struggle, survive, resist

a modern-day working young adult woman's plight, wishes, and calls.

I never really had a good night sleep or at least enough hours to function well enough for a day or maybe, two. Who would be fit to care for my being whilst I try not to question and dismiss the ideas that come and go inside my head, every night, as a twenty-year-old woman? I often wonder, can I afford a dose of insomnia partnered with a glass full of existential dread, while I constantly struggle to sleep— continuously tossing and turning, until the alarm clock strikes 5:00 in the morning? And only then I’ll feel the heaviness weigh on my eyes which I’ve been waiting since the dawn of time (I don’t know, it somehow felt like ages). I cannot fall asleep now because if I do, I’ll hit such heavy traffic which then will cost me an overtime in the office. I’m only paid minimum wage— barely livable in a city where prices continue to hike, minute by minute, and us, the working class have rarely had any opportunities for our salaries to increase. I remember hearing a local politician say in front of the national television that inflation is natural and necessary. Well, aren’t competitive salaries a human right and included in the cycle of the ever-vast, fast-paced steps of the economy? Or maybe, I live in a third world country, and I just really have to expect that the pigs in power will give completely no care to me, you— all of us? Do these thoughts ever end? Maybe I just had too much coffee, like always. Either way, all that I want badly right now is some sleep, desperately.

Struggle.

Being tired slowly became a trivial matter. Whenever I say to people at work that, “I’m tired”, I suddenly feel hundreds of eyes looking down on me, slowly unraveling layer by layer the office siren clothes I got on. The tension is continuously stripping me naked, ultimately revealing my vulnerabilities. To be tired is to admit failure. You can’t get tired. You cannot afford admitting that you are tired. To corporate, exhaustion, fatigue, and any other terms in relation to the subject at hand, is diminished to an excuse. Being tired is a threat to capitalism’s end goal. Rest is a luxury that you are never assured to reach at the end of the line. Well, there are times that I at least try to relax and hit that email of courage to my supervisor (I can imagine how easy everything would be if Michael Scott is my boss) with day-off date requests plastered all over it. Sure, they do give you a time away from work but these days that could have been for rests are only a facade. You are never entirely assured if you’ll have enough nickels to drain out of your system the next day. On the days that I could have been choosing to let my soul frolic on the fields and simply await the time for when I can finally pack my bags and go back to the horrible hellscape-formed reality at home, my mind instead is constantly occupied with the responsibilities that I refuse to let go. I am not defined by who I am anymore— I am now defined by how much effort I put into making corporate great again (call it, MCGA, anyway, f*ck Trump). I am tired of this pedestal— no— system, that I, and hundreds of millions of people of my country are put on. I am tired but I am not stupid, yet I cannot suddenly leave to live. I am tired and yes, I am afraid that when I don’t work, I might cease to exist.

I compensate through overconsumption. Addiction is alarming but becoming an avid trinket collector and a matcha-obsessed lady is worse (well, all because it’s expensive). When you’re sleep-deprived and tired, you will do almost everything to feel an instant spike on your dopamine levels— basically, for me, making a purchase became a normalized habit to make myself feel motivated and fulfilled for all the exhaustion and sleepless days that were sacrificed. I cannot consume less for I will feel less. I rely on it as a reward system, to keep me going. I want to aim to break for the cycle— but I’ll soon die trying. Hearing the ding! of my doorbell at my home (which I rent at a ridiculously high price) and seeing the parcels I’ve ordered while sitting on the creaky swivel chair at the office arrive, ultimately did send me somewhere higher than cloud 9, temporarily. We buy things we don’t need, absorb insurmountable information across various social media platforms, chase microtrends and curate personalities based off of what’s cool under the spotlight now, so we won’t eventually spiral and become disillusioned to who truly are; all because these are the only times we feel in control. Losing control is the key to insanity. I am still not ready to face whatever I need to face, so I’m stuck constantly pressing buttons on my phone— pretending this is happiness.

I want to be better, and I want to be in a situation where everything’s beyond the best. Not just enough, but the best. And as I reach the end of the day, as the cortisol levels begin to dive down, everything I’ve bought online has started to leave me to such unexplainable feelings of nothingness. My soul is empty, yet this is when my mind has also become rich with wishful thinkings— what could’ve had happened if I weren’t doing a 9 to 5, 24/7? Maybe, my time’s devoted mostly to art. I would have also made huge efforts to protest for an improved transport system in Metro Manila and oh, bringing back the land to our local farmers, now that I am not so tired. And maybe, just maybe, I would have had the time to appreciate and become happy to the simplest, most mundane things, that’s present in life. I would have had the utmost courage to persist and persevere. Miracles for these desires of mine is a due that’s much needed— for everyone.

Survive.

I still remember the first time I became radicalized and was grounded to the realities of my home. Like I said, I live in a third world country and the difficulties faced by my people are completely different from white, middle-class people living in suburban neighborhoods of the USA’s combined lived experiences. I am poor because I was born poor in a country that is poor, which is why the “grindset” will not work on me. No matter how much of my being is wasted for my job, I’ll never be rich enough to afford to live. Success in life is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent being born privileged in an impoverished nation. Only then it is guaranteed.

An unfulfilling job, sleepless nights, endless wrath toward the burden of being tired— is only the tip of the iceberg. I had a lot to say and if I was Sisyphus, I would have let the rock roll all over me long ago. How do I become happy if my existence and experiences are entirely political? I joined an activist organization to further my calls back when I was studying for my undergraduate degree. It was the first time I felt alive and the beginning where I realized how extremely poor my nation’s people are, in all ways. Debates often happen here and there; may it be inside or outside of our digital echo-chambers on whether the reason we have always been at the depths is because of the stupidity of the masses. But there are many, many justifications on what my nation doesn’t realize about why we keep on voting unqualified politicians and glorify untaxed billionaires. My people are not uneducated because they are ignorant. My people are uneducated because we are in poverty. We are starving. Sadly, hunger is not entirely closed to being a metaphor. Our hunger is felt rumbling beneath. We are hungry to have the means to live. We are hungry for a sincere and people-serving governance where change is drastic— a group of leaders upholding the welfare of all. If I truly want all of this to happen, I have to extend the movement, starting within my office.

Resist.

Of course, I am human, and I often wonder, who would be fit to care for my being? The tensions for a better tomorrow and its possibilities constantly hurdle and fight for dominance at the back of my mind. I know I’m not alone. I have so much grit and my heart is on fire for all the pending wishes and calls, all awaiting the signal for an action. But I’m so tired, tired, tired. Will humankind ever want to step out of the individualism presented to them by corporatocracy and capitalism, and soon wield the power held through forming communities? Will we continue to allow the next generations to ponder and struggle to survive, just as we always have had? Or will we finally break the chains and form a resistance like never before? For we are the ones fit to care for each other’s whole being. We are and I know that we will— despite it all.

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