You’ll be fine (from ur future self)
Two years ago, I sat in this same spot, doing this same thing. But back then I was trying to figure out whether I had a future at all.
I had stopped attending school, and I couldn’t stop wondering what would become of me. My friends were reaching milestones — earning medals and certificates, building businesses, moving forward. I felt as if life had left me behind. While they celebrated their progress, I was trying to get through the day with skin problems, health struggles, and depression.
I was drowning, and I didn’t know how to swim. I had hit rock bottom. Even taking one small stride felt impossible.
So I stopped trying to solve my whole life at once. I sat with what I was feeling. I began journaling — not to keep a record of every day I spent depressed, but to understand what was happening inside me. On the page, I could be honest. I could admit that I was scared, exhausted, and unsure how much longer I could keep going.
And there, in the words I’d written, I found my old prayers.
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I had begged for a chance to bounce back. I had hoped that one day I would be doing better, studying again, feeling happy, and surrounded by people I loved and cherished. Two years ago, those hopes felt impossibly far away. I was afraid I might never see the future I was wishing for. I felt hopeless and didn’t know whom to ask for help — not even in my own family. The world kept turning, and I felt trapped beneath the weight of my thoughts.
But life didn’t ask me to have everything figured out. It asked me to keep going, one day at a time.
I started turning the pain into something I could hold: a sentence, a drawing, a small piece of art. I began endurance training, too. At first, I wasn’t chasing medals or trying to prove anything. I was looking for a reason to move — to care for my body, to get outside my thoughts, and to feel connected to myself again.
Writing, drawing, and training didn’t erase the hard days. They gave me ways to meet them.
Little by little, those small things became part of a life I couldn’t yet imagine.
The writing that once helped me understand my pain broadened the way I see the world. It taught me to be softer and kinder — to myself, to other people, and to life. My art brought me to people who shared my values. It reached their hearts and, in turn, inspired them.
The training that helped me keep moving prepared me to return to sports. I became a varsity player at my school and found running communities in Roxas City and Iloilo City. It helped me take on hikes and adventures, too — to discover the beauty of the world I once feared I might never get to experience.
None of this means I’m grateful for the suffering. I hated what I went through, and I don’t want to glorify it. But I am proud of the person who kept looking for a way forward — who turned pain into words and drawings, and took one step, then another, even when the destination was unclear.
Today, I’m sitting in the same spot, doing the same thing — writing. The difference is that now I can look back and see how those small acts carried me here. The girl who once wrote desperate prayers for a future has grown into someone who is living pieces of the life she hoped for.
So, to the girl I was two years ago: You don’t have to know how everything will work out. Just keep listening to yourself. Keep writing. Keep creating. Keep moving at your own pace. One day, you’ll look back and realize that even the smallest steps were taking you somewhere.
You’re going to be just fine. You’ll come back stronger, wiser, and more gentle with yourself. And I’m so proud of you.
-from ur greatest fan, future self
