To be stronger

It was nighttime of early-September. I was in my bedroom, with only my lamp and my

laptop to keep me company. The room itself was messy. Half-eaten Skyflakes littered the
floor. Empty cups of coffee laid on the nearby stained end table. My writings of notes and
solutions were scattered around my desk, with no label to speak off. The only clean thing
there was the notepad that I was writing on. If you would visit me in my room that time,
all you would hear would be the fast scribbling of my pencil and my ramblings as I try to
read my chemistry material. It was 9:00 pm that time. “Too early”, I told myself. My
aching hands tried to push through, to maintain pace with the information pouring into
my throbbing head. “I can still do this, I can.... I can’t”. The flames that pushed me to do
hours and hours of work, was gone. All that was left was exhaustion, frustration and
emptiness. As my head dropped to sleep on my desk, memories flooded in my mind of
times I hoped I had moved on from. Tears flowed as my eyes slowly shut close and my
whimpers lulled me to sleep.

My coach, a honest, diligent, and kind-hearted father figure of mine, died around 2 weeks
ago of a heart attack. He was an inspiration to many people, especially to me. He helped
me come out of my shell during my awkward teenage years, and instilled in me the
discipline that I needed to become a strong and independent adult. When the
announcement of his death came to my attention, I tried my best to endure it, to be a
strong man like how my coach wanted me to be. Classes had just started, and I thought
that maybe studying could help take my mind off of him. For a time it did, the sense of
accomplishment from good and honest work was great, but by the end of the day, when I
would return to my bed exhausted, the feelings of grief growing worse. This instance was
simply one of many over the course of a week. I thought that this was the right thing to
do, to turn my sadness into productive work, it was what my coach would have wanted,
at least I believed it was. Looking back on it now, all I did was distract myself from the
truth. I didn’t give myself the proper time to properly process the situation. Perhaps I
feared more pain would come from it, or maybe I didn’t want to admit that I was still the
scared, crying child I was before. In my selfish pursuit to prove my strength as a person, I
instead showed the contrary. If I were truly strong, I would’ve admitted that I missed
him, that I am not over his death, that I am hurting over his absence and most of all that I
need someone to help me through these tough times.

Nobody expected the COVID-19 quarantine, nor the death it would bring. Writing this
reflection proved to be helpful me refocus my priorities and look back on what has
happened during these uncertain times. It took me a long time to process my feelings and
even more to know that I even needed to. My heart still aches for the recently deceased
Coach Bacani, perhaps even worse than when it all started. Now, however, I am seeking
the proper help that I need, and hopefully the healing can start from there. I am after all
just a weak human, who sorely misses his old mentor. To my dear coach, I still yearn to
see you one more time. As much as I want you back, however, all I can do is hope, hope
that wherever you may be you would find the peace you most certainly deserve.