The Gift of Merci

Chapter 17 - Tired at 20

My parents used to praise my vitality when I was a child. I excelled in both academics and extracurriculars, winning awards and diving into contests. This impressed my parents, leading me to diligently sign up for various activities like dancing, tutoring, and art workshops throughout the summer breaks.

My childhood was filled with seminars, leadership training, and regional and national scouting; I rarely played with toys or kids my age. I was always drawn to learning, often with a pen and paper in hand.

Senior high school saw me pursue STEM against my parents' expectations, yet I excelled, earning the highest honors and even graduated Valedictorian. Similarly, my choice to major in BSMLS surprised them, but my success in the field eventually won their approval. Now, with my studies behind me, I'm left feeling physically drained.

This year hasn't been kind.

Statistics test: 15/30. Calculus: failed.

Reprimands and insults from past teachers.

Repetitive hospital admissions due to illness.

And plenty reveling in my academic stumbles.

Not getting what you strive for stings. Not feeling enough hurts. The perpetual question of self-worth looms large.

I feel like a constant disappointment to myself. But the boat sails on, no matter what.

I contemplated removing parts from my being. I can breathe without them; it's alright. I can manage.

Right, self?

I adore my parents and cherish those moments, acknowledging my privileges compared to peers. But now, as an adult, I'm weary. I question myself: "Why do I feel this way? Was I overworked? Was I unhappy?"

The transition into adulthood feels like a struggle. I recall being a dedicated student, but now I grapple with adult responsibilities. It feels like yesterday I was 19, brimming with energy and aspirations. I was a child chasing medals and a teenager fawning over K-pop idols, but now I must navigate adult life, striving to make ends meet. The pressure to adapt and function amid personal turmoil and societal challenges is overwhelming. Though adept at coping, I often feel terrified, lonely, and burnt out. Sometimes, I wish for a pause button, a collective break from caring.

I'm drained, but it's crucial to understand it's okay to feel this way. Acknowledging when we need a break isn't a sign of weakness. I've felt disconnected and feared that others left me behind. A friend reassured me it's fine to retreat to process emotions; it shouldn't be held against us.

I'm 20, feeling worn down by life's demands. Balancing different roles takes its toll. Despite the heaviness, I hold onto hope, wanting to live and pursue my dreams. I'm exhausted but believe things will improve. I fear being misunderstood, hoping to not be remembered solely as a tired girl.

This is for the grieving, the exhausted, the vulnerable. For those feeling lost, know you're not alone. Amid life's pressures, breathe, release. We'll find our way back, and become whole again.

"I have to work, I have to exercise—to be strong. I am s-strong," I rallied myself.

Suddenly, I stumbled and fell.

"Sage! What happened? Are you hurt? Are you okay?" she exclaimed.

Tears streamed down my face.

"When will this end?" My brother looked at me.

"Everything will be okay," he comforted, and I sobbed.

Somehow, the thought of being forgotten by the universe sounded comforting. No memory of my failures, no remembrance of my existence.

I don't know but somehow, the idea of being entirely forgotten by the universe one day sounds so comforting to me. Like, no one will ever remember how much I failed in life, no one will know my name, no one will know I ever existed.

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"I'm sorry" I said between sobs, feeling the weight of my struggles pressing down on me. "I feel like I'm constantly failing myself, and no matter how hard I try, it's never enough."

My brother embraced me, holding me close as he whispered, "It's okay, Sage. You're going through a tough time, but remember, you are not defined by your failures. You are strong, and you will get through this."

"But what if I can't? What if I keep stumbling and falling?" I questioned, my voice filled with uncertainty.

My brother gently wiped away my tears and said, "Failing is a part of life, my dear. It's what makes us human. But it's also an opportunity to learn and grow. You've faced challenges before, and you've overcome them. This is no different."

"But I feel so overwhelmed. I don't know if I can handle it all," I admitted, my vulnerability showing.

He looked at me with love and understanding. "It's okay to feel overwhelmed. You don't have to do it all alone. We're here for you, and we will support you through this. Take the time to rest and heal, and then we can figure out a plan together."

"I just wish I could escape from it all sometimes. Just forget about everything," I confessed.

"It's natural to feel that way, but running away won't solve anything. Facing your struggles head-on takes courage, and it's what will ultimately make you stronger," my brother said, his words resonating deep within me.

"I'll try.. I'll try to be strong," I said, mustering a faint smile through my tears.

"That's my girl," he said, hugging me tightly.

In the following weeks, I focused on my recovery—both physically and emotionally. I took the time to rest, to seek therapy for my mental health, and to prioritize self-care. My mom was there every step of the way, supporting me and reminding me that it was okay to take things one step at a time.

As I slowly regained my strength, I returned to my studies with a newfound determination. I sought help from my teachers and classmates, and I wasn't afraid to ask questions or seek clarification when I didn't understand something.

There were still moments of doubt and frustration, but my mom's words echoed in my mind, reminding me that failing didn't make me a failure. It was simply a part of the journey towards growth and success.

One day, while looking at my reflection in the mirror, I spoke to myself, "You are strong, Sage. You've faced hardships and setbacks, but you've also shown resilience and the willingness to keep going. It's okay to stumble and fall, as long as you pick yourself up again."