I Broke Up with Reality on a Tuesday

Well, if a Tuesday won't work then maybe a Wednesday. I won against indecision and finally made coffee. I wanted it black and bitter, just like most of my life. I even put on my old graduation shirt, the one that still smelled like cheap ambition and baby powder. I sat on the balcony, looked down at the street, and thought, at least my disapearance would hopefully ease some burdens of my family. And I can finally be at peace. The jeepneys racing the streets rumbled, the dogs barked incessantly, someone down the street was already doing karaoke at 10 a.m. singing “My Way,” of course. How fitting. But it's outrageous that even death in this country can’t happen without any background noise. But then there was a blackout. Literally a power cut. My fan suddenly stopped spinning, then my laptop died, and I was left staring at my reflection in the dead screen. And you know what? I looked completely ridiculous. So I postponed it, I can't be going with a pitiful face like that. So, “Next Tuesday,” I told myself. That’s when the universe decided to fuck me up. Fast-forward. I’m now lying face-down in the dirt, chest heaving, an officer screaming something about “discipline” and “integrity” while I taste the flavor of regret and recycled mud. I’m in a Navy training camp. The irony is so thick it should be wearing the uniform too. How did I get here? Let’s rewind. Two days after that failed Wednesday, my cousin, an actual functioning adult, called me. “Bro, there's a Navy recruitment drive, free medical, libre din pagkain.” It sounded ridiculous, but of course I would join. Especially that last part. You mean there's free food? When you’ve been jobless for half a decade, even scams sound like social events. So, I went. I wore jeans and slippers, surrounded by people in joggers and disgusting determination. One officer asked me, “Why do you want to join the service?” I panicked and said, “For our nation, sir!” He squinted at me, probably wondering if I meant that or if I was just reciting something from a government poster. But to my surprise, I passed the first screening. Maybe because I looked like someone who had nothing left to lose. I somehow thought God was finally making amends with me. Next thing I knew, I was doing push-ups on gravel, regretting every instant noodle I ever ate. Every whistle blast sounded like a personal insult. I thought I’d collapse by the second day, but no, my body, in its infinite spite, just won't go down. I wanted to go down. I even prayed I would collapse so I could join those FADs watching our exercises from the sidelines. Those guys were medically excused from physical exertion. I envied them alot, that I felt my tears running down my cheeks involuntarily. But as it turns out, training camp is kinda like life. It's painful, repetitive, and full of people pretending not to cry. But it’s also strangely addictive. Every time I woke up at 4 a.m., drenched in sweat and bad decisions, a part of me felt something I hadn’t felt in years. Clarity. Here, no one cares about your resume, your failed crypto ventures, or how many Mondays you wasted. You either keep up or fall flat on your face. And for once, falling doesn’t feel like losing. It feels like proof that you’re still here. Sometimes, during runs, I still think about that Tuesday. About how close I came to ending it. Then a commander yells “MOVE!” and I move, because apparently, I can't come up with my own answers. In here, they provide it for me.