I grew up assuming I’m always good enough. Since I was a kid, that’s what I believed in. It’s not that I compared myself to anyone and thought I’m better than them, it’s just even when I saw a lot of people are walking out there being better than me, I knew I’m good, still. I felt content, always, with who I am. Everyone liked me. I liked myself. I had no reason to feel insecure about myself, because I thought that even here, in my most comfort zone, I’m good enough. It was a favor.
Or I thought it was.
Yup, no. The assumption didn’t stop there: in the times when I could barely consider my own thoughts, where I am basically being a kid. No, this assumption grew bigger as my legs grew taller. And yes, having almost zero insecurity isn’t a blessing. I always had a rough time accepting failure. The fact that I failed some friendships and grades, not attending a meeting due to a very personal matter which is my own imprudence and stupidity, or even not making my morning coffee hot enough.
Every time I failed, it felt like there’s a voice of a little girl within me whispering “…you know this can’t be real, right?”, “No… there’s no way…”
Or I can say… it’s gnarly, really. Always.
People around me barely noticed my struggles in dealing with failure because it seemed like I always stoically accept things. That I don’t dream big. But actually every time an unexpected event took place, my head constantly screamed why is this happening? Which aspect should I blame other than myself because I’m always doing good and obviously this is not my fault so let’s back at it, which external aspect should I blame?
Until I realized I shouldn’t blame anything but my heart for the way it responded to this never-ending thread of unforeseen events called life.
As I mentioned earlier, yes, it’s uneasy, still, for me to accept failures. And I’m battling with it every single day. Or with “the little girl”, I suppose. It’s not easy especially when people expect a lot from your vulnerable self that ceaselessly shows nothing but some stupid and teary-eyed face. They expect from your confused mind that is constantly roaming for answers. They expect so much from you, someone who has no clue nor idea about what they should do here and how they should do it right.
I wonder while I wander, always. I keep thinking, thinking, and thinking until my own thoughts fully consume me, to the point that there’s this one period in my life where I tried to unlearn things. Like, maybe I was wrong all this time. I keep mulling. Maybe, the truth is… I’m never good enough. The voice kept recalling memories of my failing moments to validate my thoughts at that time. The voice of the little girl within me was like, “yeah sure, let’s recall things.”
“You are never the first in your academic pursuits, you are always the second or the third, remember? That’s why it always seemed like your efforts are lack of appreciation because yes, you’re still not the first. Oh! The same way goes to your relationships with others. Never the first, right? Damn… easily replaceable, aren’t you? Yes, whether it’s the romantic or platonic ones, you always are. Guys stop being friends with you once you are (or sometimes, they are) ‘unavailable’, remember? Because to them you are nothing but an object they pursue for their romantic endeavors, darling. Something to fulfill their void. Men are trash, you said. But, aren’t you? Let’s recall. You got nothing to offer other than something that is visible to the eyes. I’m kind of glad you got a little bit of that appearance because… girl, what else? Oh, and not to mention your platonic relationships. Some friends betrayed you too, if I’m not mistaken? No matter how great the conversations you hold, no matter how many times they told you about their gratitude and joy in knowing you, no matter how hard you tried to be a good listener and advisor to the ones you appreciate the most, they would still end up leaving you, and you know this, darling. That’s why you are afraid of any kind of contentment so you cut them off before they do. Quit thinking you’re good enough.”
She stopped whispering. I opened my eyes.
What can I say? She wasn’t all wrong. But well, I disagree at some of her points. So I closed my eyes once more. Then I whispered back.
To the little girl within, the one that literally lives in my mind rent-free. I thank you for the companion in my process of unlearning things. I hate you, most of the times, but you help me see myself because the mirror in my room isn’t so accurate in reflecting. I’m glad you’re there, sometimes, because you led me to the realization of how evil the human mind can be. When I was younger, I questioned myself, does everyone have their own you? Their own annoying voice they find difficult to get rid of? Now I’m older, I met a lot of people and talked to them, and I made conclusion. I assumed the answer is yes, most people have their own you. Maybe you’re a wise old lady in them, or maybe to some you’re a screaming grown-up man. But in me, you’re a soft little girl. Your voice is cotton, but the words you spill out are nothing but wicked. I barely whispered back at you, but this time I’m trying to. I’m trembling, but I’m trying to.
Little girl, you’re right. As a student, I’m never the first in every class I’ve ever attended. But without my existence, who would take the second or third place? By always being the second or third, at least I know that there’s always a place for me. Not to be the best, but to be just there. I’m never the first in the eyes of illogical standards of this world, but I’m always the first one to get my own back and strengthen my own grip. Sometimes I lose my own grip, yes, but I never lose myself. I’m always the first in re-enforcing myself. Although the shadow of my failures keep following me, I’m always the first in reminding myself to shed my tears, wipe them right after, then move along with new dreams as my belongings.
Ah, I hate to say that you’re right again this time. I was replaceable, true. In every relationship I’ve attempted. But if I’m about to make attempt to one again in the future, I plan to be irreplaceable. Not for them, but for me — as in when they leave, I let them, I don’t replace myself. I can still be replaceable for anyone out there, but the idea that there’s only one me in this world — truly makes me feel better. No one loves others the exact way I do, no one sees the birds chirping together and get the same excitement like I do, no one watches the series “The Good Place” or the movie “The Invisible Guest” and has the same exact impression of amazement like mine. No one is me and that is freeing. Thus, technically I’m irreplaceable, no? So is everyone in this ever-changing world.
Maybe you don’t need to remind me about how some guys in the past valued nothing about me other than my so-so appearance that was “enough” to fit the standard to them. That hurts a little.
I’m joking.
Or I’m not.
It hurts to remember that no matter how interesting the topic I put at the table, they didn’t value me deeper than the shallowest of the surface. They didn’t count every deep-talk I’ve started, every perspective about politics and social issues and basically any kind of issues I’ve shared, or every small-talk about how my day went. Then I thought… well, even though they didn’t value it, at least they tried to listen to me just because they “liked” me. But that sucked even more because I thought that if my appearance were not enough to fit the “standard” they tried to “pursue”, none of them, or maybe no one — would listen to me talking.
Are men trash? I said it a lot but I don’t really mean it. You, little girl, are that annoying kind of friend that can’t take a joke. Men are trash, maybe. But one interesting question is, am I? I think I am, for constantly cutting people off and ruining my relationships, both platonically and romantically, due to my own slippery-slope. Little girl, I am indeed afraid for any attachment. And you know that I long for the day where I’m not.
But you’re wrong. I suppose that my value isn’t determined by anyone. I will keep doing my thing, no matter what, and I’m under no obligation to prove my so-called “quality” to anyone. However, I’m thankful. They left, but the lesson stayed. I’m learning to do and say things just because I want to express them, and not to impress anyone to validate me.
Little girl, I don’t regret thinking I’m good enough all this time. You know what? Let me lecture you. Thinking that you’re good enough isn’t enough. Hell, neither is actually being good enough. Why? Because there’s always this mystery about how life works. About fate and how we should accept it with a little more of faith. If this is the way you think, then you will find out that after all, failing is actually okay.
Little girl, more than anything, I’m thankful for you. It’s sort of crazy to think that the one who taught me the most is you, the one within me. We’re battling, fighting every day. Most of the times you speak to me at night, but when you’re being a bitch, you attack me in the middle of a hectic day.
But maybe, maybe that’s okay. Maybe one day we’d find our middle-ground.
Maybe one day, we both make peace.
Little girl, I refuse to unlearn. Maybe, I’m good enough.
I opened my eyes. I smiled. I’m still here. I keep thinking about my last sentence to the little girl. Maybe I’m good enough. Maybe I’m good enough. Maybe I’m good enough.
I’m still here. To meet the day where I wouldn’t say “maybe” about that.
