I was a shy student during my junior years of high school. Even when my classmates asked me for help with our math seatworks, I don’t recall ever raising my hand to answer on the board. I was never recognized by my teachers, and I never craved for it—until I was given that recognition.
For the first time in high school, I was included in the honor list. It was the sole reason I suddenly gained the confidence to raise my hand and answer board work.
I was consistent until I wasn’t. I fell short in one semester and didn’t complete junior high with honors. I was so disappointed in myself. I was almost there—I was just one point behind from getting that medal.
I knew I was capable of getting it. My effort just fell short, but if I just pushed myself a little more, I would get it. So, that’s what I did—I kept pushing myself.
In the first semester of senior high school, Grade 11, our teacher asked if anyone could answer the problem written on the board. It was Algebra, and no one dared to raise their hand. I don’t know what kind of hormone surged in my brain to make me raise my hand because it was a long algebra problem that I hadn’t even solved beforehand—I volunteered, and I got the answer right.
It was then that I realized I was capable—if I just convinced myself enough that I am. If I just pushed myself enough, I would be. Since then, I developed a passion for math. I finally got the medal, graduating senior high school as Rank 5 of our batch.
Then college came.
In my freshman year, I was shining with passion, dreams, and hopes all glittered with “You can do this, I know you can,” pushing myself little by little, step by step.
During the first semester of sophomore year, I almost failed a course, and I had to push even harder. I had to triple my efforts. I had to jump from one stool to another because if I didn’t, I might disappoint my parents, my ego, and that child who loves math so much. I called on God, asking Him to do miracles for me, to give me a chance: “Just one project, and I don’t mind getting my hands sore just to prove I deserve to pass this course.” I was able to pass the course, and I made it through.
Then the second semester came rushing in. I was so scared to be in the same situation again that I started to push myself even harder. I passed through it, but I got myself all beaten up by my own efforts to push more and more.
In junior year, I don’t know what happened. I came back, and my passion, dreams, and hope were clouded with fear, doubt, and anxiety. But the fight of pushing myself more continued, as if I wasn’t already sore and beaten from the previous year. This time, it was different. I was doing it merely because I was scared. By the second semester, I wasn’t driven by passion anymore; I was driven by the pressure I put on myself.
I don’t know at what point in this process I lost my passion, but I lost it before I even realized it was gone.
In senior year, I just stood there. I stopped pushing. This was the first time, in the whole journey of pushing myself, that I stopped and admitted to myself that I was tired.
I was confused. This was supposed to be a journey of pushing myself to be better, to be capable. But when did it reroute to a dead end—one where if I continued to push myself even more, I would crash?
I know I haven’t fully accepted that I lost all my drive to continue. I am still disappointed with myself. I still cry when I watch that calculus lecture video I submitted during my first year. I still mourn the passion I lost and the things I wasn’t able to overcome.
But I give extra credit to the bit of hope that still shines within me, that screams, “If there’s breath, there’s hope!”
I struggle to find the words to end this on a hopeful note, but in the quiet of my heart, I feel a gentle whisper—perhaps from God above—guiding me softly forward.
Where you are is not a dead end, but a resting place. And if you regain yourself enough to continue, you’ll have enough courage to break that barrier, you’ll have enough match to ignite again.
And maybe your passion isn’t lost at all. Maybe you just forgot it somewhere in the dark, like a glow-in-the-dark stick in your room that lost its ability to shine. And if you regain your light, your passion will shine brightly again. You won’t need to search for it; it will just glow towards you.
Just as I was given provision to stay when I was about to give up on this program, I will take this as provision to rest.
After all, growth and success aren’t about relentless pushing; they come from balancing effort with moments of recovery. Even when the road feels like a dead end, it might actually be a much-needed resting place—a pause before you continue stronger and more aligned with your purpose.
Rest with His grace, acknowledging that setbacks are not the end, and trusting that with time, passion and strength will return, often brighter than before.
Matthew 11:28 NLT
[28] Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.