Here’s to the kids who were never good enough, no matter how hard they’ve tried, no matter how much they’ve achieved, no matter how many times they’ve been looked up to. This is the first time that I blog about it. Not because this is the first time I’ve felt it because God knows, this is a feeling that’s no stranger. This is the first time I’m going to blog about this because today, I realized I was only one in a crowd of hundreds that feel the same dread that I feel every single time. This is the first time I’m going to blog about this because today, I realized I wasn’t alone.
I have to accept that sometime, somehow, somewhere, I’m going to be okay; that I don’t have to be better anymore. I never got the chance to accept it though because I was too busy trying to meet their expectations that only got higher and higher. And like putting the cup on top of a cupboard that a dwarf, such as I, can never reach on her own, I’ve looked for ways to pull myself up instead. I’ve tried all sorts of things; ladders to climb upon, ropes to pull me up, escalators that would temporarily restrain me from thinking too much about it but nothing worked. Every time I’m about to hold and tug at their cup of care and expectations, I, instead of the teacup, shatter into glass pieces that can never be put together. I’m a broken soul. My life revolved around their expectations that I stopped thinking whether my opinion even mattered. It was all about them. My achievements were their disappointments that I questioned even the core of my skills and abilities. My thought of thyself being such a failure rooted from those. I’ll never be able to get over that. If somebody asked me now why I was a pessimist, I would point all my fingers to them. And truth be told, there’s a part of me that hates them for that. A part of me hates them for tearing an innocent part of my soul, causing a deep black hole that continuously swallows every inch and millimeter of my pride and self belief. If there’s one thing I’ll never forget about them, it’s that. But I guess it resulted to a good thing if I, indeed, am now a good thing. My teacher once asked why we remove our medals just as we get off stage when we should be proud of them. I never knew the real answer until now. Maybe I stopped being proud of my achievements when I realized that who they were really for didn’t care. Remind me to say thank you to them for because of them, I stopped believing that I was going to be good enough; that instead of making me feel like I’m the best kid they could have, they made me feel like a commoner even with all those awards on my neck. Remind me to say thank you to them for always putting my feet on the ground and reminding me that what I had was always a step below from another. I know that when they said that, it means I will only have a hundred steps to climb upon and get better, that there was always space for enhancement. But when you’re too busy climbing for somebody else, you tend to get tired too. And when they were watching from above, seeing the little kid climbing the steps higher one by one, they forgot to ask me who I really was in the picture. If I was the kid or the one looking down. Because honestly, I feel like I’m the one looking down. Not because I’m already at the top but because I feel like I’m I’m just looking down on myself and taking pity on that kid who’s trying too hard. They say achievements are for yourself. But why was I doing it for somebody else? But when I finally am good enough for your standards, please be the one to remind me that I’m actually someone’s daughter. For now, let me resort my frustrations to lazy comebacks and senseless, long blog posts.
But someday, I’ll believe in myself. I won’t have to look at you anymore if I receive an award. I won’t have to look for that non existing approval I’ve always wanted to have more than any award I could get. Someday, you’ll be proud of me. If you aren’t, well, okay then. Someday, it won’t matter to me anymore.