Do Not Be Stagnant

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When I was a junior in high school, I never thought I would ever change schools. I was so adamant and sure of that school that I refused my mom’s multiple offers to take me abroad and study in a different country. My previous school, Pasay City National Science High School, was my second home. All of the hard work I did as an elementary‑school student was for this school. The immense pressure my only family member—my mom—put on me to get into that school was a lot. I cried a lot in sixth grade because of Pasci, and, on top of that, my mom and I would get into arguments over the school.

Months before the entrance exam, my mom and I talked about it a handful of times. I was reminded of how important it was to get into that school because I once told her that she wanted me to get in so she could “have something to show off,” which I now know is completely wrong. She had a friend named Michelle whom she mentioned often and told me about her daughter, a valedictorian at Pasci. I admit I never cared, but it was clear that she wanted me to idolize her friend’s daughter.

When the entrance‑exam season arrived, I didn’t expect it to be a 30‑minute spoken exam. I knew it was pandemic season and everything had to be online, but I didn’t think it would be so “easy.” During the interview, the proctor—who could have become my teacher—told me that his daughter had studied at the same school, so he had high expectations. My elementary school was known for sending students to various “special” schools such as Pasay West (DOST), Manila Science, and Pasay Science, so I was anxious and wanted to make sure I wouldn’t disappoint my beloved elementary school. Even though I thought it was easy, out of the hundreds of students who did not get in or were waitlisted, I was one of the 200 who were given an opportunity to study there.

To this day, my friends and I still question how we even got in; we weren’t as smart as other groups because we were all ranked at the bottom of our classes. During my time there, I never made the honor roll until grade 10. I was almost kicked out of that school multiple times for having low grades because the school policy required grades of at least 83 for minor subjects and 85 for major subjects.

Even though I didn’t graduate with any academic accolades, the school opened me to theater, research, ICT, and writing. I wasn’t academically inclined, but at least I left my mark through theater. I discovered that I enjoyed feeling pressured and that I was free‑spirited. I felt that my whole life and future were tied to that school.

Then my mom came home—I'll never forget April 12, 2025. I was already distraught over a rejection that afternoon, and the person I dreaded finally arrived. I was sobbing. I agreed to her plans, so I felt my life as I knew it was over: the school and the friends I called my “real family.”

When I arrived in the UAE that May, everything fell apart. One of the only two lifelines I had left passed away after two weeks of being gone, just a month before my late grandfather’s death anniversary; the other lifeline had been lost the previous year. That day changed me. I became much harsher toward the world afterward.

When senior high school started, my plan was to dissociate for the entire year so the days would pass faster, then act like nothing had happened. I wanted to be like my idol, a boy from Pasci, and that was it. My whole goal was to do my best so I could get into UP, because it was me and my friends’ dream.

My “dissociate for the whole year” plan backfired, and I subconsciously knew it would, because I’m loud and friendly. I’m shy at first, but I eventually warm up. I unleashed the inner demons only my elementary school knew about, and suddenly I was back to what people knew me as—the loud girl everyone befriended. I truly was fearless then; when Miss Mira asked us to write down ten things we feared, I became a blank canvas. I lived by the quote, “If you’re scared to do something, do it scared.” I was afraid to speak my mind, but I followed that rule because I wanted to experience everything. So, instead of leaving the paper blank, I wrote ten lies about myself to meet the assignment’s requirement.

As I mentioned, I was free‑spirited, so I didn’t care much for rules, though I tried to maintain some decorum. I listened to music whenever I could in class—almost every time, even at my previous school. I was lucky enough that my mom bought me Bluetooth headphones and earphones; I never asked for them, but she gave them to me at random times, and I knew I’d put them to good use. I kept them connected to my phone at all times and learned how to control them with their features. I was caught multiple times, but that didn’t stop me. I discovered great music that summer and refused to let a day go by without it. I still do that today.

Music has been my companion through everything. Sleepy? Upbeat playlist. Stressed? Karaoke playlist. Homework? More music. In everything I do, there’s background music playing. I’m not the type to ask for help because I was raised to figure things out myself, so I solved every problem without asking for assistance within the allotted time.

During the first quarter, I received the lowest score of my senior high school life, which affected me so much that I cried at home because I didn’t want to fail like I did in junior high. Little did I know I would later get a zero in pre‑calculus in the second quarter for “incomplete answers,” which I just laughed off. Whenever I feel down or unworthy, I turn to music. My favorite song for those moments is the Pinoy Big Brother 2014 eviction theme, “Invisible” by Hunter Kayes. I seek comfort in its lyrics, especially the chorus: “Someday you’ll look back on all these days, and all this pain is gonna be invisible.” It speaks volumes and will always be my comfort song.

As time passed, music wasn’t the only thing I confided in. I learned to speak up because of one particular student—someone with a brilliant mind who has played a pivotal role in my life. She is well‑spoken, unafraid of judgment, and I love her for doing something I was never taught to do: teach me. She showed me that speaking is better than letting things stay broken. It was the greatest lesson I was implicitly taught.

I applied that lesson to learn more about myself because I didn’t know who I was and was still silently suffering from the unexpected events in my life and the longing I felt for my friends and my home country. Amid those issues, I began to accept that change is inevitable, and the best thing I could do was adapt rather than dwell on the past. I stopped being a miserable “asshole” to the world for writing this chapter of my life, because I realized meeting new people meant everything to me.

At first, I was firm in hating the world for changing my life so drastically when I wasn’t ready or stable. But how could I learn to live if I didn’t let that happen? After meeting these new people, I started to accept the massive change. I may not be fine right now, but this small shift toward acceptance proves that I have changed drastically. If I hadn’t met that brilliant girl, I would still answer “die” when asked, “Is it better to speak or to die?” because I wouldn’t have learned the importance of speaking.

In all aspects of life, I never focused solely on studies because I knew they would always be there. There will always be something to learn, so I truly focused more on memories and experiences, living by the mantra “You only live once.” Yet, with the people I’m surrounded by nowadays, I’ve started to mix studying with that YOLO mindset.

If you had asked me a year ago how I thought my life would be in the UAE, I would have said, “Miserable.” If you ask me now, I would say, “It’s the best challenge I have ever faced.”