I’ve always loved celebrating my birthday. I loved having one day every year where I can make resolutions and start anew, much more than I could restart on the first day of every year. Ever since I can remember, I would collect greetings made by people and store them away — for safekeeping, for nostalgia, and for rifling through ones the days start to become less about festivities and more about, well, life.
This year was no different. And for someone so fearful about the idea of growing up, I do love celebrating its milestone.
There was nothing I wanted more as a senior in high school than to be a lawyer. In the months leading up to senior year, I obsessed over the SATs and other entrance exams, feverishly read and reread requirements for colleges, and spent every waking hour poring over which courses to take. At some point, I was dreaming about them, too. When I passed all the entrance tests for all the schools I applied for, I thought to myself: I guess I’m becoming a lawyer.
A year later and a semester into college, I realised I didn’t know what I wanted, and so the process of looking took place again. It wasn’t until 3rd year college, while creating a zine about the struggles of the marginalised sectors in society in my political science class in the University of San Francisco, did I revive my love for the law. Surrounding my immigrant 18-year old self was a future constitutionalist, a Filipina essayist, K, who was in the process of transitioning, and an anime-loving poet — and all of them just wanted to have their voices be heard, even while they were lending theirs. I realised then, I wanted to do that, too.
When I went back to the Philippines, I fell in love with nature. Weekends, which used to be for partying, became meetings with nature. I shifted from my heels to my climbing shoes, from my party dresses for my running gear. I began to know the indigenous peoples of the country; eventually I wanted to help them live the lives they want and need.
And so I went to law school.
And there I realised the plight of the labourers; was confronted by the reality of poverty that pervade everywhere beyond the walls of Ateneo. There I learned the struggle of those displaced — by war, hunger, natural calamities. There I fell in love with the law, got my heart broken by the law, had it rebuilt by the law, and again, and again, and again.
May of this year, I came to know I passed the bar exams.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
But perhaps it is not. Or not yet. Last week, as I took my oath and signed my rolls, I gave a silent prayer to the universe to allow me to continue to do the things that made me want to push through when things were looking bleary: fighting for social justice, for the environment, and for human rights.
And on my 25th birthday, my first as a lawyer, I wish also for steadfastness, and passion, and drive, and the desire to know and assist those I do not, and have yet, to know.
I don’t remember anymore what kid me, two weeks shy of being 7 years old, wanted 25 year old Joy to be. I only remember she wanted the biggest birthday celebration ever (and she did). I do hope, however, that 24 year old Joy — lawyer, environmental and human rights advocate, mental health warrior, yogi –, whose dream was to make her proud, achieved that feat; and that she can rest knowing that 25 year old Joy will continue to dream to do the same.
She will keep wishing for bravery to speak up for those who may have been rendered voiceless, for creativity to create the things that last, for faith and hope to remain resilient in the face of hardship, and for the wisdom to know that love lasts, that good is better than grand, and that dreaming is just as good as doing.
Finally, this time next year, as I pen down the thoughts of 26-year old Joy, I can only hope that she will look back on the events of the year and smile, because things, as things are wont to do, went well. And that really, she didn’t have to be so fearful in the end.
After all, despite its brokenness and challenges, life is, and will continue to be, good.
Happy birthday, self. You’re a quarter of a century old, but you will never be less loved.
Of perpetual finds 