Life in General, Truth Forum

Will I Be Able To?

Lately, I found myself thinking whether or not I will ever love again, or, better yet, allow myself to fall in love again. I have wondered, for the longest time, what it is that ultimately causes me to dismiss the idea of falling in love and committing in a serious relationship. At first, I thought that maybe I’m bitter, or that I have not move on, or maybe I just haven’t found someone who’s made me want to give it a try again. But it’s not until recently that the answer to my question has dawned on me, presented itself to me in the most obvious form, an innate nature and character in me, that it definitely should not have come off as a surprise: my fear of failure.

Anyone who knows me can very well attest just to how competitive I am, even in the smallest of things. I am not used to failing, and I certainly do not like failing. Now it might come off as being cocky, but I’m just the type of person who likes to be good–or if I’m honest, exceptional–at what I do. And that characteristic translates not just in my workplace, or in school, but seemingly, in my personal relationships as well.

I realized that I have attributed a relationship that did not work as a personal failure–I have put in work, put in effort, invested my time, resources, and most importantly, myself, in something, in someone, and yet, I failed. I have always thought that when I put my mind into something, then I can do it, no matter how difficult it is. But the fact that it did not put a dent on that confidence, and in its place, my fear of failure was instilled, embedded, and over time, nestled and made a niche in me, that is my dismissive nature.

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This picture was taken a year ago, when all that confidence was crumbling, yet on the outside, I tried my hardest to appear as if I was unaffected, like I have no care whatsoever, dismissing the very fact that despite my best efforts, I have failed. It’s refreshing to be able to look back on those times and see just how far I’ve come: from a broken spirited girl hiding behind a facade of a seemingly put-together person to the me now, who, I’d like to believe, is actually a little better put-together; the me who’s come to terms with her limitations, failures, inabilities, and believe it or not, some insecurities, and, who hopes that one day, when that fear of failure goes away, I will be able to tell myself, “you did, after all.”

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Truth Forum

Keepsakes


I remember quite vividly how hard I bawled that one night when I put away all these little keepsakes; how, at this very same spot, back when it was nothing but an empty basement with an old couch, I fell asleep crying, lingering on the sweet memories of the past that at the time brought me endless pain; I remember how at that time, I promised myself not to open the small box that contained all the remnants of the past two years, at least all that remained, all that I managed not to throw away. 

I told myself I would keep it hidden, away from my prying eyes and eager hands; away from that part of myself who wanted to relive those happy moments–even just in my mind, in my memory; away from myself who did not want to let go. It would be locked away until that day comes when I would no longer crave for the experience of anything–pain, or joy, or hurt, or gladness–anything that reminds me or connects me to that same person. 

For the longest time, I found myself unable to stop the tears that flowed at the thought of seeing all that remained from my failed relationship, and the irony at how the smallest and littlest of things enclosed inside that box were representative of the biggest turning point in my life, how those little keepsakes that, practically speaking, are insignificant and of no realistic value, became the most valued reminder of my reality, did not escape me. 

Those were all true until tonight, when for the first time in what seemed like forever, I found myself smiling at the thought of all the cute little moments those items carried with them; I found myself not bitter, or regretful, or resentful; instead, I felt quite fond of the memory, as if I was looking at a photo album that contained images of my past, recollecting what the stories are behind the pictures, with a kind of ease and peace of mind that was not present before.

Looking back, I wish I kept more things–photos, receipts, movie tickets, and what not–just to have something to look back on and remember the fun stories, the good old memories, those fleeting moments that were a huge part of my life at that time. From tonight on forward , (at this very same spot, which is no longer just a barren basement but my very own room fully equipped and furnished allowing maximum functionality LOL), I will remember how liberalizing it felt to be able to reread those letters and to see those sentimental items without any trace of hurt or regret. I learned that after some time, (and gosh, it took quite a long time!) you will reach a certain level of emotional and mental freedom to the point wherein there remains no room for any heartache or pain, anymore–all that you’re left with are a bunch of fond memories and ancient history.