I'm sorry if I failed as your daughter.
If I never lived up to your expectations.

At the very least, I graduated.
At least, I pushed through—I never dropped out, never skipped classes.
At least the recognition came before any award.
At least I didn’t get pregnant along the way.

But even then, I received no appreciation.

Were you proud that I made it this far?
Were you proud that, at the very least, I graduated?
You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’m used to it—I trained myself not to react anymore.

But still, behind closed doors, I kept asking myself:
Were my efforts ever enough?
Did I ever make you feel satisfied or proud of what I did while I was still studying?

Did I make it—as your daughter?
Or just as a student of my alma mater?

I'm sorry if I failed as a sibling—
As your Ate.
I just got tired.
I'm only resting.

But that doesn't mean I'm weak.
I’m strong—because I know that all of this hardship, someday, will lead somewhere meaningful.

As your sister, you may have seen or heard me cry.
Just don’t mind me.
I’m just trying to let it all out—
Like a cloud, heavy with all the weight it’s been carrying.
I just need to feel the pain…
Until it finally numbs me.

You may have seen me in my most vulnerable moments.
But that’s okay.

It’s okay to cry.
It’s okay to be seen in pain.
Because I am brave—
Brave enough to let others see my tears,
Brave enough to show the wounds I usually hide.