I sit, ensconced with my comforter in the almost-bare and empty apartment unit, where, for the longest time, since 2022, have been a witness to the changing landscapes of my dreams and visions.
It is here where I decided for myself that it’s finally time to pursue my God-given dreams, and it is also here where I experienced a cold, lingering feeling of anxiety that would spread across my chest and that would paralyze my body, because of the newness in the adjustment, coupled with the passive-aggressive bullying that I experienced in a private university, when I ventured into the residential, face-to-face campus life.
In October of 2023, I spent my hours weeping before the resident doctors, and the consulting psychiatrist, repeating over and over again, how I felt rejected by the very society that I am trying so hard to fit in, and that I have been seeking validation from.
But during the months when I felt I was defeated with clinical depression, and negatively encouraged with my desire to quell the narrative of my existence, it was during the moments, and times, where I witnessed my family, especially my siblings, Keith and Alpha, rally at my side. And even the ones whom I do not call family, but whom I consider a brother and friend, like Shelu, sleep in the uncomfortable bench inside my hospital room, while I doze off into normalcy, buoyed by the increase in my dosage of medications, and stirred by my Mother’s habilin to continue this life that I have no matter what happens. Interestingly, I was hospitalized at Western Visayas State University Medical Center, but I was also self-supporting enough to pay for my hospital bills.
In a sudden turn of events, my brother Keith, at that time, was also admitted in a private hospital, and as the eldest in the family, even if I was just recently discharged from the hospital, my capacity to help in my brother’s hospital bills was all the more motivated by my love for family, and the knowledge that, during the times when I spent my last remaining hours with Mama at Iloilo Mission Hospital, I promised that we were going to stick together as a family. Looking back, I gave because it was my duty.
I’m declaring to the winds and the seas that I have never been selfish, stingy, and greedy of what has been provided for and given to me, because I have always considered money, a tool, that can be used to help lives, communities, and the ministry. My life is not motivated by the sole desire to get rich in this dark, and broken world. As someone who grew up lacking, and poor, my idea of money does not revolve on using it to show others that I am better, that I could because I have more.
Jesus never really had a lot of money when he was here on earth. In fact, his teachings focused on selling one’s possessions, and follow in His footsteps.
As I look back on the road that I have taken, especially at the start of the year when I entered the portals of the University of the Philippines Visayas, where my siblings walked, and run, I considered giving up my six-digit monthly salary, and my freedom to work wherever I want, as a worthy sacrifice in pursuit of completing a program that is close to my heart, and where I could serve for the good of His glory.
At first, I was deeply entrenched with my fears, and my self-limiting beliefs, so much so that I would come to my classes hyperaware, and hyper focused on what others would think of me — a 36-year old, Millennial, graduate of the Associate in Arts program of the University of the Philippines Open University, and who has a different perspective on the timeline of life.
But as I was encouraged by my spiritual mentors, Tita Nene Grace, and Ptr Gideon Nanit, I became more comfortable with the feast and validation that only comes from His Word. Over and over again, I repeated to myself that I am loved, chosen, and deeply known by the very One who created me.
There are times when I would feel that I was not enough, and that I needed to still prove that I struggled through the process in getting admitted to my program, and so I must be entitled with my UP education. But I have always come home to the joy of deeply understanding what my Savior did for me on the Cross of Calvary, and that, despite my human frailties, and my granular knowledge of my weaknesses, I am comforted that I was bought with the precious blood of my Master and Lord.
Throughout the months of navigating the relationships, and the terrain of trust, and safe spaces, I also carried with me boulders, and heartbreaks, that almost crushed my resolve to continue. I would wake up in the early hours of the morning, and weep, for the stories that I could not share, because I ascribed to the honor creed. And so even if it was painful, and heavy, I repeatedly prayed over and over again, that I would be sustained to complete the semester, and the accompanying demands and rigors of school work, and extra-curricular commitments.
And so, I did.
I am proud to have earned grades, not that I am grade-conscious, in which I could say were commensurate to my efforts, and my love for the courses. But more than anything else, I am proud to have completed the second semester. Our — Doc Amantillo and mine — game plan has always been this: enroll, pass subjects, enroll, until such time that I would finish my program.
One of the greatest gifts that I received—from the time that I celebrated my birthday last year in Boracay with my family, up to the moment when I traveled with my Father in Bukidnon, and Sto. Tomas, Davao del Norte, and back to pursuing my God-given dreams — was the gift of being able to share to the public, and to the world, the essays that I have been writing on my blog, The Prodigal Kid.
This year, the Lord granted my childhood dream of becoming a published author, through Transience: A Journey on Grief and Coming Home, and through Kasingkasing Press.
I have received responses, and feedback, how those who have finished Transience, wept through all the journey, and that there were times, when the road was too heavy, and the pain was so searing.
It was never my intention to make people weep.
In a way, the essays that I have written, in my transit towards healing, and acceptance, after the death of Mama in 2021, have allowed me to appreciate the indefatigable power of words to navigate the mental and emotional thorns of grief, and death. Writing was my coping mechanism — a retreat from the darkness, and a sanctuary from the suffocating idea of the reality that my Mother died, at a time in my life when I was slowly being healed from intergenerational trauma, and the conflicted narrative between my desire to vanish from my side of the earth, towards the vast unknown, and my powerful dreams of life-building, and life-creating.
As I’m working towards the realization of my vision, I am also thankful this birthday year, of the incredible support and prayers from the people who shared and cheered me on. These cheerleaders (especially my cousin Tata Debbie Hope and Nang Ayet Gaitano-Palma), and prayer partners (my forever friend Aibee and constant male accountability partner Aries Rico), rallied at my side when I was at a standstill, and my heart was at a loss on how I could continue, when the path that I have taken is filled with boulders, and overpowering obstacles, which sometimes catapult me towards a scheduled meltdown, and breakdown, deep inside the recesses of my inner world.
Despite the thorn-filled pathways, I also did not forget to stop, smell the roses, and gather ye rosebuds while I may. Because I am absolutely aware how incredibly short life is. And how every day is a gift of grace.
So, in quiet fortitude, I am thankful that I am still alive after all these months. I am fully aware that I may never have tomorrow, but I am also assured that my hope is in the promise of heaven, and the joy of seeking my Master’s face, all the days of my life.
My only prayer, as I get to enter another whirlwind of days in and days out, and the continuance of the unspooling of my life’s narrative, amidst the completion of all the prayer-breathed hopes and dreams, is that I get to marry a beautiful, and loving wife, who values Christ’s heart, more than my own.
And in all of my needs, I claim the promise of Philippians 4:19 and Philippians 1:6.
What an incredible life it is.
Despite the silent weeping, and the quiet rhythm of my heart amidst all the joy and long-suffering, I am blessed beyond measure that I met people along the way, who expanded my heart, and made me re-affirm in my intentional, and relational ministry of loving — my Master, myself, and my ministry of relationships.
Towards my dreams of light, and of love, I claim the promise of that blessed hope, and joy, in Christ alone — for the rest of my days, and towards the setting of the orange sun.
The Prodigal Kid 