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May used to be the shortest month – at least for the younger me. Time seemingly passed by with the same old routine: wake up, eat, sleep, repeat until it filled my days, proven by the completely marked classic kalendaryo hanging on the doorstep of our wooden door. 

I did not want it to end. 

I wanted May to double. 

Because it meant that my playmates would come knocking on our creaky metal gate, asking my mom if I have already woken up from my siesta – hoping to invite their friend who was the jackstone champion and undefeated dead mother, dead all contender. 

Because it meant that mama would let me stay up all night, as she read my favorite worn-out The Little Prince book, shadow dogs and birds made using our hands and a flashlight littered the wall. 

I wanted May to triple. 

Because next month means that I’m going back to learning how to count and say my ABCs. 

I constantly thought of how much would change if I had the power to control time with my own hands. The what-ifs of stopping in a very special moment up until the urge to not grow up and never forgetting – just as how The Pilot from The Little Prince saw it when he was laying down on a grassy, green field. 

No matter how much I did not want to, I had to. You have to deal with it, they said. Life is short, and so was the month of May.

Many more months of May passed by. Younger me became an older version of herself who thought that she got her life figured out the moment she got the acceptance letter into her dream university, joined different organizations, and has a strong support system through thick and thin.

I did not want it to end. 

I wanted May to double. 

Life was at its fullest color as many firsts of adulting came through. I learned how to party, use many words I never imagined speaking in one sentence, and explore places that were just in my old journal’s bucket list. 

Life was giving me enough easter eggs to discover. The way I want to present myself in public, the never-ending freedom I had outside the four corners of my home in the province, and the unlimited food I had to enjoy as long as I had enough budget gained from my first part-time job. 

I wanted May to triple. 

Until reality actually hit. 

May suddenly became harsh. I got eaten up by the probabilities of getting my first singkos, seemingly endless burnouts that led to academic compromises, and my body slowly giving up because of the restless nights it took for the fear of never making it. 

I thought the naps spent in a random overnight café was a sign of giving up; not like how my childhood siestas gave me a sense of trying again for another day. 

A pause was enough to pull me back, making me feel that I wasted time. 

And I will reap it in May.

The toxic cycle continued, but I treated it as normal. I was ready to trade the life that I had in exchange for academic excellence.

I tried, and tried, and… tried.

But sometimes, it just wasn’t enough. 

I did not want another episode of uncertainties of me not moving forward, nor see myself fail a subject that will hinder me from reaching my goals. 

Is this the price of growing up? 

For thinking that I got my life on track by slowly achieving my dreams? 

I want May to end. 

But it didn’t.

And, I suddenly found myself looking at my phone calendar filled with appointments and commitments, thinking of what’s next while walking in the jagged pavements that would lead me to the nearest jeepney stop that would take me home. I wanted to divert my attention. Social media finds a way but the moment I opened the first application;

I saw people wishing for May to end.

I wasn’t alone. Some wished that they could’ve done better, some hoped less. Many felt lacking, yet many went overboard. I remember scrolling through their posts for hours, until I came across a schoolmate now proudly wearing her graduation dress. The same one she once debated on whether she would wear for the graduation ceremony in July. 

Then, I realized things won’t go as planned; it may sometimes lead us to think that we are not enough, even though we are more than enough. What started off as learning how to read and count will not end on the day you received your first failing mark, and the beauty of growing up does not stop when our expectations come to a conclusion. 

We will miss waiting for our friends after school so we can eat together in the famous food spots. We will miss the excitement of planning hangouts after the long days of being submerged in stressful workloads.

Wishing for May to never end is like saying that I will never wait for the day that I’ll finally wear the graduation dress I once wished for as a young girl tucked in bed by her mama, reading our worn-out The Little Prince book. 

I will never want May to end but it will.

This time, better.