I learned early on that mistakes come with consequences. As a child: it was a not-so-light slap on the wrist; as a teenager: it was being left out by friends; in college: it became an insane pressure to be perfect; now as an adult, it’s a bit complex: it’s failure, disappointment, anger, sadness, and worst of all, lack of trust in your abilities—not just from yourself but from other people.
That’s why in college I was known to be “uptight and serious.” To the point that I couldn’t trust anybody if they couldn’t do the way I wanted it. And even if they “tried,” it will never be perfect, I will feel unbearable embarrassment to realize that my way was actually stupid and idiotic, and more importantly, they, myself included, failed my own expectations.
I learned more when I started my internship; they even said it was okay to sort of “fail” in it. But hearing from my classmates, they were fortunate to be hired because they liked what they were doing and were very good at their job. So there I was, adamant that I would have the exact experience. I was elated when they accepted me as a production assistant to a video production company, considering that my knowledge of photo and video editing was nonexistent to super basic. But then I was tasked to edit a photo. “Fill the sky with more clouds,” they said. I had no idea what that meant. I just nodded and silently suffered for 20 minutes because I didn’t know all the tools in the software.
So I thought of a genius way to accomplish the assignment. I went to the bathroom and locked myself in. For three excruciating hours, I desperately memorized everything in the 15-minute tutorial video. Then I returned, smiling and feigning confidence, and looked for that one “tool” that duplicates those damn clouds. When I clicked it, I forgot what to do next. It wasn’t my proudest moment, and I probably looked even stupider for another 30 minutes only pressing Ctrl + Z and the Shift tab.
It wasn’t long enough that they noticed me hunching closer and closer to the monitor. They stood behind me and saw that the sky turned into a mesh of pixelated buildings and uneven lighting. They took the mouse from me and they got what they wanted in five minutes. And I remember them saying, looking up to their pitiful smiles, “If you didn’t know what to do, you should’ve asked.” I would’ve had … if they gave me another chance but they didn’t. For the rest of the internship, I was stowed away and then was “referred” to the art gallery next door.
I took that experience to heart and it had a ripple effect in my succeeding jobs, and then slowly and unknowingly crept into my relationship with my family, friends, partner, and sadly, myself. I chose to listen to insults, believed in doubts, stopped seeking help from people, and idolized an ideal, perfect version of myself. At the same time, I turned away from my curiosity, my clumsiness, and my childishness.
For me, mistakes are poor choices wrapped in sucky circumstances, but they are part of making your character. They’re the very thing that carves your principles. They’re the unfinished, rusty-looking edges that make you stand out and not be bothered by all that is perfect and necessary. Why do we like our heroes and antiheroes? It’s because they’re us. We don’t root for people who do not have problems; we go for people who understand how frustrating and exhausting life can be on top of obstacles and B plots. We fight with nature, people, and ourselves. And we’re so damn proud when we overcome them. In the end, we become people who just want to do the next right thing after experiencing the most heartbreaking, shitty breakup with our past selves.
It took time to get to where I am. An inconsiderate boss pushed me to be an advocate of “life after work.” Start-up companies can be a good deal at first but they also come with risks of more work and less pay. Pursuing any form of creativity gave me a second life. Being completely alone allowed me to be open to people who never left because they loved me no matter what.
I’m still a work in progress but I know that mistakes are better than nothing at all, or worse, “striving for perfection.” Rewiring myself at 26 to be more accepting of my flaws, to be kinder when things are harsh, and to be a child again to new things is deliberately and intentionally hard—probably the scariest and greatest circumstance that is happening to me.
Only realizing now that all that is wrong about me, along with my “stupid” mistakes, is why I genuinely like myself. And that’s more than enough. I’m glad I made myself look stupid and I probably will be the older I get. I try not to take it to heart and simply trust myself—that life will suck and then it won’t.
Angelique Frades, 26, is an editorial production associate of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.