Dear future me
Dear 28-year-old Cherry,
These days, life has been brimming with darkness. There’s threat to press freedom; a consequence of which are the risk of losing our livelihood, the job we wanted so much; a confrontation with our ideals and principles, in our core belief that excellent journalism can make the world a better place; and a test to our faith that it’s possible, still possible, to make Philippines “better” somehow.
Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if anything’s ever worth it. I remind myself of Albert Camus’ philosophy about the absurd man. That men will always be in search of meaning in an inherently meaningless existence. That the key is to imagine Sisyphus happy.
My doubts found a way to settle in my fragile heart. Every waking hour, I am crippled by questions of “How can I make it better?”, “Why can’t I make it better?”, and “Will it matter, at all, what I do?” Life seems frail sometimes.
Future Cherry, this is my commitment to you.
I will spend my days challenging my thoughts. If I think something as impossible, if I think something won’t mean anything in the end, I’ll gently remind myself that “maybe, it matters”. That if, in the end, it really didn’t matter, it will remain a worthy endeavor. In and of itself. That what matters is we did it — little specks in a whole universe of motion our actions may be.
By our celebration of another year older, I hope I’ve made you more confident in your own skin, in your capabilities, in your voice. I hope you find happiness and peace in the here and now.
Love,
Twenty-seven-year-old you •
These days, life has been brimming with darkness. There’s threat to press freedom; a consequence of which are the risk of losing our livelihood, the job we wanted so much; a confrontation with our ideals and principles, in our core belief that excellent journalism can make the world a better place; and a test to our faith that it’s possible, still possible, to make Philippines “better” somehow.
Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if anything’s ever worth it. I remind myself of Albert Camus’ philosophy about the absurd man. That men will always be in search of meaning in an inherently meaningless existence. That the key is to imagine Sisyphus happy.
My doubts found a way to settle in my fragile heart. Every waking hour, I am crippled by questions of “How can I make it better?”, “Why can’t I make it better?”, and “Will it matter, at all, what I do?” Life seems frail sometimes.
Future Cherry, this is my commitment to you.
I will spend my days challenging my thoughts. If I think something as impossible, if I think something won’t mean anything in the end, I’ll gently remind myself that “maybe, it matters”. That if, in the end, it really didn’t matter, it will remain a worthy endeavor. In and of itself. That what matters is we did it — little specks in a whole universe of motion our actions may be.
By our celebration of another year older, I hope I’ve made you more confident in your own skin, in your capabilities, in your voice. I hope you find happiness and peace in the here and now.
Love,
Twenty-seven-year-old you •