Resilience, Reminisce and other Restless Thoughts

“You’ll never understand the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.” I stumbled across this simple phrase while scrolling through Pinterest, a quiet nighttime ritual I’ve come to cherish. There’s a calm beauty in it like scrolling through stunning photos and words woven by strangers from every corner of the globe, all while my carefully curated Spotify playlist hums softly in the background. It’s a small, perfect escape, a gentle way to unwind and let the day slip away. But those few words caught me off guard, halting my scroll with a sudden spark of introspection. In an instant, they tugged me somewhere distant, a place I hadn’t meant to revisit. I’d promised myself I’d stop writing about nostalgia and melancholia, determined to let go of the past with its sweetness, its bitterness, all of it. Yet, no matter how fiercely I try to move forward, I find myself circling back, pen in hand, spilling thoughts I swore I’d left behind. 

I’ve always been terrified of writing. It’s not even about whether anyone out there reads what I pour onto the page, that’s not the part that haunts me. It’s the rawness of it, the way writing strips me bare. I can’t lie when I write; I don’t know how to. Every word is real, a fragment of something I’ve lived, felt or wrestled with in the silence of my mind. I’m not sure what frightens me more: the vulnerability of exposing myself or the way my thoughts spiral, dragging me deeper into my own depths. Writing feels like cracking open my heart, mind and soul all at once, laying them out for anyone or no one to see. And yet, despite the fear haunting at me, I keep coming back to it. Because if I don’t write what I think and feel, who will?

"Stumbling across these elementary photos on a Facebook account Ma’am Nette made for Grade 4-Narra caught me by surprise—I never knew we had pictures like these. These are the same classmates I grew up with, from Grade 2 all the way to Grade 9 in junior high. I wonder where some of them are now?" 

I was in fourth grade when I first met people who would instantly weave themselves into my life or rather, when I began to understand what it meant to meet such people. Back then, I was so young, embracing life with a child’s unfiltered joy and curiosity. I was the quiet, well-behaved, “mahiyain” classmate everyone seemed to notice. I’ll never forget the day I met my elementary friends. Our friendship sparked over the silliest thing: we all had the same school shoe design. Ridiculous, right? Then one of us asked about favorite colors. I chose yellow, the other one picked blue and the other one also went with red. We realized they matched the colors of the Philippine flag and somehow that made us feel destined to stick together, a very “makabansa” moment for us. We became inseparable, so much so that our adviser, Ma’am Nette, called us the “Tres Marias.” I can still see her calling us over during recess to buy soup or champorado, a simple tradition in every public school.

There are also the place of my other friends, their houses became my second homes, the go-to spots for spontaneous hangouts. You know those kids who grew up without many siblings and just decided you were their honorary sister? That was them. They clung to me like glue, refusing to let me go until, of course, my mama would storm in, broomstick in hand, ready to haul me home like some runaway fugitive. These classmates, my friends, were the ones I grew up with, from elementary through high school. Back then, we were just kids who is playing, practicing for school events, living carefree. But now, when I stumble across their Facebook posts or pause to reflect on my own life, it hits me: we’re all grown up. Time has slipped by so quickly. Some are chasing their chosen courses, others are balancing work and school and a few have even started families of their own.

"They may never hear it from me directly but I’ll always be rooting for their success, quietly cheering them on from afar"

Academic achievers, assemble! Snapping must-have pics for the memory vault—Science Club shenanigans with the girls striking poses, end-of-year vibes and check out those BTS laces and pins. Peak ARMY life, circa 2016, anyone?!"

“Pag laki natin, bili tayo ng bahay, tapos doon tayo lahat tumira,” one would say, her words echoed by our friends. “Ako na bibili ng gamit,” one would say. “Ako na magbabayad ng tubig at kuryente,” another would add, or sometimes, “Gusto ko yung may garden o swimming pool o malawak na lote.” As teenagers, we chattered about these dreams, blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. I can still see us in friends backyard, wild grass sprouting around us, the breeze grazing our skin. It was just another high school afternoon, those endless hours after class. That day, we gathered stones from the yard, rigged a makeshift stove with charcoal, and cooked a meal we ate straight from banana leaves, scooping it up with our hands. We must’ve looked like ancient villagers being simple, messy and alive. Those raw, unpolished moments are treasures I keep tucked away, reserved for the girls who shaped my teenage years.

We shared so many years together, does it even count as "many''?, those years feel so short, so fleeting, as if I just blinked and everyone had already disappear. We spent different phases together, our eBook era, Bluetooth-ing stories daily; then Wattpad, scribbling tales in notebooks that is probably lost now. We had our BTS phase, collecting laces, pins, posters, photocards, crafting photobooks like sacred relics. I can still hear our chaos in “Lethrod,” our go to computer shop, iconic if you're from Southville. It was a pisonet back then, where we’d pool coins from our baon to crowd around one PC, watching BTS funny moments, screaming, giggling and fangirling. Then life shifted, we became church girlies at SMC Church, growing, learning, cherishing some of our happiest days. There were sleepovers, crafting props for school presentations, swapping letters on birthdays and Valentine’s Day, spending Christmases and New Years together, roaming each other’s houses, dancing, belting karaoke. We’d eat at our favorite 7/11, chitchatting endlessly about becoming lawyers, nurses, doctors, chefs, fashion designers, astronauts, engineers. Now, we’re on different paths. We had to watch some of our friends move to the province or abroad.

"Once, we were inseparable, knowing every detail of each other’s lives. Now, we catch only glimpses of each other through screens. How ironic, the way life shifts"

"Section 1’s classic competitive chaos—honor rolls? Check! Grade 7, rocking Greek goddess vibes for the sabayang pagbigkas, we took down Grade 10 our seniors, Champion til today still undefeated, the event never happen again haha (evil laugh). Wellness dance champs too, hell yeah! Those banners screaming ‘Narra’s not just a section, it’s a family’, sooo cheesy. BTS logo sneaking in, who made that, huh? Peak OA moments, Class Pres forced classmates to pose hearts. Yep, these shots? Totally staged."

I’ve written countless pieces about friendship by now. These girls, my high school friends have become my muses, inspiring words I could never say aloud. Recently, while searching the web for photos from those years for a project, I stumbled into a flood of memories: images of my school, my friends, my classmates and the moments we shared. It felt surreal, some memories so vivid as if they happened last week. Maybe nostalgia paints them brighter than they were.

Not long ago, I ran into a classmate on the street. He grinned and teased, “Kailan reunion natin, pre? Pres pala!” I laughed, replying, “Five years pa lang ‘no,” reminding him it had only been five years since we were last intertwined as classmates. But he shot back, “Five years na, matagal na ‘yon. Kulang na nga tayo ng isa,” his tone softening with a mix of longing and quiet tribute to someone we’d lost. I smiled and said, “Sige, sige, plan ako soon,” before we went our separate ways. That night, memories of high school swept over me again. I thought of the competitions we poured months into like practicing relentlessly, crafting costumes late into the night with our favorite choreographer, Kuya To. He’d smack our hands with that thick, stinging Sandugo slipper when we messed up, we’d groan but still continue. The thrill of winning still lingers, tied to the way we celebrated, eating our favorite foods, laughing, feeling united after all that work. It was exhausting but those moments shaped our childhood in ways I didn’t fully grasp back then.

"Grade 10 Bonifacio—monthly perfect attendance certificates, top-grade subject awards, honor roll pics with chaotic classmates. Snapped shots of our Philippine culture-themed classroom decor, all perfectly planned by our co-adviser, Sir Cris, for the best design win!"

I never imagined that some of my high school classmates would miss those days as much as I do, at least sometimes. I didn’t realize how deeply they treasured that chapter of our lives. Perhaps those memories shine so brightly because they’re unmatched by anything we’ve experience in adulthood, carrying a magic that feels so distant now. Even the classmates and acquaintances I knew only briefly left an imprint. 10-Bonifacio was loud, chaotic and undeniably the funniest, a whirlwind of noise and laughter that made everything feel more alive. I fully appreciate their kindness, back then I felt like I was on the other dimension, I was so used to be with my classmates since elementary and being with them is like a breath of fresh air, it was different and the people most especially. Our time together was fleeting, but I can say with certainty they’re among the best people I’ve ever met.

High school wouldn’t be complete without those infamous “suntukan sessions”, it happened on the second day of the class, it was my first time to witness live session of boxing, it was funny to look back or the tampo moments from our advisers, their sighs cutting through the air whenever we got too noisy or seemed unfazed by the chaos we’d created, desks cluttered, papers messy, laughter echoing off the walls. We were a pack of stubborn kids, pushing every boundary we could find. Those messy, unpolished moments defined us. They wove the fabric of our teenage years full of laughter, defiance, small rebellions and taught us to find joy in the midst of chaos.

"Stanning those boys, YGTB era! Debuted as twelve, hit concerts with long-distance pals, plus more shows and cupsleeve events. Then two of my bias left at once—what?! Heart shattered, I ghosted stan Twitter, ha."

The years rolled on and I watched the group I stan shrink from twelve members to ten, the fandom quietly fading as members drifted away or went inactive. These were the people I shared my fangirling days with, attending concerts, cupsleeve events and countless moments together. It’s more than just stanning a group of Korean boys; it’s about the music that carried me through the pandemic and the companions I found along the way. Some will never grasp the thrill of anticipating new content photos, live sessions or any fleeting glimpse of a favorite artist. I miss the pre-debut era, a time that feels so distant now. Their music genre keeps evolving, leadership shifts and the boys have grown up but their artistry, the part I cherish most remains with me, unfading. Then there are the companions I journeyed with, growing from junior high through senior high, now mostly in college, their lives reduced to glimpses in fleeting Instagram stories.

You truly realize how much time changes just by looking at old photos. Writing this also makes me appreciate the importance of taking pictures, they have a way of freezing time, capturing moments we can never relive.

Time also reveals itself in sharper ways. It hits hard when you notice your parents aging, white hairs sprouting, heads going bald, hands rough and calloused from years of work. It dawns on me that as I hope to grow older, they’re aging alongside me. Then there are those mornings when I wake up and see my younger siblings as grown-ups. I’d always pictured them as little kids needing my help, but now they’re teenagers forging their own paths, navigating life independently. It feels like I blinked, and everything shifted. Yet deep down, they’ll always be the kids who called me “ate” with every step and milestone they took. 

 "Change creeps in without warning, subtle yet relentless. I’d been so caught up in my own life that I hadn’t noticed my parents growing frail and my siblings maturing into their own selves"

When I started college, I couldn’t wait to graduate. Those four years loomed ahead like an endless stretch and all I wanted was to break free quickly. Now, in my third year, that urgency lingers but it’s woven with a quiet reluctance to let go, a paradox I never saw coming. I still dream of graduating, earning a living and stepping into the next chapter, yet the future feels daunting, its uncertainties growing as the finish line draws closer. I’m caught between rushing toward it and holding tight to a chaotic present that’s messy but familiar.

"8/8 Burger Squad aced the qualifying exams, Hip-hop PE dance? We Nailed it, yey! Geography booths total blast, lol. Class pic with OG Professor Sir C, plus a wild, tiring, fun field study at Kasiglahan yep !"

College has been a front-row seat to transformation for me and everyone else’s. The people I’ve journeyed with have evolved in ways I never anticipated, not just physically but in personality. Our unique yet shared struggles have molded us into versions of ourselves we couldn’t have foreseen. My classmates and I are far from perfect. Our relationships weave tension with camaraderie, it was never fully harmonious and that’s fine. We don’t pretend to all like each other, but there’s an unspoken bond beneath it: a mix of frustration, fondness and relief that we’ve faced these battles together. It’s complex, sometimes maddening, but also vibrant, colored by our diversity.

I think back to our NSTP days, fumbling through lessons with kids we’ll never see again, where we are clueless ourselves. Life shifts so swiftly, from students to almost-graduates, led through unexpected turns. In the mess of it all, there’s a strange beauty in how it’s shaped me. Those frustrating, mind-clouding moments always found purpose by day’s end, forcing me to see the vast spectrum of human nature. Some live mired in insecurity and chaos; others radiate sweetness simply because it’s who they are. There are those who connect for gain access, leverage, benefits and then the rare, exceptional companions who offer true camaraderie. You meet people who reflect you, not just in shared frustrations but in a deeper, mirrored way.

College is easier with a solid support system, those who’ve got your back, unthreatened by each other's strengths because they know everyone shines differently. Rooted in loyalty and trust, they don’t betray or belittle. They’re a gift: helping you study, lightening dark days with laughter, easing burdens in ways hard to explain. College taught me it’s not a bad to be with others and great companions aren’t about what they provide but how they lighten life, enrich life and make the overwhelming bearable.

Random McDonald’s runs were our escape after grinding through activities and exams. We’d stay at one of our friend's house, buried in case studies and presentation materials, swapping stories that peeled back layers of who we are. Those moments held a pure joy, unburdened compared to now. From first year to third, we’ve watched each other mature atleast in someways, sparked by a simple photo or a Facebook memory, reminders of our shared growth. Our bonds aren’t perfect but these people carry principles and morals that stand out in this era of my life. They get it, knowing what’s fair, what’s intolerable, how to stand up for themselves and for you when its needed. Through every hardship, they’ve proven to be the strongest souls I’ve known.

These glimpses of my journey, random McDonald’s runs after exams, late nights crafting presentations remind me of the resilience I’ve built. What I’ve shared here is barely 10% of my story, a glimpse of the sweetest highs and darkest lows, but it’s enough to show I’m still here, still standing. I’ll always be grateful for those I’ve walked this road with, some leaving warmth, others wounds. Each offered something: reflections to hold, realizations to carry. It’s never been easy and it won’t be. There are nights my mind spins, restless, questioning if I’ve grown enough. These are my restless thoughts, threads of reminiscence stitched with resilience. The past glimmers like a distant light, the present hums with quiet persistence and I write not to flee but to unravel it all. Moments slip away but their echoes linger, etched in memory, alive in me. They remind me that growth isn’t a straight line but a mosaic of stumbles and triumphs, of bonds that fade and others that hold. Through it all, I’ve learned to stand, not because the road is certain but because the journey itself has made me who I am.