Kumustahan muna tayo

“Okay lang, Sir.”

I have heard that answer so many times that I have learned not to believe it too quickly. Sometimes, of course, okay lang really means okay. But sometimes it means, “I am tired.” Or “Ang dami lang, Sir.” Or “I do not know how to explain it.” Sometimes you sit there a little longer, offer coffee, candy, biscuits, or a piece of turon, talk about something completely unrelated, and the real answer eventually finds its way out.

Perhaps that is why a recent video by LANS stayed with me. She has millions of followers and is known mostly for light, positive content about life, travel, and everyday experiences. This time, however, she simply said, Kumustahan muna tayo, then invited people to make the comment section a safe space. Nothing fancy. No ten steps to happiness. No dramatic speech about changing your life. Just: Kumusta ka?

And people answered.

Some said they were tired but still fighting. Someone was in “survival mode.” Another admitted, pinipilit maging okay. Others talked about work, money, family, anxiety, loneliness, and simply trying to get through another day. There were jokes, too, because we are Filipinos and apparently even an emotional check-in can eventually wander into comedy. But beneath the kulit was something quite tender: people wanted to be asked.

I know that feeling from our little Turon Kumustahan sessions at ISUFST Dumangas. We called them that because, well, there was usually turon. Sometimes biscuits, candy, coffee, or Coke joined the table. There was plenty of chikahan, too. We talked about classes, families, friendships, pressure, disappointments, plans, crushes, and whatever happened to be bothering or amusing us that day. Some sessions probably had more laughter than anything resembling guidance. I never considered that wasted time.

Because somewhere between the jokes and the second piece of turon, somebody would occasionally say something real.

I learned to listen for those moments. The student who is usually makulit suddenly becomes quiet. The one who always says “kaya ko, Sir” finally admits being tired. Somebody stays behind after everyone else has gone. And sometimes nothing dramatic happens at all. We simply sit, talk, laugh, eat, and go back to our lives a little lighter. Guidance work taught me that not every silence needs to be filled and not every problem needs an instant solution. Sometimes people are not asking us to repair their lives. They just do not want to carry everything alone.

One comment under LANS’ video captured this beautifully. The person said that if asked casually, the answer would simply be “Okay lang ako.” But if someone actually sat down and listened, there would be much more to tell. Another wrote, almost painfully, “Buti ka pa, nangungumusta.” That line bothered me a little. Imagine reaching the point where being asked how you are feels unusual.

Of course, kumustahan cannot solve everything. There are burdens that need professional counseling, psychological care, medical attention, protection, or proper referral. A friend cannot be expected to become a therapist. Neither should our Peer Facilitators carry problems beyond what they are trained to handle. Sometimes the most caring thing we can say is, “I think we need someone who can help you better. Sasamahan kita.”

Still, I sometimes wonder whether we have made helping sound so complicated that we forget the things ordinary people can do. We can notice. We can sit beside someone. We can put the phone down. We can listen without immediately telling our own story. We can resist saying, “Ako gani…” for five minutes. We can ask kumusta ka? and wait long enough for the person to decide whether the answer is really okay lang.

And perhaps we should remember the people who usually do the asking. The mother who keeps everybody together. The breadwinner. The teacher who seems energetic every morning. The student leader everybody runs to. The funny friend. The counselor. The ate or kuya who supposedly knows what to do. Even LANS’ followers eventually turned the question around: Ikaw, kumusta ka? I liked that. Care should not have a permanent giver and a permanent receiver.

Maybe that is why kumusta remains such a beautiful Filipino word despite how casually we use it. It asks for no credentials. It costs nothing. Yet said at the right moment, by someone willing to stay for the answer, it can open a small door.

Most days, we will still say, “Okay lang.” That is perfectly fine. We do not owe everyone the long version of our lives.

But every now and then, may someone ask you again. And when they do, I hope they stay long enough to hear what comes after okay lang.

***

Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.