Mary Therese Reyes
Tick.. Tick.. Tick..
I was nine when I set an alarm to practice piano with my grandmother in the morning. That night never led to morning practice. Instead of waking up to music, I woke up to something that changed the way I understood life.
My grandmother was the one who recorded my piano pieces so I could perform in school. Even to this day, she was my inspiration in my love and continued passion for music. After she passed away, I began to notice something I couldn’t ignore. Music didn’t disappear, but it changed. It felt heavier now, like every note carried a piece of her with it.
I grew up in a family full of singers, and the church was the first stage I ever knew. I still remember standing under the lights during a kindergarten competition, my voice caught between fear and silence. But my mother just smiled and told me to keep trying my best. She said, “God will do the rest.” I carried those words with me, especially in moments when I doubted myself.
Throughout life, I’ve always struggled to catch up with my siblings, even as they sang. Being the youngest in a family of high achievers has shaped me in ways I am still figuring out for myself. My oldest sister studies at the University of the Philippines Diliman and once served as the University Student Council chairperson. My second sister is also at UP Diliman, pursuing a degree in Statistics while actively participating in the University of the Philippines Concert Chorus. My brother has passed the “Big 4” universities and is now choosing between Ateneo de Manila University, where he earned a full scholarship, and UP Diliman.
Surrounded by people like them, I often found myself asking where I stand. That question stayed with me longer than I wanted it to. There were times I tried to keep myself smaller, thinking it would make things easier to handle. Even the things I enjoyed started to feel like something I had to hold back from.
Music, however, became the reason that helped me not to be silent for too long. It became a place where I could step away from comparison and pressure, where I didn’t feel the need to compare myself against anyone else.
Through Himig, I finally tried singing without holding myself back. For a long time, I hesitated because I used to think that I needed to reach the same level as my older siblings before I could even try to. Over time, I learned that my voice did not need to match anyone else’s to be worth hearing.
Playing the guitar also gave me a different kind of calm. When things felt overwhelming, I would just sit with my guitar and play without thinking too much. The simple act of going through the chords helped me calm down and clear my head. On days when singing felt difficult, playing the guitar gave me another way to stay connected to music in a way that didn’t feel forced.
As I continue my journey, I’m learning that my story doesn’t have to look like theirs to matter. The pressure I once carried is slowly turning into something that pushes me forward instead of holding me back.
Joining other clubs, such as an environmental organization like the YES-O Club became another turning point for me. Serving as an officer taught me how to take on responsibility beyond myself, how to be patient when things do not go as planned, and how to step up even in moments of uncertainty.
There are still moments of exhaustion, but I keep going. Like a vocalist carrying a song to its final note, I am learning to move through both struggle and growth without stopping halfway, trusting that my voice, though different, is still my own.
Outside school, life also taught me lessons I didn’t expect.
My mom and I used to run around the UP Oval while waiting for my sister’s class to end. But everything changed the moment we learned about the tumor in her spine. The doctors said that surgery could help remove the tumor, but we chose alternative solutions, both for her fear of surgery and because the alternative treatment was the best we could afford.
From that point on, even ordinary things became heavier. We are a family of six, and my father is the only one working, so school expenses, commuting, and daily needs quickly became difficult to manage. Much of what we have now goes toward my mother’s treatment, and there are times when we are forced to choose what we can afford to prioritize. Even though times are hard, my parents taught me to never be afraid of who I am, and that there will always be light at the end of the tunnel.
Their example reminds me that “the show must go on.” Because of them, I learned that staying strong is its own kind of performance and loving people so much that you never give up on them. These experiences shaped what I want to become. The ANI Scholarship helps ease my family’s hardships by providing financial support. It’s a chance to ease my parents’ burden. More importantly, it’s a chance to continue my education without holding back the dreams they sacrificed so much for.
My favorite character, Winnie the Pooh, once said, “You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” I carry this reminder as I move from the
stage of the church that I once sang on to the laboratories I hope to enter someday. It reminds me that courage is not the absence of fear, but the decision to continue despite it.
