They tell me, “Magaling ka naman,” as if it’s a gift, not a weight, as if every compliment they hand me doesn’t turn into another plate I have to keep spinning while pretending I’m okay. They say, “Ikaw na lang, kaya mo ’yan,” and suddenly the whole project sits on my shoulders again the sleepless nights, the tired hands, the quiet battles no one bothers to understand. They only see my high scores, not the way my mind trembles when expectations feel like chains. They only see me finish everything, not the exhaustion that settles in my bones. If being “the smart one” means carrying what others don’t, then I hope one day they learn that even the strongest student gets tired of being strong alone.