Entry 1 | March 5, 2025 | 6:25 PM
Sigh.
Here I am, stuck in a long-ass line for a UV Express. I could've had my own motorcycle by now—or even a car—if I had been more disciplined with my spending. If I had just avoided those damn loans.
People always say my profession is high-paying. Yeah? Well, f*** those who sold me that lie.
To be fair, my job does pay decently. But those people who said, "Just graduate, get your f*ing license, and you're set for life"—jokes on them. It's not that simple. It never was.
I guess we all start at square one. No matter what degree you took, what profession you chose, or even if you have a damn license—it's all just a ticket to the first f***ing step in this board game called Life.
And here's the kicker: I have no savings. Well, technically, I do. But somehow, I managed to drain my balance down to two f***ing digits. How? I have no idea. But hey, at least this time, my balance has four digits—progress, I guess. No one to blame but myself.
Before getting stuck in this never-ending UV line, I went to the grocery. Just some basic stuff—correction tape, laundry detergent, fabric conditioner, and a razor. At checkout, I realized I was almost out of cash, so I had to use my debit card. Balance? ₱2,053.72.
My total? ₱153.72.
After that, I hit the ATM and withdrew ₱500. Now, with that and the cash I had left, I'm sitting at around ₱780, plus some coins—probably ₱90+, but I couldn't be bothered to count.
And now, here comes the dilemma. Next payday isn't until next week Friday. I still have supplies at home and at work, so why the f*** am I stressing out?
Oh yeah. Because I could have had an extra ₱2,757 in my account. But no. Instead, I bought the LeBron Witness Episode VIII shoes.
Did I need them? No. I still have three pairs of basketball shoes that just need a good cleaning. But in that moment, my brain went, "F** it. You've been through hell this week. You deserve something for yourself."
So I bought them. And now? It feels like a mistake. Like something I shouldn't have done. But I did. Because I'm just so goddamn tired of putting myself last.
The chemistry laboratory was old—aged wooden tables stained with chemicals, faded markings on the tiled floor, and ceiling fans that creaked with every slow rotation. The air was cool, unusually so, a relief from the usual humidity outside. Large windows lined one side of the room, allowing the soft morning light to filter through, casting uneven shadows on the walls.
Fifty of us were crammed inside, some standing near the storage cabinets at the back, others already seated, chatting in hushed voices. The room wasn't loud, but it wasn't quiet either. It had that murmur of familiarity—people who already knew each other, who had come from the same high schools, reconnecting, sharing stories.
I sat near the front, my arms resting on the rough wooden surface of the lab table, pretending to be absorbed in flipping through my notebook. I wasn't. I was listening. Watching. Feeling like an outsider among people who had already found their place.
Then the professor spoke.
"We need class officers."
Her voice was sharp, but her tone was distant—like she didn't really care, like this was just another thing to tick off her to-do list before she ran off again. She stood near the front, a middle-aged woman in thick glasses, her graying hair tied in a tight bun. She wasn't paying full attention, already glancing toward the door, probably thinking about the next thing on her schedule.
"I'll leave you all to decide. Elect your officers before I get back," she added, already walking away.
And then—silence.
Not complete silence. I could still hear the faint hum of the electric fans, the distant shuffle of students in the hallway outside, and the occasional chair screeching as someone shifted in their seat. But no one spoke.
I gripped my pen.
I should just keep my head down. Someone else will do it. Someone else has to do it.
From behind me, a boy let out a short, irritated sigh. I caught a glimpse of him in my peripheral vision—leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. His uniform was slightly wrinkled, his dark hair unkempt like he didn't bother fixing it before coming to class.
"The hell, no one's volunteering?" he muttered under his breath.
A girl beside him giggled. "Guess everyone's shy. Or lazy."
A few scattered chuckles followed, but still, no one spoke up.
Near the back, a group of students exchanged glances. A lanky guy with glasses nudged the boy next to him. "You should do it."
The other guy scoffed, shaking his head. "No way, man. I don't even wanna be here this early."
Another round of hushed laughter.
I stared at the empty space in front of me. My chest felt tight. This was dragging on too long. I hated waiting. I hated wasted time.
My fingers twitched. I could just—
But I didn't.
Instead, I stayed still.
I kept my head down, tapping my pen lightly against the table. The weight of anticipation pressed down on me, but I didn't lift my hand. I didn't move.
Then, finally—
"I'll do it."
A voice from the middle of the room.
I turned slightly, just enough to see a guy slowly raising his hand. His expression was hesitant, but determined. He had neat hair, glasses, and a confident, almost rehearsed way of speaking. Someone who had probably done this before.
A few murmurs passed through the room, but no real reaction. The girl sitting beside him whispered something, smiling. The others just shrugged, indifferent.
No scoffs. No glares. No one annoyed, no one whispering like they did when I had spoken up in another version of this moment.
The election continued. Names were suggested, votes cast, positions filled. I stayed quiet, nodding along when necessary, keeping my voice low when I was asked something directly.
By the end of it, I was just another student in the crowd.
Class resumed as if nothing had happened. I focused on my notes, copying what was written on the board, underlining key points. The professor returned, barely glancing at the list of officers before moving on to the lecture.
Lunch break came. I packed my things, walked outside with the few students I had spoken to earlier. No one looked at me strangely. No one whispered my name. I blended in, just like I wanted.
This would have been easier. This would have been better.
But that's not what happened.
Instead, I got impatient. I hated the silence. I raised my hand. I thought it would mean something—I thought it would earn me respect, acknowledgement. But all I got were scoffs and annoyed whispers. And when the votes came in, they handed the Presidency to someone else, leaving me with Vice President like a joke, like a reminder that I had overstepped. Like they were telling me, This is what you get for being arrogant.
And yet, even with all that—I didn't take it back.