DILI NAKO

We recently celebrated the Solemnity of Christ the King, which marked the end of the liturgical year — a moment the Church pauses, to look back before Advent leads us into new beginnings.

Somehow, my soul is ending a chapter too.

These past weeks, something strange has been happening in me.

A shift. A quiet rebellion. A surprising honesty.

I’ve noticed that…

I don’t want to be responsible anymore.

Not the way I used to be.

Not the way everyone expects me to be.

For so long, people saw me as:

“Si Christine, masaligan gyud. Kaya kaayo na niya. Si Christine kay dili to mubalibad.”

I grew up inside that expectation — reliable, available, mature beyond my years, the one who would always say yes. The one who would carry the burden so others wouldn’t have to.

People automatically assumed I’d help because truly, I almost always did. They were used to me showing up, being present and commit. They assumed I’d understand, carry the load, and fulfill every expectation placed on my shoulders.

But recently… something inside me started resisting.

I began feeling uncomfortable when things came up.

I didn’t want to attend.

I didn’t want to join.

I didn’t want to commit.

And honestly? Nakuyawan ko.

I thought, “Hala, naunsa naman ko? This isn’t me. What’s happening?”

I feared people would stop loving me if I said no.

I feared they would think I was becoming irresponsible, or unfaithful, or uncommitted.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand — with ChatGPT helping me unpack the deeper layers of this:

This isn’t irresponsibility. This is freedom.

I am not running away from responsibility.

I am running toward myself.

Growing up, I was the responsible one — achiever, obedient, polite, maayong bata. My teachers often said I acted “mature for my age.” I thought that was good. I thought that was me.

But now, I understand:

It wasn’t my personality. It was my protection.

As a child who felt unwanted, who feared abandonment, who carried the unconscious burden of being adopted, of being given up twice —

I learned to survive through perfection.

I thought:

“I need to be good. I need to be responsible. I need to be almost perfect… para dili ko ipaampon napud. Para dili ko biyaan.”

Responsibility was the armor I wore to keep myself safe.

But now — now that I’m healing, now that I’m learning my worth is not tied to usefulness — this armor feels heavy. And my soul is finally strong enough to take it off.

That’s why it feels weird.

That’s why it feels scary.

Because it’s new.

But I believe, it’s also holy.

Because this time… I want choice.

The freedom to say yes or no.

The freedom to rest or show up.

The freedom to be loved even when I’m not useful.

As the liturgical year ends, so is that old version of me.

And in this quiet transition — between Christ the King and Advent, between ending and beginning — I feel God whispering:

“Anak, you can be free now.”

Free to be playful.