Never too late

I was in second grade when I first discovered the power of self-assertion.

That year, my school joined an inter-school storytelling contest. Because competitions were a big deal to the teachers (the results somehow established a school’s reputation), they carefully chose their representatives. In my class, three students were initially chosen to train. Each was given a copy of the piece to memorize, and whoever would emerge as the best would be the final choice. I wasn’t among them.

It was one of the first of so many moments when I felt that I was underestimated, and was told, directly or indirectly, that I wasn’t good enough. But I knew that I could represent the school in that competition. So instead of engaging in self-pity, I composed myself, prepared, and waited for the most opportune time. When the three “candidates” practiced their delivery in front of the class, I would secretly memorize the piece by just listening attentively as they recited it. At home, I would face the mirror and practice my facial expressions and body movements. For some reason, I knew that eventually I would be the final choice.

And that was exactly what happened. A week before the competition, our teacher was frustrated because none of the three seemed to have met her expectations. I remember that at that moment, I dramatically raised my hand and said something like, “Ma’am, try me! Just give me a chance!” Before she could react, I was giving the performance of my life. I ended up representing the school and winning second place.

When I think about it now, it feels like I’m a completely different person from my second-grade self. Always, at first, I can’t help but admire him. Oh, that boy knew exactly what he wanted, and he got it. He didn’t care that he was basically cut off before he even tried. He knew that the contest was for him, and he claimed it even before it was given to him.

But each time I ponder more, I am convinced that my second-grade self only had the courage to assert himself because he had no doubts yet. Back then, failure had not yet presented itself in its most devastating form. He didn’t know that as a person grows old, failure after failure can slowly reduce him to someone who constantly doubts himself, so that even he is no longer sure of what he is capable of. And then, as it turns out, he won’t bother to assert himself for anything anymore. That boy didn’t know it was going to happen to him.

When I came to Canada three years ago, I had to start all over again, especially in my career as a teacher. My education at the University of the Philippines didn’t matter; my experience wasn’t worth a thing. That in itself was already a major blow to my self-confidence. Nevertheless, I chose to gladly take on the challenge. I worked my way to getting a teacher’s license. I did volunteer work to gain experience in the Canadian workplace. I joined organizations to expand my network. I took some courses to update my skills.

But one way or another, I ended up stuck. Maybe I was at fault for some of the failures; the others I blame on my situation as a new immigrant. One thing’s for sure, though: The number of failures I experienced became inversely proportional to my level of confidence.

It was earlier this year when whatever was left of my self-confidence was stripped off. I enrolled in a certificate program and tried to venture into a related career. But more than halfway through, I was disallowed to continue because according to the evaluation of my credentials, my degree is comparatively “less” than any Canadian degree. A level of education equivalent to Canadian standards was required. So there I was, essentially back in my second-grade self, being told that I wasn’t good enough for what I was aspiring for. The only difference was, it wasn’t a simple storytelling contest. Even if I still believed in my abilities, there was no use asserting myself. I couldn’t tell them what I told my teacher long ago: “Try me! Just give me a chance!” Now an adult, I understood that life does not work that way.

Did I give up on my dreams on that day? No. Never. There is a difference between self-confidence and faith in one’s dreams. Even if I had lost the former, I believed that as long as I had the latter, I could keep going. We have heard of so many people’s stories in which success came after countless trials and failures. I wouldn’t believe if someone told me that these people never once lost their confidence or doubted themselves. To men, that seems the most natural reaction to failure. But they kept going anyway. And that’s what set them apart from those who didn’t succeed.

But some nights, depression would kick in and I’d reflect on my life as I tried to answer the biggest question: Whatever happened to me? If I am really that good, as I am often told, how come I’m still holding a job that doesn’t fulfill me? If I were really that hard-working, why am I not yet where I want to be? If I were really trying my best but still falling short, what can I be doing wrong?

In one of those nights, I ended up thinking again about my second-grade self and realized something that I had been missing all along. That boy got what he wanted not only because he asserted himself, but also because he waited for the most opportune time, the way Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, and Oprah waited for their perfect moments. That was the missing piece of the puzzle. I finally understood that there indeed is a force more powerful than me and though I may try to argue otherwise, some things are beyond my control.

In most instances, when we feel we’re doing everything we can but still no good things happen, all we can do is wait. Because the truth is, we don’t get the things we want right away. Nothing great ever came easily, after all. Perhaps life prepares us first for success, presents it to us when we’re ready, and then, it’s up to us to grab it or turn away.

So here I am now, taking my time to compose myself, preparing, and waiting for the most opportune moment. Who knows when I will be called for the performance of my life, right? I’m starting to visit libraries again, reading up on a lot of teaching resources. I’m beginning to study materials on school board websites and watching educational videos on YouTube to update my knowledge. I’m grabbing every

opportunity to improve myself. Recently, I registered for a placement course and soon I will be doing my practice teaching. This is my version of my second-grade self memorizing his piece and secretly practicing in front of the mirror.

I have realized that while doing these things, I am also repairing my damaged self-confidence, slowly stitching back each layer that was stripped off. I have learned that what I am doing right now is in itself a form of self-assertion. It is a message to the world that I have not given up, that my dream is mine despite what others say. I am asserting that I will take it when I’m ready and when the perfect time comes.

In my final thoughts at night before I go to sleep, I don’t ask myself questions anymore. Instead, I reassure myself with words I once read somewhere, whispering as if in prayer, “It’s never too late to be what you might have been.”

Rowell Perez, 25, lives in Toronto, Canada, “a dreamer waiting for his perfect moment.”