Not so Sweet September

Nine months of 2025 have slipped away, and time feels like it’s sprinting. Some days, I drift through life, trapped in a cycle of survival where the need to keep going overshadows everything else. The moments when I don’t feel alive weigh heavier than any joy. Yet, like every tough month, this one will pass.

September has been a relentless battle to stay grounded and it’s left me drained. Admitting I’m burned out like losing my way, sometimes my mind feels like defeat. But I’ve come to see that owning those “not okay” days is an act of courage, acceptance even gratitude. I’ve felt and witnessed so much lately, not just in my personal struggles but in the world around me. The insights, the systems I’ve questioned, the hard truths I’ve faced—these are the treasures I’ll carry forward.

My mind has been a storm of unruly thoughts. I’ve always been a thinker but these past weeks feel different. Ideas that once sparked now flicker dimly, creativity, my lifeline has gone quiet. It terrifies me. Each time this happens, it feels like a piece of me fades, leaving my soul hollow. Writing, painting, creating these make me feel alive. When they slip away, I fear I’ll never find my way back.

It’s taken years to embrace creating without guilt, to believe I deserve joy. But survival mode erodes that. Waking up early, rushing meals, drowning in lesson plans for practice teaching, it’s suffocating. Some days, I feel my grip on myself slipping. This isn’t just art block or burnout; it’s a fight to hold onto the part of me that makes life worth living.

“Even when joy is absent, the path forward remains. Resilience isn’t always fueled by passion, but by necessity.”

I’ve long tried to romanticize life, viewing it through a lens of unwavering positivity. But lately, that lens is cracked. Life resists romanticization right now. I’ve been honest with everyone, this teaching career wasn’t my choice. I tried to envision a future in it, to make it fit, but it never felt right. I love teaching with all honesty, the importance of nurturing young minds, the urgency of guiding the next generation. But the system? It’s soul-crushing. It makes me question if I’m selfless enough to sacrifice my peace for a cause I believe in. It feels selfish to admit, but I can’t pretend I’m willing to lose myself for others.

Teaching is a gift, one of the greatest. But the hoops, the pressures, the way it drains you, I’ve wanted to walk away a hundred times. It’s hard to pour into others when you feel out of place. Yet I’ve learned, strength isn’t always about passion. Sometimes, it’s showing up because you must because it matters in the moment, even if it doesn’t bring joy. The world doesn’t pause for my exhaustion or the voice begging me to quit. So I keep going—not out of love but because it’s the path I’m on, for now.

“Kindness is not always reciprocated. The world has its share of greed and darkness, where good deeds can go unrewarded or exploited.”

This truth hit hard last week. During a rain, my friend and I dashed to campus. I suggested leaving our wet umbrellas outside the office, she warned they might get stolen. I brushed her off, surely not at a university. Hours later, mine was gone. “Sobrang asa mo pa kasi sa humanity,” she said gently. I had no reply. She was right. I’d clung to the belief that people are inherently good, but that umbrella taught me a harsh lesson, hope can make you naive.

This small loss felt trivial compared to the larger greed I’ve been grappling with, like the corruption strangling my country. We pay taxes, work hard, and accept poverty as “just life,” believing the Philippines is too poor to thrive. But recent reports reveal a different truth, we’re not poor, we’re being robbed. Our resources are sucked by those in power, leaving us to scrape by. It breaks my heart to see my country’s potential wasted by self-serving leaders. I won’t stop being kind, but I’m learning to protect myself. The world doesn’t always reward goodness, and giving without boundaries only leads to burns. It’s not about becoming cynical—it’s about being real. Kindness should be a choice, not a vulnerability.

“Life’s burdens are lighter when shared. Choose companions who value your presence as much as you value theirs.”

I’ve learned this the hard way. I’m used to carrying burdens alone, but life’s been too heavy to bear in silence. Great companions aren’t just for good times, they’re the ones you can rant to at 10 p.m., sharing messy, unfiltered thoughts, finding strength in their “me too”s moments. A support system isn’t just nice, it’s a lifeline, giving courage to keep going when the world feels unkind. 

I’ve grown to cherish the small, silly things, group chats buzzing with TikTok videos, “pebbling” each other with memes or inside jokes (like penguins gifting pebbles—simple, intentional, full of love). Spontaneous fast-food runs or coffee shop hops don’t need to be grand, it’s the laughter woven into deep conversations, the way time slows with people who get you. The keychains my friends and siblings gave me jingle in my bag, tiny reminders I’m not alone, proof that even on a tough path, there are people rooting for me. Life is hard, but it’s softer with the right companions and for that, I’m grateful.

“Life’s relentless demands can wash away your spirit. Guard your inner self fiercely against the soul-crushing weight of constant busyness.”

September has tested me, pummeling my mind with unkind thoughts. Some days, I feel so weak, but I’ve learned to carve out pockets of joy, a trip to the cinema, losing myself in music that feels like a hug, pouring raw thoughts into my journal, savoring favorite foods, or treating myself to a coffee after surviving a week of practice teaching. These moments aren’t grand, but they’re lifelines proof that even when happiness feels distant, I still have sparks, the magic of writing and the comfort of new songs from artists I love.

This month hasn’t been sweet, but it’s been transformative. It’s forced me to navigate challenges I despise, confront people I clash with and grow in ways I never expected. The days and nights sometimes feel empty but I’m grateful for the lessons, to keep going even when life feels mundane, to cherish small joys and to live without regrets.

As September fades, I’m learning to see this month not as a failure but as a forge shaping me through its fire. It taught me to guard my soul while still showing up, to balance kindness with caution and to lean on those who make the journey lighter. I’m not the same person I was at the start of the month and that’s okay. Growth isn’t always sweet, sometimes, it’s raw, messy and hard-won. But it’s mine. And as I step into October, I carry these lessons, these sparks and the quiet victory of knowing I’m still here—still fighting, still creating, still me.