I was once a confident person. Well, a little too confident.
In my naive mind, at the age of 13, becoming the youngest winner of a national search felt extraordinary. I became known in school. From being a “nobody” in a pool of talented students, I became the center of attention in class. It was something foreign to my system, but I loved it.
I began seeking compliments and admiration from other people, but in an inconspicuous way. I had a cover. My being self-centered was sheathed with a fake act of humility. And people bought it. When a friend asked me what winning felt like, I’d answer, “Oh, it’s nothing.
Everything feels the same. I mean, it’s pretty tense, but a 13-year-old could win it, you know.” And then a series of praises directed at me will follow. I liked the praises. No, scratch that. I loved the praises.
But when you get blinded by too much of anything, you tend to become full of yourself. In that glorious moment of my life, it became my habit to talk about myself in any conversation regardless of whether it was about our academics or any other topic unrelated to vanity and achievements. I saw everything as all about me. I can say that I was a walking, talking bag of hot air. I was confident that I could have whatever I wanted.
I transformed into a social animal and sought out “friends” who were at the top of the social food chain. People just like me—or so I thought. The popular ones; those who, or at least some of them, were as egotistically competitive as I was. I hung out with these cool kids. I was with them, and for me, that was what mattered.
However, feeling this egocentric euphoria in all its glory, and actually seeing it in the other “bigheaded” people I was with, were very eye-opening experiences. I saw my reflection in their actions—how they spoke or how they addressed other people. Ironically, it was a mix of hypocrisy on my part to realize and to tell myself that what I was doing was too much.
The spotlight, which had been my favorite friend for quite a while, became a monster that devoured and blinded me. I became afraid of it. What’s funny is that I was afraid that I’d become like the other arrogant kids in the gang when in reality, I already was like them. Painfully, I pushed every light and door away from me.
I avoided many opportunities. My lame excuse would be: “I already have my share of that experience, so let’s give others, especially the new ones, a chance.” Or whenever I got tired of explaining and covering up, I would say, “Next time,” until the time lapsed and another person was selected.
With this attitude, there came a time when I was shut out from competitions and others were picked to represent the school. I came crashing back to where I was before.
The downside of getting used to being admired by other people is getting used to gaining self-confidence and self-esteem from others. But having all the doors to “show off” closed to me, I found that gaining self-worth from external factors had become tough, an almost impossible task. I wanted to please other people, and I was eager to know their reaction. Whenever I didn’t meet their expectations, I easily became anxious and disappointed.
I was stuck somewhere in between. You know that feeling of missing something but you’re afraid of it, of what it can do to you? It’s like a diabetic drooling in front of an all-sweets buffet.
Still, having remnants of the old confidence within me, I grabbed an opportunity to perform on stage. I auditioned for a spot in the school search. However, things didn’t go as well as I had envisioned. When it was my time to be screened, my nerves got the best of me. The once confident Ed had vanished, and as a result, I just stood there, unable to respond. After I made a fool of myself, scrutinizing eyes followed me until I reached my seat. A spontaneous veteran of pageants had become a stuttering joke before the panel of judges.
It’s difficult to go back when this fear is holding you back. From that embarrassing moment on, I swore off taking part in searches.
College came, with me still the introvert one. Looking back to where this introversion started, I realized that my negative perception of my friends was just all in my head. What I saw—their egos, their arrogance, their vanity—were just biased judgments of my own. The truth was, I was the one with the ego, the arrogance, and the vanity, and I was afraid that they would outshine me.
In reality, there was nothing wrong with them. They could do whatever they do because they could stand up for whatever decisions they choose. People could easily jive with them because they didn’t pretend to be someone or something they’re not.
As a matter of fact, they are among the genuine people I have met (yep, that is true, guys). They are true and they are proud of who they are.
Confidence is not enough. If your aim is to feel good about yourself, then it takes more than just the applause and approval of other people. It’s a matter of accepting who you are, what you have, and being proud of it. The opinion of others is of insignificant value. Criticisms thrown at you will come from people who do not matter because the people who do matter wouldn’t mind.
At the end of the day, everything will be gone but yourself. Darkness will follow. But always remember that you can be your own light.
Edwin Dusaban Jr., 19, is a communication and media studies junior at the University of the Philippines Visayas. He says he has found a new interest in sketching and passes his time drawing caricatures of his friends.