The second Saturday of my exam week was, without a doubt, the hardest. Compared to the first, this one felt like a mental marathon. The subjects were intense—packed with case studies and decision-making questions that drained every bit of my energy. It was the kind of exam that had me saying, half-jokingly but half-seriously, "nakakaubos ng English!"
Still, by the end of it, I told myself: "I did my best. I gave my all. I will never regret this."
That afternoon, my family picked me up, and we headed uptown to get mangoes from one of my papa’s friends. I sat quietly in the car, still processing everything, when my friends started calling, asking how the exam went. That’s when it hit me. I wanted to cry. I felt like breaking down. That day marked one of the hardest moments in my academic journey.
They offered me words of encouragement—comforting ones, even—but I couldn’t shake off the doubts. I tried to keep it together, but deep down, I was overwhelmed and stressed. All I could say was, “Bahala na. I did my best.”
There were twelve of us in the program who took the exam. During lunch, I listened as others talked confidently about how they thought they did. They sounded so sure, so intelligent. I, on the other hand, felt so small—like I didn’t belong in the same room. "How can they be so certain?" I kept asking myself.
The stress didn’t stop there. Later that day, we went to the grocery store. I was starting to feel irritable over small things. I called my papa to ask for help because my card had declined—I had forgotten my password. He didn’t answer, and I panicked. I felt helpless. Thankfully, my GCash saved me.
That night, back at home, my sister noticed I was off. She asked, “What happened? Why are you angry with Papa?” That simple question opened the floodgates. I exploded. I shouted. I shook with anger. My voice was so loud, it made my niece cry. My brother-in-law even called, telling me to calm down because I was no longer in control.
It wasn’t just about the grocery store or the declined card. It was everything. I was ranting—saying things like, “Why can’t life just be simple? Why do I have to suffer? Why did my mother have to suffer because of Papa?”
I became someone I didn't recognize—pacing back and forth, shouting, outraged. It lasted for fifteen long minutes. And at that moment, I realized something painful: the stress of the exam had consumed me completely. I hadn’t handled it well, and the people I love the most had to bear the brunt of my breakdown. That was unfair to them.
The days that followed were heavy. The emotional toll lingered for a week. I couldn’t shake it off. And honestly, I don’t think I ever will. That moment left a mark.
Looking back, I understand now that it wasn’t just about the exam. I had personal issues too—things I hadn’t been able to talk about, things I had tried to deal with on my own. That day was a breaking point.
I’m still learning how to carry the weight of stress without letting it spill over to those who don’t deserve it. I’m sorry—to myself and to my family. Maybe, that was life’s way of teaching me a hard but necessary lesson.