For all the things I couldn't be

As a kid, I don't exactly know what I wanted to be, all I know was what I wanted to do: Change the world.

Cheesy and clichéd as that.

As a young girl who grew up to certain privileges, I was not really aware of the depth of what it means.

For clarification, I was not special, like those girls I went with in school. I'm just the little nobody who writes endlessly on her own, and people didn't expect so much of me. 

I expected so much of me.

The thing about imposter syndrome is that you don't even know if you deserve to have one. That's how bad I feel about myself.

A lost child. There I was in a room full of people, creating their own noise, and somewhere at the back corner of that room—I saw a version of myself. The one that is not good enough and can't do anything right. On her lifetime, she stopped believing the things she was so passionate about, and swiftly succumbed to stand behind.

I wish I have the slightest idea of how it feels like to step inside a room and be seen.

Seen. Like a typical dream girl, so bright it fills the whole room. I'm nothing like that.

Instead, I saw myself crying for all the things she didn't become, and for all the things she couldn't be. The one who is always figuring out where she really belongs, and certainly not on places she's been to.

I didn't know the depth of what it means to change the world, but I know now the depth of what it's like to fail miserably in changing your inner self.

Most days, I'm always half myself, like I left parts of me at home. But where is home?

Love,

Patricia

Farewell letter I

This is a farewell letter. But how do we really even write a farewell letter, like a season's end, but barely the finale?

I couldn't go very far in my profession, as I always carry with me loads of 'what if' and 'could've been.' I've always wondered why there weren't enough recognition from all those years, a star on my forehead, perhaps? I kept thinking, I just suck. They are right. As I was writing these words, I realized, damn I'm still healing from a trauma induced profession.

By reasonable assumption, I have always believed that all people are naturally capable of kindness and love. But most of the time, people are more capable of hurting others without them even knowing.

I was in my best professional self when I decided to cut it off. They told me that I was really good, theoretically knowledgeable, then they decided to break my heart. They didn't even know.

I'm not well read nor informed with regards to how emotional intelligence (EQ) is measured, aside from having a couple of classes when I was in high school, I'm not really textbook familiar. But ever since I was 6, I knew I was a forthcoming empath (this is what drove me to write things). I'm not good at writing, but I have a thing on conveying emotions even those outside my own perspective. 

I failed in that area. I was told that I was God-stricken emotionally stubborn, in simple terms: a sensitive b*tch. I don't have the capacity to lead because I'm not emotionally intelligent, the one real thing that helped me live turns out to be my weakest link. How will I go up? Shots have been fired. 

When you grow up behind the shadows of great people, it has been a norm to beg for an approval, like a certification that you are legit, otherwise you just suck. At that particular moment, I felt my world collapsed. 

This is not an over exaggeration. Honestly, I never intended to hurt myself when I started writing this, and certainly don't want to make a big deal out of it. The people who have hurt me are probably moving forward with their own lives, oblivious to the pain they have caused. 

The days following are the hardest, I tried proving myself incessantly, with the hopes of being worthy of their approval. Finding a rationale to their decision. I want them to regret letting me go. But instead, I found myself hurting even more.

I am aware, even when I pretend to be someone else, that I'm unequivocally kind-hearted. Empathy pushes people to be more socially aware, more so to be a decent human being. Hatred is something my system couldn't handle. It's a different kind of flame. It destroys. Grudge is probably the death of me. I couldn't even write. I couldn't even do the things that I love. I couldn't be myself. For nearly three years, all I've ever done was to chase approval from people who don't even care; & damn girl. I've been dreaming and getting strength from my spite. 

The thing is there is really nothing to prove. We are each our own. I'm deciding to free it now, so I can finally move, and because that is the only right thing to do. It doesn't even matter now. I'm starting again, two years past my prime but who is counting anyway?

Looking back, it is probably not the intention of the people who have hurt me to cause me pain, and I'm putting myself in an unfavorable position to be asking for an apology. There is no need. Over the years, I have gained more confidence in myself, and I have the sole power to silence opinions that does not even matter in my life. They don't deserve the cost of my peace. Success in my own terms. 

This isn't going to be the part where I'll promise to be better or be the best version. Actually, there will be no promises. This is only the part where I'll say goodbye.

"Farewell to my spite. You don't belong here." 

As I go back to my audit profession, I hope I find new things to improve on. Hopefully, I will find purpose bigger than my own personal interest. One step at a time. I might suck at times, but who doesn't?

So how do we really write a farewell letter, like a season's end?

Let's begin.

Photo by Martin Ti on Unsplash