My quarter-life crisis

May 11, 2014 - I was invited to the 18th birthday celebration of my former choirmate who happens to be taking up Music Production at De La Salle University – St. Benilde. Contrary to an all debutante-focused night I was expecting, the party turned out to be a mini concert showcasing the gift most people in that ball share: music.
 
Surprisingly, the night did not focus on Janine, the celebrator’s, talent alone; but it featured her parents, siblings, friends, and of course, her classmates singing, dancing, and playing their instruments. It was awe-inspiring to see each performance unfold and to have gathered such a large amount of willing entertainers in one place.
 
I could never put into words how good all of them sounded, but I am sure that with that kind of students getting bachelor's degrees to create harmony, the upcoming sounds our radios will emit will never be mediocre. Luckily for them, they have prowess, they are on the right course. What else could go wrong?
 
This brought me to my all-too abominable realization that I was not even an inch close to being like them. Because at 24 years old, I had no idea what the hell I really wanted to do with my life.
 
For people who do not know me, may I just share that I was a chorister for 11 long years. It was something I did alongside study and work; I enjoyed it knowing that not everyone can serve the Church, balance their schedule, and make use of their talents in a useful way. I know for a fact that I am not the superstar type, I am never the soloist. I am one of the altos, the girls with the lowest voices. I know how to blend, and I blend well with the group. I guess all choristers once thought of entering the Conservatory of Music in college, and I also did think of that once, just once.
 
Then there’s this all-too familiar dream of being a journalist. That was my plan when I finished high school: to run after stories and have my own byline.

It did not happen exactly as planned, but I still lived the life of a journalist when I joined the student publication—of which, in fact, I was editor-in-chief for two years. But after graduation, deadlines are not about facts anymore: they became medications, and nobody gives a damn whether my story, I mean my charting, has perfect grammar.
 
I then became a registered nurse. But my extreme apologies to Florence Nightingale and to the Board of Nursing to whom I solemnly delivered my oath: I could not fulfill my nurse duties up to my last breath. I read once that "if you love what you do, then work does not feel like work at all." But what if happiness is not felt? Then where does love fit in?
 
What is my purpose? I know it is bad to be questioning the Lord His plans because only He knows them, but I am really apprehensive. I mean, why do some people know ahead of time what they wanted? Like Janine and her classmates? Why are parents, like mine, allowed to coerce the future of their kids?
 
A quick tip to parents out there: your child landing a job after his or her graduation should be the least of your priorities; his/her happiness is utmost.
 
I am at this age where half of my peers are starting their lives as parents while the other half are overseas nurses; I am neither. I do not exactly have the money to finance myself to study music or journalism. And then what, will I be the next Anderson Cooper, Lea Salonga, or something more awesome? Really, I am at this age where I desperately want to move but can’t. Maybe this is how having a stroke feels.
 
But I seriously believe that one, I am very talented, and two, I was born to be something really big in this world no matter what my diploma say. So better watch out!
 
Airina Desuyo, 25, is a former staff nurse and presently a freelance writer based in Imus, Cavite.

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