Editor’s note: This content is sponsored by Paramount Direct and was produced by BrandRap, the sales and marketing arm of Rappler. No member of the news and editorial team participated in the production of this piece.
When I was growing up, I had a shallow perception of what being an adult was. At the time, being an adult to me was simply about knowing what should be done.
“Get the antiseptic,” my mom said when I sliced open the back of my foot one time while playing. She patched up my wound and I turned out fine, even though I was absolutely sure I’d never walk again. “Keep practicing your piano-playing or you’ll regret it,” my lola would say, even though I hated reading scores with all my heart. I managed to push past my laziness for another two years, and now I can still play a decent tune which I continue to be proud of.
They seemed to magically know what my passions were even before I knew about them. They also knew how to solve a bad situation, always. This, to me, was the epitome of adulthood – the ability to be sure of anything.
All work, no clarity
It wasn’t until high school that my perception shifted as education and career prospects began molding my worldview. To be an adult now meant having at least two valid IDs, knowing how to traverse C-5 or EDSA, and developing a superhuman tolerance for caffeine.
So I followed the designs that were taught to us since we were first asked, “Anong course kukunin mo (What course are you taking)?” I finished my degree, answered hundreds of government forms, and got a stable income. When I got my first job, I made just enough to live an independent (albeit extremely frugal) life in Metro Manila.
For all intents and purposes, I can pass as a functioning adult on paper. But even with all these checkboxes ticked, I felt just as, if not more, clueless as I was when I was a teen.
The fulfillment of giving back
It wasn’t until I got my first pay raise that I figured out what being an adult really meant to me. When I fully settled into life in Makati, I was able to spare enough money to treat my family to a simple dinner. “Order kayo ng kahit ano; ako na bahala (Order anything; I’ll take care of it),” I said. Frankly, it was at a mid-range, unmemorable restaurant.
But I do remember the incomparably warm feeling of receiving my parents’ gratitude, and the sheer joy of being able to provide something for my family with my own hard work.
“Adulting” for me was never about a job title or a document – it was being able to take care of the people I love and being a pillar they can rely on. I was already aware of it as a child; I just got it a little wrong. It wasn’t that my lola or my parents were sure of everything – it was that they were prepared to support me confidently and with care.
Now, I move forward in life with the goal of being able to take care of my loved ones. I dream of taking my family on an overseas trip, getting my grandparents all the plants they want, and treating my titos and titas to meals they only dreamed of tasting.
A gift that keeps on giving
But before all the luxuries, I want to provide them with the security that they always gave me as a child. For gifts that keep on giving, insurance for seniors like Paramount Direct’s Premium HealthCare Plus Plan can give aging relatives like parents and grandparents financial security in cases of health emergencies.
The Premium HealthCare Plus Plan provides daily cash and ICU benefits of up to P4,000 each, as well as long-term confinement and maximum surgical benefits of up to P80,000 each. The best part of the plan is that it has flexible coverage options that can meet the budget point I want, even for someone like me who is in the early stages of their career.
As my parents move closer to seniority, retirement, and perhaps even a future of grandparenthood, insurance for seniors can ease the burdens in the case of the unexpected. This way, we can spend more time focusing on creating happy memories and celebrating milestones together.
To learn more about Premium HealthCare Plus Plan, visit Paramount Direct’s website. – Rappler.com