A GRAFFITI on the wall read: Only a dead fish goes with the flow. 

I pushed through the crowd of a busy Manila street, moving against the current. The night was alive with noise and movement. In the city, every second counts. Every minute is filled with rush as if time itself were in a constant race. 

I dodged through the crowd, maneuvering past pedestrians who, like me, were accustomed to navigating the rush. People moved like waves in the ocean, each of us seemingly unaware of one another. In my mind, we are not people but machines that are programmed to focus only on where we need to be next. 

From a distance, a whistle pierced the air, followed by a sharp bang. 

The crowd stilled, drawn to the sound. For a brief moment, it was as though the world decided to take a rest. I glanced up, half expecting something serious. But when I saw the bursts of colors spreading across the night sky, I knew it was just fireworks. 

The crowd’s attention remained fixed on the display, but I, without hesitation, went on walking. My mind was bound to the mundane— deadlines, responsibilities, expectations. 

I thought to myself, I have articles to write. 

I thought to myself, I have chores waiting for me at home. 

I thought to myself, oh, the bills needed to be paid. 

In my life, there was no room for stillness. There was no time to waste for a simple stop just to watch something trivial like a fireworks display. It had always been like this, ever since I realized that life was a struggle for those who couldn’t afford it. I had places to be, tasks to complete, and thoughts that couldn’t be paused for a brief celebration. 

As the fireworks continued to light up the sky in the distance, I moved on. The sound of it faded behind me as I fought against the current of the city’s ceaseless motion. 

But later that night, after I finished all that I had to do, when the city fell in a half-awake haze, I permitted myself to dream. 

In my mind, I was back outside, but this time, instead of rushing past the fireworks, I stopped to watch. I stood with the crowd, captivated by its colors and vibrance— a part of the celebration. 

In my mind, I could afford to take a pause and rest. 

But as much as it pleased me to think of myself in that situation, it also pained me that it was something out of reach for now. I could not stop nor to pause. Dreaming is the only thing I could afford to do. 

So I forced myself to sleep, to hide deep under the comforts of my dreams, hoping that when I wake up, I would have my strength back again. Strength to hope that swimming against the currents would mean something more than just being alive.