The World’s A Little Blurry: July 27

I’ve always thought that the world’s a little blurry.

Not everything that takes time is taking too long.

More than two years ago, I remember waiting for the result of my application to work in the United States. After passing the ASCPi and AMT examinations and receiving my New York CLS license, I thought the next steps would be easy. I thought I had done enough. Even with only a year of internship experience, I believed I could make it work.

So I immediately processed my WES evaluation and VisaScreen.

A year later, I took the licensure examination for Medical Technologists here in the Philippines and passed.

And still, I was waiting for the result of my U.S. application.

I stayed at home.

Another year passed.

Eventually, I decided to apply to different hospital laboratories here in the Philippines. For months, I tried looking for a job, sending applications and hoping that someone would give me a chance.

I wasn’t lucky at first.

And just when I thought I wasn’t going to find one, I was accepted.

That hospital is where I still work today.

At the time, I thought I was waiting for my life to begin.

I didn’t realize that I was already living a part of it.

I thought waiting for a long time meant being stuck.

Little did I know that it was part of the process.

Honestly, I have always felt pressured to arrive quickly.

Growing up can make you feel as though you’re supposed to have everything figured out by a certain age. There is an invisible timeline we are taught to follow, even if no one actually hands us a copy of it.

At twenty-two, I thought I should have graduated.

I did.

At twenty-three, I thought I should already have a career.

I didn’t. I found one at twenty-five.

I thought I should already know what I wanted.

Thankfully, I do—or at least, I’m beginning to.

At twenty-five, I thought I should be financially stable.

I’m not. If I’m being honest, I’m still figuring things out, and some months feel more like surviving than thriving.

I thought that by twenty-five, I should have found the one and be on my way to getting married before I turned twenty-eight.

Newsflash: I’m still single.

And I honestly doubt I’ll settle down before this decade ends.

I thought that by thirty, I should already be living the life I dreamed of for myself.

I hope so.

Every time something doesn’t happen according to the timeline I imagined, I wonder if I’m falling behind.

If I’m stuck somewhere.

If everyone else is moving forward while I’m standing still.

There were even times when I compared my timeline with everyone else’s.

A friend of a friend around my age gets married.

A colleague gets promoted.

A friend lands a better career opportunity.

Someone moves abroad.

Someone buys a house or builds one.

Someone starts a business.

Someone seems to know exactly what they want.

Someone seems content with life. Satisfied. Happy.

And whenever I compare notes with other people, I feel myself sinking a little.

They’re doing better in life.

Meanwhile, I’m still figuring things out.

But I see it differently now.

I often compare my unfinished chapter to someone else’s highlight.

And perhaps, more deeply than that, I assume that being different means being delayed.

I look at the things that didn’t happen as quickly as I expected—my career decisions, the dreams I postponed, my writing, my financial stability, my relationships, my personal growth, and even my understanding of what I actually want.

For a long time, I saw these things as evidence that I was behind.

Now, I’m learning to look at them differently.

Maybe the things that took time were not simply delays.

Maybe some seasons were preparing me.

Some taught me patience.

Some taught me discipline.

Some taught me what I didn’t want.

Some gave me experiences I would eventually need.

And some allowed me to become someone capable of carrying what I had been asking for.

I finally understand that those years of waiting did not necessarily mean that I was wasting time.

Because the truth is, the waiting period did not mean “Nothing is happening.”

Sometimes, it simply meant that “Something is happening that I cannot see yet.”

Growth is often invisible while it is happening.

Roots grow underground long before anything appears above the soil.

Perhaps life works the same way.

There are seasons when nothing seems to be moving. We don’t see the results. We don’t see the progress. We don’t see where all the waiting is taking us.

But that doesn’t mean nothing is happening.

Maybe we are growing in places no one can see yet.

Now, I’m learning to trust timing.

I used to think that if something was meant for me, it would find me quickly.

But life isn’t always like that.

Some prayers take time.

Some dreams take years.

Some doors open only after we’ve changed enough to walk through them.

And perhaps we don’t always need to know why something is taking so long to believe that the waiting isn’t meaningless.

I may not necessarily be where I thought I would be by now.

But perhaps I’m also not as far behind as I think.

Whenever I remember the person I was five years ago, I realize there are things about my life today that my younger self would probably be amazed to see.

She would see the woman who eventually found work.

The woman who became a licensed professional.

The woman who kept writing.

The woman who started a blog.

The woman who continues to dream about publishing books.

The woman who is still figuring things out, but hasn’t stopped moving.

Maybe I am not late.

Maybe I am simply living a life that cannot be measured by someone else’s clock.

I’ve always thought that the world’s a little blurry. Perhaps that’s why we are so quick to assume that we are lost when we cannot see what is ahead.

But maybe not seeing the whole picture is not the same as being behind.

Maybe the delay is not always a denial.

Maybe the waiting is not always wasted time.

Maybe some things simply need time to become what they were meant to be.

And perhaps, one day, when I look back at this season too, I’ll finally understand why it had to take this long.

For now, I will keep going.

I will keep working.

I will keep writing.

I will keep becoming.

Because maybe the goal was never to arrive as quickly as everyone else.

Maybe it was simply to arrive as the person I was meant to become.