I am Good Enough

This piece of creative writing is inspired by the stories of many Singaporeans, young and old, including my own. I hope you will find some resonance with this quest for the Self.

 

I have been feeling the knots in my stomach. The kind you feel when you think you have not done enough, you could do more. And about things that could go wrong, what others would think, and if you have explored every conceivable way to ensure the best results. I suppose doing some of this sometimes is acceptable, but doing this for all things, all the time, can be debilitating.

I do not know when I started this fanatical obsession which fills my head and heart, minute to minute with things I have not done. I am rather convinced that most people fill their minds with what fun they should be having next. And not planning for more chores.

I suppose I cannot live with being criticized, for doing a bad job. A bad job means I will be viewed poorly, my work is inferior, I am lazy, I am not good. Sometimes, I cannot stop myself from being awakened at night over obscure things that I have not thought about and can’t will myself back to sleep worrying about it. I think I have an intense fear of things that could turn out badly.

What is this fear? It’s unexplainable. Since I am a successful person, I am unsure why I feel this dread of irrational failure. Perhaps I am exhausted. Maybe my intentions have not been pure. I have been putting up an arduous show. An entertaining show to prove myself, win people over, look like all is in control. It’s a performance on a stage with many actors, each keen on showing their craft. I am tired of being looked over, pushed around, not one of the boys, to be the one quietly working in a corner. Everyone seems so rehearsed, so involved with each other, so effortlessly accepted and acknowledged. There seems something inherently different about me, like a “me vs them” syndrome, belonging to two worlds which do not coincide but yet need to co-exist.

I am an outcast, a strange being, the fly on the wall that watches while the main cast frolics and plays. I must pace, keep the show going, and work furiously, hidden one step behind. The waiting heart pumps in fear, the mind is gripped with unpredictable expectations, the soul restless, not grappling the rules of the game. What if I am exposed, what if I am made to be embarrassed and everyone laughs as they realize, that I am after all not one of them. “But I have done so much!” I would holler to nonchalant faces. This is perhaps why I have oversized expectations, where my work needs to be supersized. I must work that much harder.

There seems no point ultimately to this, since everything I do will never measure up, because it’s just not the same dimension of evaluation each time. It’s not that there is an evil world out there, unforgiving, harsh and scary. The thing is, I have just landed constantly with people, in places which I do not belong, who have failed to understand me. Misfit in the family, odd one in class, sore thumb in the team, the girl with the curly hair, the emotional one who cries. These lingering memories fuel the need to transform, to become someone whom people can at least recall.

Through the years, I have become more resilient. From one encounter to the next, I am now well trained to switch to diverse working modes to outrun, outlast, outdo, whatever situation I am in. Finally, I have become good at fitting in if I plan meticulously, obsess over details and work hard enough. I can observe, adjust, make small talk, create delightful outcomes, and customize effortlessly so as to make all seem well. It’s an art and a science they say, how to look good, fit in and orchestrate a successful performance.  It is not child’s play, all serious hard work.

But with time, I am feeling drained, all these do not seem to matter anymore. Though the body still runs at a break neck survival mode speed. The mind, body and soul seem disjointed, moving off-beat to each other. The body I guess has taken a beating while acting, taking on different casting roles. I realized the acceptance I have attained is merely skin deep. I have worked for decades to gain shallow acknowledgements of my abilities. I have lost precious time getting on a quest of a more lasting kind...The flame within needs a new fuel, not the type that burns on fear.

I think I have found a more permanent abode within, of the unconditional kind, a forgiving self-acceptance. Self-acceptance, like a radiant glow, seems to rest within me, warms the vital parts, and does not leave no matter where I choose to go. It gives out the same familiar hum and scent regardless of who I am with or where I am. It rings a quiet resonance when I am with the same old people I have always hung out with. It does not demand that I work like I used to. It teases me to come play and leave my work behind. Tsk tsk.....but I can taste the elusive rest and be myself. Laugh, guffaw, and giggle.

We have too often in our lives met with unnecessary harshness, unpredictable abrasive strokes, and convenient social neglect, in our journey to fit in, to do well, to be accepted.

I think I am done. I am done with doing more, faster, better. I am finished. I am out. I like to drop myself out of the performance race to be someone else. I think I am good enough.

 

Han Li June