Who am I even supposed to be?

There comes an age when curiosity isn’t enough anymore. People stop asking what you enjoy and start asking what you will be—as if wanting something were the same as knowing it, as if the future were something you could name on command. Suddenly, wanting isn’t enough; it has to be practical, impressive, and worthy of approval.

They call it the right age. The right age to pick a path, to commit, to decide who you will be for the rest of your life. But no one tells you how unfinished everything feels at this stage—how clarity is demanded precisely when doubt is at its loudest, when your own heart is whispering I still don’t know.

You look around and everyone seems ahead. Friends move forward with confidence, careers have titles, dreams have timelines. Social media doesn’t help—it’s all neat victories, early wins, curated lives that make your hesitation feel like failure. And quietly, you start measuring yourself against milestones that were never even yours to reach. You notice the sideways glances, the quiet comparisons, when someone else seems to have it together, and it stings more than you expect.

The pressure is heavy.

Questions hit from every direction, sharp and insistent.

“Alam na niya ang gusto niya—ikaw, kailan?”

“May plano ka na ba?”

“Alam mo na ba ang gusto mo?”

“Kailan mo ba sigurong desisyonan?”

“Bakit hindi ka pa tulad niya?”

“Sayang naman kung hindi mo ituloy.”

“Eh paano na kung mali ang piliin mo?”

And even when no one says it, the judgment is everywhere—in the glance, the tone, the side-comments you catch just in time. You see your friends applying for internships, getting awards, traveling, starting businesses, while your own life feels paused, messy, incomplete. You scroll through social media and it’s the same story: classmates posting achievements, cousins moving ahead, strangers living lives that feel impossibly far away.

You measure yourself against all of it. The comparisons sting, twisting inside you, making your heart beat faster with pressure, sadness, and envy all tangled together. You start asking yourself a million questions

Am I behind?

Am I failing?

Will I ever catch up?

What if I waste my time?

What if I’m not enough?

Slowly, uncertainty begins to feel like failure.

Your thoughts spiral, spinning circles of doubt, guilt, and quiet resentment, until it’s hard to tell what’s true anymore—if it’s just life, or if you really are behind. Every choice feels loaded, every moment feels like a measurement, every comparison a weight on your chest.

Yet here is the quiet truth: life isn’t linear, no matter how hard we try. Purpose rarely arrives fully formed. Sometimes it appears quietly, through mistakes, through detours, through choices that don’t work out but teach you something about yourself anyway.

Being lost can be soft. It can look like scrolling through your phone at 2 a.m., thinking Am I behind? It can look like watching friends move forward while you sit still, learning who you are between one attempt and the next. It can feel messy, chaotic, like your thoughts are a storm you can’t organize, with sadness and envy brushing against every decision.

And in that confusion, there is courage—the quiet, stubborn kind that lets you admit you’re still searching. Growing up isn’t about having all the answers at the right time. It’s about giving yourself space to change, to evolve, to figure out who you really are. Not knowing what you want doesn’t mean you’re behind.

It doesn’t mean you’ve failed.

Sometimes it just means you’re still becoming—and that, in itself, is part of the journey.

The Frontman