Rebellion and Reality: What the Youth Should Learn from Our Story

When I look back at my youth, I see a restless heart shaped by student council meetings, late nights at the campus newsroom, and an urgent hunger for justice. As a campus journalist, I was taught to ask questions. As a student leader, I learned to organize. Those experiences made it impossible to ignore the gaps in governance, the chronic neglect of marginalized communities, and the hollow promises that seemed to float above us like clouds, beautiful from a distance, empty when opened. I wanted change. I wanted it fast. I wanted it to be real.

George Bernard Shaw once observed, “Wisdom is wasted on the old, and youth is wasted on the young.” I learned that, along with so many other things, the hard way. In our zeal, we often thought sacrifice, sometimes total sacrifice, was the truest proof of love for our country. We equated intensity with righteousness and assumed that passion alone would fix structural rot. We didn’t yet know how much more effective a steady, organized, and critically informed effort could be. The heartbreak of that lesson is real, but it nonetheless clarified something essential: you do not have to give your life to serve the nation. You can live it and use it to build.

To the youth, I want to say this plainly: do not waste your years. Make the most of them. Listen to the wisdom of the old, not as an obedience that kills your spirit, but as a resource. Experience tempers idealism; history offers maps of what worked and what failed. Learn from elders and from your own mistakes. Be both passionate and patient.

Be critical, always. Ideologies can guide, but they should never become blinders. When I was younger, I wholly swallowed simple narratives about oppression, heroism, and class enemies. Later, I saw how easy it is for movements to hide hypocrisy behind noble slogans. When outcomes fail or leaders deflect blame onto outside enemies rather than face internal failures, it becomes not merely disappointing but outright dangerous. Analyze the principles you are taught, test them against evidence, and ask hard questions about accountability, transparency, and long-term strategy.

There are countless ways to serve without violence. Build cooperatives that give farmers bargaining power. Create community-based health and education projects that fill immediate gaps while advocating for systemic reform. Use journalism to expose corruption and amplify marginalized voices. Run for local office or support honest candidates. Teach critical thinking in youth centers. Support legal aid and livelihood programs. These are not small acts; they are durable, contagious, and they change lives without spilling blood.

Practice listening. The masses have stories that statistics do not capture. But “listening to the masses” is not permission to romanticize every claim or excuse. Listen, verify, and respond with solutions grounded in both empathy and reason. Hold leaders, including yourself, accountable. Build institutions that outlast personalities.

Finally, embrace complexity. The world is rarely simple. The problems we inherit, and those you will inherit, are layered with history, economics, and culture. Energy and outrage are valuable, but they must be paired with humility, skill-building, and coalition-making. If you want change that lasts, invest in learning: study policy, economics, organizing, mediation, and the technical skills your communities need.

I do not regret my journey, but I also do not regret coming home. It taught me urgency, compassion, and the bitter truth about how movements can fail when they stop reflecting. But the greatest lesson I can pass on is this: love of country is not proven by the extremity of your sacrifice. It is proven by the steady, often invisible work of making lives better, day by day. Use your youth wisely. Listen, learn, question, build, and the nation you want will be closer than you think.