I'm Not A Superhero

I’m not fast like The Flash. I’m not strong like The Incredible Hulk. I’m not a web-swinger like Spiderman. I don’t have x-ray vision like Superman. I can’t communicate with animals, like Dr. Doolittle. I’m not even as hung as Jeff Stryker.

I’m not a superhero. But these past few weeks, everyone has been expecting me to be one.

At work, I’ve been denying the fact that I’ve managed to shoulder the work being done by at least four different people who’ve left the company. And this past week, I’ve been receiving feelers to take on even more work. They’re actually trying to flatter me into thinking that I’m being developed for bigger things, but flattery will get you nowhere. I’d appreciate some help, for crying out loud! Multi-tasking is one thing, but overloading is a whole different situation. It’s not even funny!

Some emo friends have been making contact as well, asking for some advice regarding their respective relationship problems. I don’t know when exactly I became the expert on love, nor do I know why I was made mature enough to handle situations such as theirs. I know I’ve been gifted by the heavens with this “talent”, but sometimes, I just don’t want to hear things. I don’t want my solitude-slash-loneliness being rubbed in my face. I just want to tell them to be thankful they actually have relationships to be problematic about, when I on the other hand, have nothing.

This thing with Baby Nathan has been another challenge. This was the one time that the HIV advocacy organizations could’ve stepped up to the plate to help this deserving family out, but sadly, I don’t know if and how they’ve been helping. I’m not exactly rich or anything, but I do manage to assist them in my own personal capacity. Granted that they should eventually be able to support themselves, you don’t know how hard it is to turn my back on a kid who can’t even go for a check up or a med refill because they don’t have money for a bus ticket to Alabang.

I’ve been fortunate enough to have found my passion for writing, and be able to use it to fuel my HIV advocacy. But even that is daunting. There’s just so much to do, and lucky enough that I’ve been receiving opportunity after opportunity to both write and advocate, I’m just afraid of spreading myself too thin.

And with everyone pulling on me from all directions, some even trying to shoot me down, the last thing I want to do is snap. This is not exactly going to do wonders for my upcoming CD4 count. There just has to be some other way to relieve the strain.

It’s just so much pressure to have the success, happiness, comfort, and the very lives of others depend on my actions. It’s physically tiring, mentally exhausting, and emotionally draining. So much so that, I must admit, I’ve needed to take a slight respite from the realities of life.

I felt like a turtle in a race, leaving the confines of my own shell, trying to push everyone else, from a frail ant to an emotional elephant, past the finish line. My biggest fear was looming... to get trampled in all the ruckus. A hero in the eyes of the few who might care, but mere roadkill in the greater scheme of things.

Fortunately, an angel picked up my rotting carcass and took me up to the heavens, to revive what little life there was left in me. And given the chance to converse with God, I only had three things in mind. I asked for strength, I asked for purpose, and I thanked Him extensively for everything I have. And with that, I felt peace and smiled.

Somehow, it dawned on me that maybe I didn’t need to be a superhero. It might just be enough to be me.