*Beeep Beeep!* The blaring horns of cars were like war trumpets assaulting my ears, competing for dominance at every street corner.
The smell of smoke and the stench of pollution filled the air, creating a thick fog that clouded my thoughts.
Everywhere I turned, people were rushing, arguing, or colliding, and I felt utterly alone amidst the chaos.
It was as if the city wrapped itself around me, its giant arms made of concrete and asphalt pulling me in.
I sighed deeply, hoping to find some peace with each breath. But the air was heavy and thick, filled with the weariness and frustration of the people around me.
"I just want to go home," I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible over the city's din.
Back home, the air was clean, like freshly picked leaves.
Back home, silence was not a dream but a normal part of every day.
I missed Mama, dude and manang-their smiles were like rays of sunshine dispelling the darkness.
I let out a deep sigh, feeling a pang in my chest.
"Why does it have to be this hard?"
My eyes felt heavy, weighted down by unshed tears.
But I wouldn't cry.
I forced myself to smile despite everything.
"I need to stay strong," I told myself, a quiet vow brimming with determination.
"I need to finish college, for my family, for our future." I couldn't let mama down.
My thoughts were interrupted when I saw a bakery on the side of the road. The smell of freshly baked bread walked up to me, coaxing the hunger in my stomach.
My eyes were drawn to the hopia, gleaming like little golden treasures, shining in the sunlight. I swallowed, my mouth watering at the thought of the sweet, soft pastry.
"Should I buy some?" I asked myself as I fumbled for my wallet inside my bag. When I opened it, only a lone hundred-peso bill stared back at me.
It felt like something kicked me in the chest.
"I can't waste this," I thought.
"I need to save it for dinner later."
I turned away from the hopia, letting the hunger growl inside my stomach.
I kept walking, trying to distract myself from the hunger.
But my eyes couldn't help but notice other students holding food-fries smothered in cheese, burgers stacked high with meat, cold drinks topped with ice.
Each bite seemed to mock me, each sip teased.
"What must it be like to live without worrying about your next meal?" I wondered.
Suddenly, I caught the eye of a female student. She was staring at me, as if reading every vulnerability on my face.
Embarrassed, I forced a smile, but she just smirked and turned away, laughing with her friends.
It felt like cold water had been thrown on me, the warmth in my cheeks quickly fading.
"Wow, she's so harsh. It's not like I was going to ask for anything,"
I mumbled, trying to laugh it off.
But inside, something shattered, like a glass full of dreams dropped on the floor.
A few more steps, and I finally reached my boarding house.
As soon as I opened the door to my room, a rush of hot air greeted me, like the embrace of an uncertain summer day.
I quickly turned on my new desk fan, hoping its cool breeze could somehow chase away the heat of loneliness and the sting of longing.
I wanted to believe that a simple gust of air could lighten the heaviness pressing against my chest.
I dropped my bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed, as if it were the only place I could rest from the weight of the world.
I closed my eyes, trying to forget everything-the city's noise, the hunger gnawing at me, the judgmental eyes.
But in the darkness of my thoughts, memories surfaced.
Mama, dude and manang, our home in the province, the laughter at the dinner table.
I felt like I could hear the clinking of utensils, smell the broth of Mama's favorite pork stew, feel the warmth of the afternoon sun while dude and I chatted under the tree.
The memories played like a movie in my mind, a film that seemed to never end.
"Don't give up," I whispered to myself, barely able to hear my own voice. "You can do this."
I held on to that promise, wrapping it around my heart like a shield against all the hardships.
"Life in the city is hard, but I won't give up."
This was what I kept telling myself, the mantra that gave me strength. Because I knew that a better future awaited me.
And one day, I would look back on all of this. All the hunger, all the loneliness, all the sacrifices.
And I would be grateful I didn't give up. Because they would all become part of my story-my story of success.
YOU ARE READING
POV
Non-FictionLife often presents itself as a series of hurdles, each one taller than the last. These hurdles, though daunting, are not meant to break us but to shape us into who we are meant to be. It is through our darkest nights that we gain the strength to fa...
