Swimming With My Ghost

By: kaeya

Graphics by: Cassius Klai C. Francisco

They say Mapúa shapes strong people, but no one warns you that strength starts with breaking. Walking in a campus full of students who seem so sure, I’m left facing the question that cuts the deepest, “Am I really surviving… or am I just barely holding myself together?”

There was a time when my future felt like something I could shape with my own hand, something bright, something certain, and something mine. But life has a way of shifting paths quietly, gently, and suddenly, I ended up here, in a program I never pictured myself in, surrounded by people who seem so sure, while I’m still trying to steady my footing.

They speak of their dreams with sparks in their voices, while I tread water in my own uncertainty, barely keeping afloat. “Multo” by Cup of Joe flows through my headphones, and every lyric is a ghost rising from the depths. It haunts me like a cold current pulling me under, and how is anyone supposed to feel safe when they’re already struggling just to breathe?

The assignments, the deadlines, the pressure of trying to match everybody’s pace, they all build into a quiet storm that follows me home. Not loud enough to destroy me, but heavy enough to press against my chest, like waves pulling at me in a restless sea. By the time the day ends, I’m treading water in my own thoughts, gasping for air as currents of doubt and fear swirl around me, relentless and unyielding.

Every night, I lie in bed replaying the day’s mistakes, every stuttered answer, every quiz I barely passed, the moments I laughed as if nothing was wrong. The times I hid the shake in my hands because I didn’t want anyone to see how unsure I really was… I wonder if others feel this lost too, or if I’m the only one still figuring out who I am inside a program that isn’t my dream.

Yet, Mapúa has this energy, intense, relentless, and unforgiving. It pushes you, molds

you, challenges you even on days when you’re barely holding yourself together.

Every deadline hits like a wave, and I fight to stay above water. But once I’ve finished, what comes next isn’t calm, it’s a storm, a tsunami of doubt, crushing me with the thought “Am I really surviving… or just barely holding on?”

Yet despite everything, the exhaustion, the doubts, and the fear of just surviving, there is a part of me that refuses to break. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s the quiet belief that even if this isn’t the life I imagined, I can still make meaning out of it.

So I walk through these halls with a heart that’s tired but trying. I will keep paddling, even when the currents of doubt threaten to pull me under, even when the waves of what could have been crashing over me. Because survival isn’t about reaching calm waters, it’s about refusing to sink, one stroke at a time.

For now, survival is its own kind of courage. It’s waking up, showing up, and pushing through the storm, even when the way forward is unclear. And let me tell you, this courage, this survival… it is enough. It is more than enough.