I am just 25 years old, embracing life’s abundance—along with the hurdles that often leave me struggling to find my footing.

Every day, I work and study—because for me, to be better, one must always be learning. Life is a constant classroom, and I choose to be a student in it.

As a journalist, my work is not just about reporting; it’s about understanding, questioning, and uncovering truths that often go unnoticed.

I am not confined to crime stories or political scandals. My heart is with the people—the least privileged—because they hold the real stories that need to be told.

Their struggles should not be reduced to fleeting headlines about drug busts or arrests. I am tired of those repetitive narratives.

But the deeper I immerse myself in their realities—poverty, landlessness, intimidation, human rights violations, inequality, and the lack of basic social services—the more I question my purpose. Is this truly my calling?

I graduated with a degree in Hospitality Management, yet I am not working in hotel or restaurant chains. Instead, I am here, writing about the lives of those often ignored, amplifying their voices.

The longer I do this work, the more I feel overwhelmed. My mind is clouded by the gaps in the society, including the injustices that the the people I write about are facing.

The more I seek to understand, the heavier the realizations become.

Am I too young to carry this weight? These are not problems that can be solved in a year or two.

Sometimes, it feels like they will never be solved at all.

Just minutes before I sat down to write this, I was eating dinner alone in my boarding house in Kabankalan City, Negros Occidental.

I took a deep breath. Am I still on the right path? Am I where I am supposed to be?

Then came the fear. Fear of getting lost. Fear of judgment. Fear of failure.

I know failure is inevitable. It is part of the journey. It is what makes us grow. But this time, the fear feels different.

Am I still the same person who once vowed to uplift others? Or have I lost a part of myself along the way?

This fear—of losing my purpose, of being consumed by frustration—is the greatest fear I have faced so far.

Am I too young to feel this burden? Too young to carry the weight of others’ frustrations? Or am I just trying to convince myself that I am still okay?

I hope that when I open my eyes tomorrow, a new strength will flow through my veins.

A strength that will make me tougher, so I can continue to do more for the people—no matter how toxic the world becomes.

May I always find hope in every struggle. And, more importantly, may I help others see that hope, too.*