[THINK PIECE] I May Be Too Young For This

I looked at the posters tucked under my arm. 

Decarbonization and Offshore Wind were written in big, blue letters at the top of the sleek paper.

Walking along Katipunan, heading towards Arete where the conference was being held, I saw a streak of light blue running down the poster, dripping onto the concrete until drops of ink mixed with the floodwater below my feet. I heard that blue was the rarest color in nature, and it felt strange seeing it swirl in potholes and puddles, fading fast. Maybe that's why we choose blue for hope, because it disappears first when it rains.

Grief came in light blue, in murky puddles, in a poster rendered ugly, in hurried steps, and wet shoes. Or maybe to be a Filipino is to know grief that arrives like sudden rain: to know loss that feels both ordinary and unfair, to know death that looms, and to feel anger that comes with what could have been.

It was my first poster presentation. I glanced across the room to survey the potential people who would ask me later about my poster. I liked preparing against uncertainty, it gave me a sense of control. I had already hung up my poster on the bamboo panel outside the conference hall, beside pictures of Gemma Teresa in adventures, in work, in passion, each one suspended by a thin string, laid bare. 

I felt bare too. 

Critical Minerals in the Age of Decarbonizati… the ink blurred midway through the title, a soft blue smear. 

Inside the main hall, everyone was older than me. Seniors in climate justice, distinguished scientists, close friends of Gemma Teresa Narisma, and everyone harbored an aura of passion and grit that was both long-lasting and tangible. They carried decades of certainty, the quiet confidence of people who had seen things through. I carried damp shoes and a backpack full of nerves.

I felt too young for this. 

At home, the floods had cut me off from the talipapa, and my fridge was empty. Usually, these conferences meant two things: learning, and free food I could take home. But this time, I wasn’t just an intern. I was a presenter. When I finally sat down, I tucked my backpack full of tupperwares under the table and tried to focus. Around me were people who had published, advised governments, changed policies. 

I wondered what more experience I needed to feel like I belonged here. 

To be a victim, you must be victimized.  I am a Filipino, because I live in the Philippines. And to that end, maybe it is synonymous. Maybe, it’s knowing that our climate finance is funneled into flood control projects that are ineffective, that leave thousands of Filipinos swimming in trash, that leave me in my home unable to eat. Everyday, I am Filipino. 

And so I told her, the scientist, what it was like being a Filipino. “Katipunan was recently flooded.” I point to my waist. “Climate finance is often thrown to projects that either go to corrupt pockets, or flood projects and street infrastructure.” I grab the bottom flaps of my denim jeans, wet and three shades darker. “Obviously it doesn’t work.”  

She looked at me and said softly, “You’re so young.” 

I thought of a story my dad once told me. A few floods ago, he saw a child get swallowed by a whirlpool from a drainage. After a few moments, a random man jumped in to save the child. Both, too young for this. But maybe that’s the point: youth doesn’t shield us; it just teaches us to keep swimming. 

Over the two days, I listened to talks about regional climate systems, predictive models, downscaling, and other words I didn’t yet fully understand. 

Everyone around me seemed to already know how to make sense of the world’s collapse. I was still learning. 

I’m too young for this: to predict how things will worsen, to live the data I’m supposed to analyze, to fit an entire life into a backpack because the floods won’t let me reach the talipapa. 

But maybe that’s where learning begins: in discomfort, in not knowing enough yet but still showing up.

At 5:00 p.m., I walked home, tired and still wet. I could no longer tell the difference between sweat and rain. Maybe the difference doesn’t matter.

Either way, I may be too young for this.

But I’m here. This is the world, and I will act.