Do we still remember how our eyes twinkled when we talked about our dreams and the courses we wanted to pursue in college? It’s like everyone is in a hurry to graduate from high school and learn new things at the universities of their choice. We thought the most challenging phase was passing the entrance examinations, but little did we know, it was picking ourselves up every day and working our way to graduate.
My name is Rebie, a third-year journalism student at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines (PUP), and I still have a lot of deadlines on my plate, but here’s a little confession: I honestly feel so tired nowadays. A high grade would validate me before, but I’m starting to realize now that chasing perfection is highly exhausting.
It’s currently the final week of our second semester. The atmosphere is heavy with all the projects we need to submit before the end of this week. Aside from that, we still have to attend some classes. It feels like I’m on autopilot—wake up early, brace for the two- to three-hour commute from Navotas to Sta. Mesa, sit in class to take an exam or attend a three-hour-long lecture, and then commute back home only to face a mountain of school requirements—research papers, video productions, and special projects like never-ending.
On most days, I would fall asleep working on assignments, continue reading assigned articles while riding the jeepney or train, and skip eating and resting to finish one subject at a time. Weekends don’t equal rest. It’s two long days of catching up on backlogs and extra nights to review my papers. I’m sure that many students can relate. Amid academic pressure, we all slowly lose ourselves—forgetting who we are outside of academics, building our identity solely on the grades we receive, and doubting our sense of purpose when we complete our projects.
Who am I outside my academics?
My family would often say, “Oh, Rebie? She’s a steady, reliable student. She has had excellent grades ever since. We’re so proud of her.”
My classmates would agree. “Rebie is someone we can count on. We always love having her as part of group projects. She always shows up, and when someone in the class needs help, they can rely on her.”
Sweet words, right? For a moment, it’s the kind of life that’s both productive and fulfilling. But what everyone doesn’t know is that behind the perfect papers submitted on time and the façade I present as a consistent, hardworking student, I want to take a rest. I may have been surviving college, but I am losing myself.
Amidst the responsibilities I have as a student, I no longer feel like myself. Like how everyone else knows me, I can’t recognize myself anymore outside my role in the classroom.
Sure, I am Rebie, the student. But not anything else. Not just Rebie. I don’t know who Rebie is when she’s not the “reliable” student everyone calls her.
Who is Rebie, the student?
Honestly, I am the one with a smiling face in my school, never late to class, and always actively participating. But I am also Rebie, the student who’s constantly rushing because there are assignments I need to submit on time, the one who cries at night, not because the project was so hard, but because I’m burnt out, and the one who secretly questions myself, “What is all of this for? Is this worth all the tears, sleepless nights, and academic stress and pressure?”
On many nights, while studying and doing my homework, I would feel my mind and soul drifting away from my body. That is how tired I get. I would begin questioning why I won’t just let myself take a rest. This kind of chronic stress and fatigue is beyond normal.
The apparent paradox of knowing I need to take a rest yet also feeling guilty when I do is problematic. I would sometimes skip classes and group meetings when everything felt overwhelming. These happen sometimes when I feel like one more lecture or commute, and my whole body breaks down. But rather than admitting that I feel mentally exhausted, I am physically sick. As sad as it sounds, people will only take care of you when you think the latter but will call you lazy and weak if you tell them that you feel exhausted and would like to take a break.
Our society still views mental health struggles with a negative connotation—admitting you need to take a rest because of academic pressure and stress would mean you’re just being dramatic and not showing willpower—and this stigma is what’s entirely wrong with the educational system. Instead of students receiving the support they need from their school and elders, their feelings are often dismissed and invalidated.
We were raised to believe that having good grades is the ultimate validation we need as students, the tool to get the best jobs after college, and the best recognition we can give our parents. But this kind of system that fosters an environment that pressures students to choose perfect grades over mental health turns them into robots and glorifies “hustle culture.”
But is surviving college the path for all? Do we need to numb our feelings and put aside our mental health to be perfect students? Does the end (academic success) justify the means (academic and societal pressure)?
I hope not, or if it does, we can advocate for it to change. Healthy, well-supported students are more likely to achieve their full potential and success. And the dream I have for myself is to become more than I am as a student.
Not just Rebie, the student.
I want to find my energy to come back to myself—the Rebie who enjoys reading fiction and finishing a book in one sitting. Happily and peacefully. No guilt for doing something non-productive.
For the last year of my college career, I plan to take things slow and explore life outside of school. After college, I hope to find a job that fulfills my heart’s desire, not just a job that pays the bills but one that is balanced. I don’t want my next chapter to be “Rebie, the employee.”
I hope to be more than that. I hope to be just myself—just Rebie.