“Ano gang mo?”
They ask it like it’s casual. Like it matters. Like it explains everything about me.
And I laugh a little, shrug,
“Just RSPC.”
Just. Two words. But those words are louder than most people realize.
They didn’t see the nights I stayed up rewriting something that still felt wrong.
They didn't see the trembling in my chest when my name got called.
They didn't see the 10 drafts, the 20 notes, the million times I whispered to myself,
I can do this. I have to do this.
“Just RSPC.”
They hear “just” and think it’s small.
I hear growth. I hear sweat. I hear every time I wanted to give up and didn’t.
I hear late nights, empty stomachs, hands cramped from writing, eyes burning from staring at a screen too long.
Some chase trophies. Some chase applause.
Me? I chase progress. I chase the version of myself that doesn’t break when someone says I’m not enough.
I chase the quiet victories that nobody claps for, but I know they’re mine.
So yeah. My gang is RSPC.
And “just” doesn’t make it small. It makes it mine.
It makes it real.
It makes it worth every second I spent doubting and trying and failing anyway.
Tomorrow? Maybe NSPC, maybe the world, maybe nothing at all.
But right now? This is my place.
This is my fight.
This is me proving, silently, that I can.
So next time someone asks,
“Ano gang mo?”
I smile.
“Just RSPC. But it’s everything I am right now.”
