The past few days, I’ve noticed something unsettling about myself. It feels like I’ve degenerated. Not in the dramatic, world-ending kind of way, but in the quiet, almost invisible sense where you suddenly realize that the spark you once carried has dimmed into something you can barely feel anymore. I used to look forward to people. Conversations. Even the things I once loved doing. Now, when I come home after a long day, all I want to do is collapse into bed. No music, no books, no hobbies, no laughter — just the dead weight of exhaustion pressing me into my mattress. Is this depression? Or is it some kind of soul crush — that strange emptiness where you’re not exactly broken, but you’re not alive either. Days roll into each other, and the future doesn’t even glimmer. It just looks… blank.
I work three jobs. Three. And yet my bank account looks like it belongs to someone who isn’t trying. Every deposit vanishes almost as quickly as it arrives, and there’s nothing left to hold onto at the end of the month. I keep running, but the finish line doesn’t exist. My wallet feels empty, and honestly — so does my soul. People tell me hard work pays off, but lately, it feels more like hard work just pays the bills. Nothing more. No security, no joy, no sense of accomplishment. Just another day survived.
Maybe that’s what’s bothering me most: I’m not living, I’m just existing. But here’s the thing — even in this emptiness, I’m still aware of it. And that awareness means something. It means I haven’t fully given up. It means there’s still a part of me that craves more, that refuses to believe life is just about working until you collapse.
I may feel bankrupt in spirit today, but tomorrow is still mine to claim. Change doesn’t have to come in one dramatic leap — sometimes it starts with one tiny act of rebellion against the emptiness. Taking a walk. Calling a friend. Writing a few words down, even if they don’t make sense. Choosing to do one thing that reminds me I’m human, not a machine.
The truth is, a bank account can be refilled — and so can a soul. Maybe slowly, maybe painfully, but definitely. And one day, I’ll look back at this season of survival and realize it wasn’t the end of me — it was the beginning of a new way of living.
I don’t just want to exist. I want to live. And I’m not giving up on that.
The Quiet Corner is a weekly Friday feature on this blog, offering reflections on the everyday musings that occupy the mind. It's a space where Filipinos in their early to late 30s can find relatable insights on navigating life’s balancing act—work, relationships, and all the little moments in between. Whether you're juggling responsibilities or just seeking a moment to breathe, The Quiet Corner is here to resonate with your journey.