There are days when I feel like I'm holding the whole world on my shoulders. Days when the weight of everything — responsibilities, expectations, dreams I haven't reached yet — feels almost too much to carry.
But somehow, I'm still here.
Still trying.
Still hoping that maybe, one day, all of this will mean something.
This is one of those days. And these are my notes from a tired, but still beating, heart.
Lately, it feels like I’m carrying a weight I can’t put down. It’s heavy in ways that are hard to explain. Being the breadwinner isn’t just about paying the bills. It’s waking up every day knowing that if I stop, everything else might fall apart too. It’s choosing to keep moving even when I’m tired, even when I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself along the way. It’s holding everything together when it feels like I’m falling apart a little more every day.
We started a small business because I wanted my mom to finally stop working in that toxic job. I couldn't watch her get drained like that anymore. We thought maybe the business could give us some peace. A softer life. A new start. And for a while, it felt like hope. When we moved here in the store, we had so much hope. We thought maybe it could help us. Maybe this could be the start of something better. But living here blurred all the lines. It’s like I haven’t had any space to breathe. Our home is the store. The store is our home. I’m always on. Always available. And I feel like I’ve lost myself along the way. I don't know when I’m supposed to rest anymore. Every moment is tied to the store. Every space is about survival now.
Most days, time feels like sand slipping through my fingers. I wake up and before I know it, it’s already 5PM. It’s like I blink and the day is gone. I hate how fast time moves when you’re exhausted. It’s frustrating — like no matter how hard I try, I’m still falling behind.
We stay open past midnight because that's when most customers come. We stretch ourselves, hoping for a little more income. But it feels like we are still not earning enough. Still, I pay the rent. I pay the water and electricity bills. I pay the bills at home too. Sometimes it feels like money just slips through my hands, no matter how hard I try to hold onto it. I’ve been working for seven years already. And yet, I don’t have enough savings. I don’t have enough investments. I still think twice before buying anything I want. I still feel trapped, like freedom is this faraway thing I can’t seem to catch.
What hurts even more is seeing my mom. She’s the one doing most of the work now. She wakes up early to cook for the carinderia. She stays up late, tending to the customers while I try to get some rest for my full-time job. She barely sleeps. She’s older now, but she keeps pushing herself. And it breaks my heart more than anything. She deserves to rest. She deserves to slow down. She shouldn’t have to work this hard anymore. And yet here we are.
Sometimes, I wish my siblings could see how much I’m struggling. How much I’m trying. How much I want them to make better choices, so they won’t have to go through what I’m going through. But at the same time, I don’t want them to see how tired I am. I don’t want them to feel guilty or worried. I just want to protect them from this. It’s a strange kind of loneliness — wanting to be seen but also wanting to stay invisible.
When I look around, It’s hard not to notice how everyone else seems to be moving forward. Friends are traveling, reaching milestones, building lives they’re proud of. And I’m still here — stuck, tired, surviving. I don’t even have the energy to see them anymore. Sometimes it’s easier to stay away than to sit there feeling like the one who’s been left behind.
I don’t really like being this vulnerable. I don’t enjoy laying all this out like a confession. But let’s be real — I’m just human. And right now, this is my truth. I don’t have it all figured out. I’m tired, I’m doing my best, and sometimes, I break a little too.
I’m not writing this to complain. I’m just trying to be honest with myself. To finally say it out loud: I’m tired. I’m hurting. And I wish things were different. But even after admitting all that, I know tomorrow I’ll still get up and keep going. Because that’s what I’ve learned to do. Even when it’s hard. Even when my heart feels like it’s carrying more than it should.
Maybe one day, all of this will make sense. Maybe one day, life will feel lighter, and all these hard days will add up to something beautiful. Maybe one day, time won't feel like something I’m constantly losing — but something I finally get to live fully, freely, and without fear.
For now, I’m just holding on the best way I know how. And maybe, for today, that’s enough.
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