It’s been exhausting being Filipino recently. One would think one would get numbed by the flurry of events: by incandescent words thrown almost blindly by the man the plurality made ruler, by disposed bodies of the unfortunate, by the crumbling institutions.
I wish I’d just be numbed. Yet I’m glad I feel every bit of pain.
I am exhausted. I feel now, more than I have ever felt in my 23 years, my littleness, as though my words are nothing but inane ramblings of the idealistic youth, as though my actions are inconsequential, as though my dreams are irrelevant. I feel now, more than ever, the strength draining, the hope faltering, the fight receding.
And yet, I know this is why I need to strike harder.
When I first entered law school, I prepared myself for the avalanche of things to expect — legal advice (which I cannot give until I’ve become a full fledged lawyer), almost tumultuous readings, and a barrage of criticism from professors.
I did not, of course, prepare for this government.
Yet here we are.
But the fight, as has been always said, goes on, and is miles from over.
And the dream to build anew and to inspire continues.
Exhausted, demoralized, but will trudge on. The road may have darkened (and, if I were to be perfectly honest, seems dark the further on I go), but the faith remains. And if Gandalf saw through to victory, then maybe I can, too.
Of perpetual finds 