30/08/2025
๐๐ฟ๐ผ๐บ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐ฉ๐ฎ๐๐น๐: ๐ง๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ญ๐ญ
๐๐ฒ๐๐๐ฒ๐ฒ๐ป ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐จ๐ป๐ณ๐ผ๐น๐ฑ๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐ฒ๐ฑ๐ถ๐ป๐ด: ๐ฉ๐ถ๐ฒ๐ป๐ป๐ฎ
โ๐๐ฎ ๐ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ท๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ?โ I asked myself, knees bouncing, fingers tapping, my motherโs voice trying to anchor the restless five-year-old me. For a moment, I faced the front, letting the road rush toward me, weightless as the bus accelerated. Scenery, cars, sunlightโeach one appearing and vanishing before I could hold on.
Despite her efforts to keep me still, I squirmed to face the back once more, eyes fixed on where weโd been, fascinated to see the view of the road now drifting behind me. The tiny gears turned in my naive mind: If the bus is hurrying ahead, why do I feel like Iโm not getting anywhere?
๐๐ก๐ค๐ฌ ๐๐ค๐ฌ๐ฃ, ๐ฎ๐ค๐ชโ๐ง๐ ๐๐ค๐๐ฃ๐ ๐๐๐ฃ๐
๐๐ค๐ช ๐๐๐ฃโ๐ฉ ๐๐ ๐๐ซ๐๐ง๐ฎ๐ฉ๐๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐ฌ๐๐ฃ๐ฃ๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ค๐ง๐ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช๐ง ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐
I still ask the same question now, restless and full of anxietyโonly now, thereโs no one to steady the strung-out twenty-something Iโve become. I face the front, and the scenery no longer overwhelms me, but the gears still turnโฆ slow, heavy with thought: ๐๐ฎ ๐ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ท๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ?
Though my body remains seated, my mind drifts like a restless traveler wandering between yesterday and tomorrow. Sometimes chasing whatโs to come, sometimes haunted by whatโs left behind, as the present slips through my fingers like sandโflashing before my very senses, impossible to hold before itโs swept away again. I keep telling myself to slow down and breathe, but the words fade, forgotten amid the rush, and Iโm carried away once more by the momentum of my own impatience.
๐๐ค๐ชโ๐ซ๐ ๐๐ค๐ฉ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช๐ง ๐ฅ๐๐จ๐จ๐๐ค๐ฃ, ๐ฎ๐ค๐ชโ๐ซ๐ ๐๐ค๐ฉ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช๐ง ๐ฅ๐ง๐๐๐
๐ฝ๐ช๐ฉ ๐๐ค๐ฃโ๐ฉ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐ ๐ฃ๐ค๐ฌ ๐ฉ๐๐๐ฉ ๐ค๐ฃ๐ก๐ฎ ๐๐ค๐ค๐ก๐จ ๐๐ง๐ ๐จ๐๐ฉ๐๐จ๐๐๐๐?
Out of habit or hope, I still glance backโhalf expecting to catch a glimpse of the child I left behind, the one who kept asking, โAre we there yet?โ racing with restless feet and boundless ambition. That eager child never paused, driven by a fire that refused to be dimmed. Only to be met with disappointment, staring into the reflection of someone burnt out too fastโworn thin by the same unyielding pride, realizing that the race I thought I had to win was never truly meant to be run this way.
The price of that relentless drive was high. Nights stretched too long, days blurred into one another, and exhaustion disguised as determination slowly took its toll. The urgency to keep moving left little room to breathe or simply be. Burnt out and weary, I forced a haltโpushing myself to slow down and open my eyes to the life waiting quietly around me.
๐๐ก๐ค๐ฌ ๐๐ค๐ฌ๐ฃ, ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐๐ง๐๐ฏ๐ฎ ๐๐๐๐ก๐
๐ผ๐ฃ๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐ฅ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐ ๐ค๐๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐๐ค๐ค๐ ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐๐๐จ๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐๐๐ง ๐๐ค๐ง ๐ ๐ฌ๐๐๐ก๐
๐๐ฉโ๐จ ๐๐ก๐ง๐๐๐๐ฉ, ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐๐๐ฃ ๐๐๐๐ค๐ง๐ ๐ฉ๐ค ๐ก๐ค๐จ๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ฎ ๐ค๐ง ๐ฉ๐ฌ๐ค
๐๐ฎ ๐ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ท๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ? The question lingers as the journey goes onโsometimes speeding, sometimes slowing, but always moving. Between motion and stillness, Iโm still learning how to pause and simply be. The anxiety hasnโt disappeared; it hums and revs beneath everything like an engine, restless as ever.
Even in moments of stillness, my mind races ahead, sketching plans, replaying regrets, or questioning every step. Yet the engine hums on, whether the bus accelerates or comes to a stopโit is a steady, unrelenting presence. To this day, Iโm learning to accept its bustle without letting it dictate my pace, to find peace and exist in the quiet between the noise.
๐๐๐ฎ ๐๐ค๐ฃโ๐ฉ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐ง๐๐๐ก๐๐ฏ๐ ๐๐๐๐ฃ๐ฃ๐ ๐ฌ๐๐๐ฉ๐จ ๐๐ค๐ง ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช?
๐๐๐๐ฃ ๐ฌ๐๐ก๐ก ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐ง๐๐๐ก๐๐ฏ๐ ๐๐๐๐ฃ๐ฃ๐ ๐ฌ๐๐๐ฉ๐จ ๐๐ค๐ง ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช?
I think back to the child in me whose knees bounced and fingers tapped in anticipation. In my mind, I sit beside her and offer the steadiness she never hadโthe calm presence she longed for but didnโt know how to find.
I tell her stories of the places weโll go and the people weโll meet. But for now, we just sit and wait, embracing the mundane in-betweens, watching the endless stretch of road unfold, no longer rushing toward a distant destination, but finally learning to appreciate the ride itself.
Written by Arielle Jumawan
Proofread by Emmanuel Barabar and Dante Doyon
Art by Kurt Christian Gocela
