Gilda Francesca G. Flores
The first time I failed a subject in law school, I immediately sought comfort in words.
But now, I feel indifferent towards them–because they relentlessly try to reshape my pain in a more positive note. Quite frankly, that is the last thing I want to hear.
Nowadays, it feels like words are but empty promises. Once we hear them, it imposes upon us an obligation to move forward, to take them as pieces of advice, and forget about the grief we are experiencing. Momentarily, this is one way to handle life’s blunders, but the sadness and pain we feel are not limited to just struggles, they also come in the form of dreams, routines, or circumstances.
With my peers saying, “you got this!” ever so mindlessly, I felt like anything was possible, or so I thought I did. Before writing this, I initially wanted to say the dreamer in me has died and life has been quite mediocre, even though it has been distraught by events beyond my control.
I guess we cannot avoid using words whenever we want to relate or comfort the people around us. I, myself, have the habit of talking too much, meaning less than what I had intended. It took me some time to realize silence is also meaningful and being there for each other speaks volumes, even if it just means taking our time to process things. Our mistakes and shortcomings are loud because they leave a void within us, but in our emptiness, what remains to be done is to be whole again.
Failing a subject in law school was not my first denial in life. It was among the several hardships and fates that I had to accept with a mask on. It has also been my most silent battle, one which I had to hide through a new day burdened with recitations, exams, and readings. At that point, going through the same routine was riddled with questions and unwanted thoughts. Simply put, it was not easy.
Because while the world around me carried on nonchalantly, I had to survive.
I’m still standing.
More than a year has passed since then, and while the voices in my head are far from being faint whispers, I get to face them now, armed with the one voice tucked in the corner of my mind, bravely saying, “You still got this.”
My pain lingers, but no longer to an extent where it stings when the topic is touched upon. Maybe the indifference is gone, or maybe not. Nevertheless, I continue to face each day with the best of who I am, with the courage I have built for myself through every challenge I have overcome and have yet to encounter.
And while you and I are still figuring things out, I hope our pain turns into power, resonating the often-mentioned thought: I may have failed, but I am not a failure.
The Barrister 