It is Survival of the Fittest

Aspiring Filipinos have this misconception that once you set foot on another foreign country, you are part of the higher portion of the social strata. I must admit that I had been part of that populace living in ignorance. When I was younger, I used to look up to overseas workers. To my young mind, they must be filthy rich because of the dollars they earned and the places they have been to. What I did not know is they won’t be going that far hadn’t they earned what they deserve. This reality I learned in economics but did not fully comprehend. It wasn’t until my own father had to leave the country for the very same reason. That, my friend, gave me a bitter bite of reality. Reality bites, as they call it.

Now, I’m joining the ranks of those living overseas—far from the people they love the most. I might not be working full-time like my father, but I am certain that I am here for I believe I have more to learn if I’ll let go of my security blanket. The Philippines had been my home for most of my childhood and going beyond its borders was far from my plans. The prospect of leaving came after a few occurrences in my education and personal life. These incidences later justified my decision to push through with my ambitious plans. Like any other ambition, there have always been setbacks.

At my third day, I’m starting to feel homesick. Even with my family with me, the feeling of loneliness starts to dwell within me. I know that in weeks’ time, I will be left on my own. If there would be anything that I miss the most right now, it should be my closest friends. Without any stable means of getting in touch, I feel terrible. During the wee hours of the morning, I let my mind wander off thinking how they are, what they are doing or if the feeling is even mutual—if they are still thinking of how I am in this alien country.

During the few times I’ve started to go out of our flat, I can’t help but notice how different these foreigners are physically. They look like years beyond their age; on the other hand, I look like a kid from elementary. Eighteen-year-olds here look like as if they are already in their late twenties.  I’m not sure if that will be an advantage for me—looking too young for my age because of my features, built and height. I feel disheartened, honestly. I’m still weighing what are the advantages and the disadvantages of looking too young. It might sound really funny and shallow, but that may help me feel a bit better.

For the past few days, I’ve been crossing my bridge before even getting there. Thinking of the near future makes me anxious. I’ve been asking myself, “Where will I study?” “Will I repeat high school?” “Can I handle the pressure of work?” “Can I keep up with the pace of living here?” and so on. The endless list of questions keeps goes on and is drifting afloat. Before I could even start answering one of them, another question pops up. Until now, no question is answered. What lies ahead of me is still uncertain.

 With no concrete plan in mind, I need to survive. After all, it will be a survival of the fittest.