At age four, I used to fantasize about being a doctor—dressed in a white coat like a shining shield and a stethoscope coiled around my neck like a lifeline. It was the most noble of callings, a way to repair tears and save lives, as far as my childish imagination could see.
At seven, my aspiration changed. I wanted to be a flight attendant. I was captivated by their poise—their beautiful skirts, the scarves tied demurely around their necks, and the caps sitting atop their heads like crowns. I also carried the thought that the skies would be my highway and foreign lands my second home.
By grade five, the classroom became my stage. I wanted to be a teacher, inspired by my English and Science mentor. The way she handled English with ease and brimmed with enthusiasm over scientific trivia ignited a flame in me. Her voice was like music, and her zeal was contagious.
At high school, I aimed for law. I wanted to be a lawyer—a voice for the voiceless, a champion of justice. I envisioned having the scales held firm, not for financial gain, but for truth.
But then, life threw its storms. Despite my countless dreams, financial struggles clipped my wings, scattering the stars I once reached for.
When I turned eighteen, reality tapped on my shoulder. Practicality whispered in my ear. I chose education.
Life being what it is, full of detours, I was preparing to sit for the entrance exam for my dream university when another stumbling block arose: my cardiologist dissuaded me from taking the COVID-19 vaccine. One fateful decision blocked my path to taking the test, and my dream evaporated like morning dew in the sun.
I took admission in BSHM at CTU in 2021. But I dropped the class after the first semester. It wasn’t that I was incapable of cooking—it was that I knew the kitchen was not where my heart would be. In addition, I worried that my relatives would sneer at me, and worse, they would sneer at my parents. Having grown up in a line of medical workers and teachers, I didn’t want to be regarded as the black sheep diverging from the flock.
But in 2022, hope found me again. I enrolled in CRMC, finally taking Bachelor of Secondary Education Major in English. Now, I am beginning my journey as a student teacher, deployed in a high school in Bogo City. I may be a little late compared to my friends, but I’ve learned that life is not a race—it is a garden where flowers bloom in their own season.
Oh, I could water the spring of May so she could smell the fragrance of her favorite flowers. I could halt the rain, summon the snow, or dry the dandelion fields so they’d all be blown by the wind at once—just to make her dreams come true, just to make my inner child happy.
As written in Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.”
So, I never questioned the timing. I never let myself drown in pressure. I know now that everything happens for a reason. This is not a delay—it is God’s redirection. He will never plant me in this field if I was not meant to grow here.
To you who happened to come across this blog, I hope you find inspiration here and always trust God’s plan for you. He isn’t done writing your story yet—have faith.
