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May bilang at bigat din naman sana ang mga may bayag. Ngunit sa huli, sila at sila rin ang naglalaglagan. Walang suporta at sariling interes ang namamayagpag.

Sa mga kamay ng estranghero tayo ay nilaro. Nakipagpatentero't tayaan at sa huli, buhay na ang kabayaran sa lahat ng ating kahibangan. At sa bawat pahina ng ating kasaysayan. Ay ang katotohanang ang ating mga prinsipyo'y hindi magtatagpo.

How ironic.

I ran from this place like a burning house.

lungs blistered with invisible smoke.

I said: never again.

I said: my mind is not a battlefield for fluorescent wars.

And yet—the same hallway waits for me.

Same clock.

Same air.

Same quiet violence of pretending I’m fine. My pulse misbehaves.

My thoughts rehearse exits that aren’t there.

The door handle feels like a trigger.

Not because I am weak.

Not because I failed.

But because survival is expensive.

Because anxiety doesn’t deposit money.

Because empty pockets make louder threats than panic ever could.

So I step inside. Heart already apologizing to itself.

And the walls—they don’t welcome me.