Not that it would have helped, but I’m not entirely sure how to start a self-reflection without a traditional prompt? Something along the lines of “Where do you see yourself in five years?” or “Draw inspiration from a major life event,” would have helped. Maybe. Then again, I’ve always felt like the best pieces of work never required an academic kick-in-the-rear.
Speaking of kicks-in-the-rear, I just spent a solid five minutes reading a recap of Kobe Bryant’s comeback game. The man just came back from a major Achilles injury, suffered eight months ago, to prove to himself that he still has “it”. Conversely, I’m here sitting in front of a monitor wondering if I ever had “it” at all…
Back in grade 12, my first (and what I thought would be my only) creative writing instructor called me up to his desk mid-class. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it involved him calling my writing “special”; that I had to develop and pursue my craft. I didn’t think much of that exchange. At the time, I thought it was his modus operandi to have that moment with every one of his students. By the time class was over, I realized I was the only one that was summoned. Weird. Regardless, I still thought it was one of those “made for TV movie moments”.
The old me would have probably ended this piece off with that sentence, but not this time. I would be cheating myself, and to a lesser extent, my creative writing instructor.
If that wasn’t enough, I had this underlying feeling of entitlement in high school. I was labeled as one of the smarter kids in elementary, and that label followed me through grades 8-12. Funny thing was my grades turned in to a Brat Pack alum’s career arc: started off strong, gained confidence, grew complacent, settled into (just above-average) mediocrity. I was content holding on to that “smarty pants” label, even if it was no longer justified by the results.
If there’s one thing I learned in high school, it’s that complacency is the devil.
It didn’t help that I was at the peak of my cynical superpowers at the time. Thor had his hammer, Iron Man had his suit, and I had my cruel sarcasm. I doubted everyone and everything. Friends, family, religion- nothing was exempt from my pessimism. Looking back, I don’t think I even deserved an ounce of unconditional love from my girlfriend. She was amazing, still is. I’m 1,000% certain Paul McCartney foreshadowed “Maybe I’m Amazed” about her.
But I was selfish. Not in the endearing, Slum Village song kind of way, but in the “have my cake and eat yours too” kind of way- something that may or may not have happened during one of our dates. I took her for granted A LOT of the time. Late night phone calls, the odd car ride before I had my license, and the dates I was nervous to get dressed for when I was unemployed. She was my everything- and fortunately for me, she still is. Thanks for not giving up on me, best friend.
Jaded, self-centered people rarely step out of their comfort zone. They remain ungrateful of the people in their inner-circle, freezing everyone out. The push-and-pull of building relationships eventually decays in to lost causes. The challenge no longer becomes reciprocating love, but that of recognizing its presence. I was stuck in that cycle, yet the people around me loved me so much that I finally had to react- I had to step out of my comfort zone for once in my life.
And just like that, I identified the root of my problems.
Grow. Change. Evolve. If it seems hard, it is- and that’s coming from a 45 year-old man trapped in a 20 year-old body. Keep moving, even if your back starts acting up (or is that just me?). I’d be a hypocrite if I told you this was easy. I’ll admit, I still fall asleep during the nightly rosary and make use of Chrome’s incognito tab from time to time, but I’m working on it. In two years of post-secondary I learned: to smile (shoutout to Eric’s dad), to laugh at myself (thanks single-camera comedies), and to trust yourself and not give a fuck about critics (mad props, Kanye and Drake). Additionally, I started building relationships at work and school; friendships that were more than just your average MSN messenger time-killers.
Most importantly, I made a conscious effort to strengthen the relationships within my inner-circle- you know, the same circle I conveniently neglected for most of my formative years.
I have a habit of seeing myself through the eyes of the people I care about most. With regards to my parents, it’s a tough call. My mom (like all old-school Filipino mothers) wants me to finish school with a “title”. Whether it’s “attorney” or “PhD”, it was just something she always suggested. Quite frankly, I’m not entirely sold on the vision. In fact, I see myself forging my own path, and having her be proud of me in the process. Who am I kidding, though? I’m F-I-L-I-P-I-N-O. My parents (well at least my mom) will always affect my future decisions, be it directly or in spirit. Forget academics and career options for a (fashionably late) Filipino second: I just want her to be proud of me. I don’t know how I’m going to achieve this miracle, but I’ve always been a man of faith.
And hopefully the Big Guy upstairs forgives me for my rosary induced naps.
Interestingly enough, my dad has been a whole ‘nother story. I’m not sure whether it’s maternal bond, or the fact that my dad immigrated later to Canada, but I’ve always been a “mama’s boy”. Just ask Ness. Or not- she has enough stories of me to embarrass my future offspring, but I digress. I looove my dad (something I find I have to reassure myself more than compared to my mama), and he actually wants me forge my own path. Guys! Guess what!? He’s proud of me!!! My taste in pop culture (music, movies, TV) has been a testament to his well-rounded palate. We’ve shared countless hours talking/watching/living/breathing/eating/dreaming sports. But just like all dynamic sports duos, we’ve had our losing streaks. Like all bandmates, we’ve had our differences. And like all great movies, we’ve experienced our fair share of tragedy. With that in mind, I see myself not only being a more balanced individual because of him, but a more trusting, forgiving man of faith.
Tragedies make great films (see: The Godfather). Turmoil yields great albums (see: “Let It Be”). Losing streaks turn into unforgettable playoff runs (see: 2011, Dallas Mavericks). Even if I never speak to my dad again, the memories we shared over years live on through every late-night film, every car mixtape, and every last second buzzer-beater.
In terms of my sister, I see myself as the older brother (hey that was easy). Digging deeper, I see myself as the overbearing, almost-frightened older brother. My sister is smart- and believe me, I know smart, I live with my mom for goodness sakes. Potential is limitless with the young grasshopper. One moment she’ll be fangirling, the next effortlessly cramming for an exam. She’s probably everything my parents hoped I could be; it’s a shame they don’t see it that way. Due to our age gap, there was never a direct competition between us. For the record, she would have smoked me. And for that, I love her so much more.
Two years removed from high school, the college experience has shed further emphasis on the importance of work ethic. Just recently, I had a forensics bell ringer exam that required me to memorize over 140 separate bones and ligaments. I studied, reviewed, and reviewed again. Ten days of prep. I basically gave myself an extra 239 hours than usual. All in all, I ended up with an 83%. I know, I know- I should have given myself that extra 239.25 hours of study time. Despite my grade, I came away with no regrets; I studied hard, put in the work, and trusted myself. Eventually, the results will come.
Even at the tender age of 20, typing this piece has made me realize that it’s important to step back and smell the roses. Why stop at smelling the roses, though? I’m old enough to plant the seed, water it, give it some sunlight, and nurture it. Sometimes I forget I’m not a “teen” anymore. I can pick the rose in bloom, suit up, comb my hair, spritz some cologne and deliver the flowers myself.
Even if she loves calla lilies.
Between you and me, I’d like to think I’ve changed for the better. 2011-2013 has been a Godsend. I needed those two years of tears, laughter, and tears of laughter. I needed to “live” in every sense of the word. I needed Kobe to justify hard work paying off. I guess I needed that academic kick-in-the-rear in grade 12 after all.
Change works; David Bowie is still making royalties off it as I type. In my case, it’s a “work in progress”. I’m still working on my GPA, because well, I’m human. My inner-child wanted a shift in the culture, so I’m transferring to SFU. I just politely lied to a classmate that I was coming back to KPU next semester, so yes, I’m trying to keep friendships alive now! Furthermore, I’ve learned that playful self-deprecation can be healthy, so much so that she labeled me as the Drizzy of Old Navy. She is still my best friend (understatement of the century), my family is now my main source of strength, and my God is still my God. Simple as that.
So the next time you find yourself doubting the kindness of loved ones, or creative writing instructors, stop yourself. Take a deep breath, be thankful, and smile. Change isn’t always welcome, but it’s necessary. And don’t ever compare your struggles with someone else’s: I learned that the hard way (okay fine, you can compare yourself to me if you ever need an easy target). Find something you love; develop it, pursue it. Most of all, trust yourself. I don’t care who or what you believe in, just have faith. Who knows, somewhere along the line, you might be lucky enough to have your very own life-changing movie moment.
Dammit Kevin! 