fall back to my nightly rest again, I thought of the yearly essay I have to make, and I found myself thinking back to four years ago.

Four years ago, it was the review season for the entrance tests to college. The summer that quite technically, marked the last and first times of everything. A final bow to high school. A ribbon to the future. An attempt to distract myself from being scared. It was an every day of being scared of the next day—of the pressure, of the unspoken obligation of getting into a good school, along with all the other implications that came with it.

In each one of those review sessions, I had chosen to be alone—I’d take the train to North at half an hour past 6AM so I could mentally prepare during the walk of the remaining steps towards the top floor of the building. I would pass through a big Alcapone billboard along the skywalk where my phone could probably be stolen. I would tread cautiously, ramming myself as stealthly as possible in the different busy mornings of the rest of the world. Then when I’d get in the building, I’d feel a sense of relief: I was alive, and my phone was in my pocket. However, after hitting the elevator button to get me to the top floor, as if it was an anxiety-leveled game of some sorts, the next crippling worry was the room that I was actually going to.

For some unreal reason, I believed that that stuffy room held my entire future, and if the room had hands, they were particarly unbothered in holding out for me.

Who was I compared to those loud, articulate private high school students who came in packs? I was...well, me.

So I’d sit on the first chair in the front row, the one nearest to the door, away from everyone else and closest to the board. I’d committed myself to that stupid chair so solidly so that nobody else sat there in the entire time but me. I’d have a different seat mate from time to time. Sometimes I’d have none. But I was there, gripping that exact same plastic chair because I’d thought that maybe, if I hadn’t moved much, if I had just stayed someplace, I wouldn’t fall off the unbothered hands of that stuffy room.

At that time, I had no clue that what I was holding on to was myself. I also had no clue that the flaky pathetic fear that drove me to hog the front row seat in the first place was what would change my life forever.

Fear. I would think I’d mastered it well enough to become immune to it going through hell and back, but no one in this lifetime ever completely can.

I would pack the required thick book and go when the clock would hit twelve. I would pass the Alcapone billboard again to ride an afternoon bus that would take me about three hours—something I’d weirdly look forward to. During the EDSA traffic, I would read a book from my phone, or get a nap cautiously. It was the very first breath of relief that I’d get in the day. Funnily enough, it felt safer to be in a crowd full of strangers I can’t trust than to be in a room full of high schoolers.

Now that I think about it, I didn’t even want to remember how it felt like at all when it was happening. For sure I only wanted it to be over. It was the summer of solitude and uncertainty; the summer of taking a leap, of convincing yourself that it wouldn’t be so hard to let go of what you once knew for the last five years. Most importantly, it was the summer of figuring out if you can make it, or how you can make it, or what you want to make of yourself at all. I should’ve had a plan, but instead, all I had were train cards, bus tickets, a required thick book, and a fluttery feeling in my stomach.

Who thought it would all lead up here?

Although I wasn’t as smart and hardworking and stable and academic-driven as the next guy in my class, I think I could do just well during that time, even if it wasn’t something I would believe.

I did just well.

And four years. It took me four years to recall where I first thought of the fear of the future all so badly that I had unknowingly erased the memory from my head.

I’m graduating college next year. I have a feeling that it’s going to be that summer again. The summer of figuring out if you’re going to make it. Figuring out how you’re going to make it. Figuring out what you want to make of your life at all. Figuring out if you’re going to feel safer in a crowd of strangers or a room of opportunities. Figuring out if you’d rather tread stealthly or run ambitiously. Figuring out if you’re ever going to have a busy morning of yourself, certain and unafraid and bold and...happy. I should have a plan, but instead all I have are this essay and a reason why.

Fear. Should I even bother?

Because who am I compared to the rest of the people from the great school that the anxious summer of four years ago was leading up to? Or better yet, who am I compared to the rest of the world? I am...well, me.