Under Construction: A Student’s Reality

I clench my pen, hold my tongue, and write down a draft,
I picture a calm sea, a slow breeze, and a white sail on a wooden raft,
It’s what I want as my reality; it’s what I want for my joviality,
But reality is a different beast, and I leave my picturesque world and dive into the misty.

The yellow-padded paper sat on my desk,
My alarm screaming, giving me no rest,
I have an appointment, or two, or three, maybe even four.
There’s no point in pondering; I’m already out the door.

The daily commute begins once more,
On a jeepney, towards a place I both adore and despise,
A place that tests me, a place that shakes my core,
A place where, every day, a little part of me dies.

I think, I ponder, and I react to this reality,
Sometimes positively, sometimes negatively,
My mind was shrouded in endless contemplation,
“Am I enough to serve this nation?”

The thoughts never end, even when I pick up the pen,
When I speak to my friends when I count to ten,
Am I doing enough? Am I doing it right?
Those are the thoughts that plague my night.

I am tried and tested, tired of thirst,
I want to go to sleep; I want to burst,
But can I snap when all I’d give is my worst?
Am I giving my worst? Now, that would be a curse.

So I try, a relentless fever inside that never recedes,
Even when I give my best, fear continues to feed,
So now and then, I gouge my eyes and blind myself,
I escape my anxiety, I escape society, and I run myself.

Escaping my picturesque reality,
Now, that is my greatest tragedy.