I didn’t choose to be born into this world. And yet, I was–not with a golden spoon on the mouth, but a duty lodged in my throat.
“Makakaluwag-luwag na kapag naka-graduate ka.”
“Pag-igihan mo ang pag-aaral para yumaman tayo.”
Growing up, these words would find itself in the crevice of every conversation, akin to a broken radio record as it would repeat upon itself and remind me of debts I never agreed to owe. Every grade, every win I had gotten was not an achievement, but rather a stepping stone towards a future that was not entirely mine.
The cycle of struggle, of pain passed down and repackaged as duty–I knew that if I followed it blindly, I would lose myself. And yet, the thought of stepping away feels like betrayal.
To repay the sacrifices of my parents would be of the greatest feat, as I myself am witness to how they’ve worked day and night to provide. But if it is at the expense of my own becoming, then should a line be drawn? Is love measured by how much of myself I would erase?
I have lived long enough to see how love and obligation are often tangled, how affection becomes currency in a ledger I never asked to keep. There would be times I would wonder if they see me as a fruit of their love, or as an investment waiting to yield returns.
And still, the tenderness would ease itself onto me: the meals prepared even when there was barely enough, the quiet pride in their eyes when I stood up on the podium in the graduation ceremony. It is this duality that anchors me—caught between gratitude and resentment, between belonging and escape.
To be imprisoned or to break free–I do not know what to be. For all I know, breaking the cycle would break me.
