Because I can

 

Mia Estelle Gonzales

I write, though I am not good. I sing, though I do not sing well. I dance, though I am stiff. I try, when I can.

When I can do everything yet nothing at the same time, what does that make me? When I can do just enough but never enough to be good, what would you call me? When do I stop being someone who can do just about anything and become someone actually good at something?

“Kaya mo ‘yan (You can do it),” my mom would say. She always did, with a smile on her face, and full faith that I would be able to.

In her smile, I saw dozens more who echoed the same, “Kaya niya ‘yan (She can do it).”

Because yes, I can. And most of the time, I do.

But just because I can doesn’t mean that it comes easily. I just happen to know how to finish that essay, but I rarely know how to use the proper punctuation; I know how to write enough words to fill the pages, but not enough to feel like they deserve to be read. I know how to stay on beat, but not how to move my body along with my steps. I know how to hold a tune, but not how to sing without second-guessing every note. I have learned how to raise my hand even when I am unsure, how to smile before singing into a microphone, how to count beats loudly enough for my groupmates to follow, even when I am counting mostly for myself. I know how to perform the part of someone capable. I know how to make it look like I know what I am doing, even when I am figuring it out as I go. But there is a very big gap between being able to do something and being able to do something well.

And that thought always lingers. It rings in my head every time someone praises something I know I barely managed to do. It is not because I was not able to do it, but because I can do many things just enough for people to believe in me, but not a single thing well enough for me to believe in myself.

They see me write essays spanning 10 pages and think I’m good with words. They hear me sing and assume I’m confident. They see me try in class and assume I am smart. They see me become a class officer and assume I can lead. They see everything I am capable of, yet nothing about why I am afraid.

Afraid that I am good, only because I try hard enough. That if I stop, I’ll have nothing left. That everyone will see what I’ve always believed is true, that effort is all I have. And effort is not the same as talent.

But my mom always said, “Talo ng masipag ang matalino (The industrious one defeats the smart one).”

So, I try.

Because still, behind my mother’s smile, everyone recites “Kaya mo’ yan.”

I know they mean no harm. I know these words are meant to comfort me. But most of the time, they feel more like a responsibility than reassurance. Like I am not allowed to fail because people have already decided that I can do it. Like every time someone believes in me, I have to prove that their belief was not misplaced.

And maybe that is why I keep trying so hard. Because if enough people believe in me, maybe one day I will believe them too. Maybe if enough people say that I am good, then it must mean there is some truth to it. Maybe their certainty can make up for the lack of my own.

I used to always say, “fake it till you make it,” which is funny, because I realize that I may have lived out my own twisted version of it. Except I am not pretending to be confident. I am borrowing confidence from everyone else. I let their belief carry me when I cannot carry myself. I let their words become proof, even when I do not fully trust them. Because maybe if I keep trying like someone who is capable, someone who is good, someone who deserves to be believed in, then one day I will stop feeling like I am only trying.

Maybe one day, I will believe it, too.

But maybe being capable of doing anything means that I am good at something.

Maybe it means I am good at starting, even when I am scared. Maybe it means I am good at showing up, even when I feel small. Maybe it means I am good at trying again and again, until effort stops feeling like a weakness and starts becoming proof that I have always been here, trying.

So I write, not because I’m good, but because I can.

I sing, not because I sing well, but because I can.

I dance, not because I’m graceful, but because I can.

So I keep trying, because still, I can.

And maybe, for now, that is something. Maybe it is not the kind of something people put on a stage, or publish, or praise loudly. But it is mine. It is the quiet proof that even if I am not yet good in the way I want to be, I am still trying. And maybe trying counts, too, even when it is slow and uncertain, even when I feel like it doesn’t.

Hello, anxiety: my old friend

 

By Joyce Lorraine Mina

“Hi, Joyce! How are you?”

“I’m good,” is how I would usually respond when asked such question. But deep down, what I honestly want to say is, “I’m constantly on edge, with unexplainable worst-case scenarios already playing out in my head.”

After viewing “Inside Out 2” in 2024, I felt nothing but mixed emotions chaotically stirring within me, like a storm not to be reckoned with.

I imagine Joy and Envy standing in front of the monitor, both applauding and cheering inside the headquarters of my bewildered mind. Beside them were Fear, Sadness, and Embarrassment, as they took turns comforting one another, each of them taking their own time processing the entire movie.

Of course, let’s also not forget Anger and Ennui, who were watching impatiently from the sidelines, already itching to leave the crowded, noisy cinema and head home.

Then last but not least, my old friend Anxiety—the primary controller of my life—who, like in the movie, lets a single tear fall from the corner of her eye, for she has never related to a character as much as Riley’s Anxiety.

“If only this movie had been released sooner, then maybe I would have gotten the help I desperately needed,” I hear Anxiety voicing out my thoughts. Because then I would have figured out why my heart was tugging me away from every classroom door all these years, or why I suddenly have trouble breathing whenever I attend public events or parties. Would I have been able to identify these scary, unfathomable symptoms of mine sooner?

I always believed it was normal to have recurring fits of uncontrollable sobs whenever my head was heavy from the routine thoughts of daily life. I also thought it was common to overanalyze the simplest habits—like rewriting and deleting words and sentences over and over again until you are left exhaustingly burned out. But what truly hit the fan for me was the entire school year 2022–2023, stretching all the way back to Grade 12.

Back when it was slowly transitioning to face-to-face classes, little did I know that my insurmountable, unexplainable, and unlivable fear of school would heighten.

I would skip classes or pretend to be sick from school, all because I was suffocating in an environment where teachers would never fail to remind rebellious students like me that I was not up to their standards, while my classmates looked at me with pitiful and scornful gazes that sent shivers up my spine.

Mind you, this was an entirely new experience for me, so undergoing all this was a disaster waiting to happen.

And in fact, it did. I would regularly attract attention in class by randomly tearing up in between classes due to the insufferable emotional pain that I had been welling up for the entire school year. At that point, I requested to see my guidance counselor, who, at the time, only said that I just needed to interact more with my classmates. But this did not solve my lack of sleep, caused by constant rumination about the past and overwhelming thoughts about the future.

By the time I entered college, I had finally found my answer through my psychiatrist, who diagnosed me with generalized anxiety disorder (GAD), an excessive form of anxiety that I would not wish even on my worst enemy.

GAD is a mental health condition marked by persistent, excessive worry that often extends into a person’s everyday life without a clear cause. Some of these symptoms include, but are not limited to, fatigue, restlessness, difficulty concentrating, and difficulty sleeping, among others.

After a few months of taking my prescribed medication, my anxiety started to settle, calming itself down for the first time.

“So this is what it feels like to not worry about everything,” I thought, as I confidently looked into the eyes of strangers, feeling relieved and overwhelmed at the same time. This is all thanks to my understanding college counselor, who was the only person to see right through me.

To those who have their anxiety constantly steering the wheel, just know that I am giving you the warmest hug.

I know that it is difficult to be surrounded by people who hardly understand the predicament that you’re going through. But no matter what they say, please know that your feelings are always valid, no matter how big or small.

And to you, my Anxiety, I want you to know that you will always be a part of me, and I do not blame you for all the things that you have put me through. Because, after all, you only did those things to keep me safe from everything I couldn’t handle.

“Are you sure you are doing fine?” My friend asks again. I snap back from my swirling thoughts as I imagine Joy and Anxiety pushing up the lever together. I respond with a warm smile.

“Well, not really. But I am sure that I will be alright.”