I unfolded the small paper within my grasp, crumpled not just by my trembling fingers, but by the weight of tomorrow’s uncertainties. Before I could do anything with it, though, I quickly glanced up to see the line stretching forward, and just as far as behind me. I wait among strangers, whether old or young, loud or quiet, all moving toward the same objective: to vote for a future they wish for. It would still be a while until it’s my turn, so I let out a rough, tired sigh and lowered my gaze back to the paper, where the names I had written waited.

I went through my list, again, as I had every few minutes, and each time I reached the end of someone’s name, fragile hope escaped my mumbling lips. I pressed gently on the worn paper, unwilling to let go of the chance it held to reach the future I longed for. But, just as suddenly, a strong shove from my side makes me accidentally let go. The newfound emptiness in my palm feels heavier than the grip I had on my aspirations. I watch helplessly, breath caught in my throat, as it gradually falls to the ground, my heart dropping along with it.

The wayward wind blew it further, and I frantically chased after it, stumbling along the way, not even pausing to check what had happened. I stretched out my hand in a desperate reach, and at the brink of it being lost to the wind, I grasped it once more, holding on to a future I dreamed of. My breath came in heavy gasps. Even the present felt like a weight I couldn't escape.

Once I caught my breath, I turned to go back to my spot in line, only to find two elderly people standing there instead. They chattered among themselves, glancing about, flailing their hands as much as they could, seemingly judging something with disapproval. With my list secured in my trembling hands, I decided to think nothing of it and quietly took my new place behind them.

I opened my fist and saw the paper crumpled even more than before. With a gentle grasp I unfolded it, as though it were fragile, and noticed the creases running through the names of those upon whom I had entrusted my future. I read them softly once more, like before, as if memorizing how my voice carries each syllable. As if calling their names could make my silent prayers be heard.

The more I read, the louder the murmurs of the elderly in front of me grow. Their voices, thick with judgment and irritation, drown out my own thoughts.

“Hay, mga bata ngayon, dami nang alam,” one of them shot me a quick, disdainful glance before continuing, “Hindi nila alam kung sino dapat iboto.”

The other person nodded their head in agreement. “Akala nila mas may alam sila dahil lang mas bata sila. Eh tayo ‘yung mas may karanasan.”

I glued my eyes to my paper, observing each stroke of my handwriting, all written with intent and hope. I pretended not to hear their words, though it hit me like a sharp sting in my throat. Hours of research, understanding, and thought, only to be belittled as incompetent and immature. Yet, I held my paper tight, safe in my hands, still hopeful that my vote could make a real difference, a positive change for the country.

I ignored their words. With a steady breath, I carefully folded the paper, more confident than before. My hands tightly clutch a paper. Small, seemingly insignificant, yet it holds my chance at a better future.