you know what’s really sad? realizing you’ll never be good enough for anyone. maybe it’s just the way i care too much about how people perceive me. maybe i analyze every word, every glance, every shift in energy a little too deeply. but what can i say? i’m an overthinker. always have been, always will be.
sometimes i wonder if we were all just born to be judged. like no matter how good you look, how well you’re doing, how much fun you’re having. someone, somewhere, will always find a reason to dim your light. maybe it’s projection. maybe they don’t even realize they’re doing it. maybe misery really does love company.
the more i tried to please people, the more i realized—it’s a losing game. you can be kind, keep your head down, mind your business, and still… people will talk. people will decide who you are for you. and sometimes i find myself wondering: if you spend your whole life trying to be good enough for everyone else, when do you ever get to be good enough for you?
let me take you back for a second. middle school. i got a b in english. one grade. my teacher pulled me aside and told me my english would never be good enough. that one comment? it lit something in me. i started studying for hours, obsessing over every paper, every test. i made honor roll every quarter after that. i was determined to prove her wrong. and i did.
but then, when people finally stopped questioning my intelligence, they started questioning something else: my sexuality. and just like that, a new challenge was born. a new thing to “fix,” to defend, to prove didn’t matter. and maybe that’s the most exhausting part of it all—when one fire dies down, another one sparks up. it’s a cycle. a carousel of proving and surviving. and at some point, you start to ask: will it ever stop?
eventually, i realized the environment i was in wasn’t meant for people like me. so i transferred to the best school in the area. i tried again. a new version of me, still obsessed with being the “best version” of myself. this time, the people were supportive. but was i being supportive of myself? probably not.
i tried to play the part. blend in. keep up with the pace. but i could feel it—this subtle, gnawing feeling that i was different. i acted different. i sounded different. i hated it. i hated my voice. i hated my body. i hated the way i didn’t feel like everyone else around me.
then the world stopped. quarantine hit. and i was left with the one person i had been trying to avoid for years—myself. no distractions, no performances, no audience. just me, in my room, facing everything i had pushed down for so long. it was… brutal. i cried. i laughed. i mourned the version of me i had built for everyone else.
but slowly—like turning pages in a book—i started to discover who i really was. i started leaning into the weirdness, the softness, the strength. social media showed me i wasn’t the only one. i saw people living their truth and not apologizing for it. everyone’s story was different, but the feeling was the same: we weren’t broken—we were just different.
and maybe what’s broken is the world around us. a world that teaches you to mold yourself into a version that’s palatable, pretty, predictable. a world that scoffs at authenticity because it scares people. but why should we apologize for being real?
fast forward to now. i go to uc berkeley. a place people never expected me to end up—not because i wasn’t smart enough, but because of how i presented myself. instead of being happy for me, people are now commenting on the way i look, the way i act, how “gay” i seem. and it’s like… damn. they’re just never gonna be happy. there’s always going to be something to pick at. something to criticize. another box i’ll never quite fit in.
and as much as that stings—because let’s be real, it does sting—i’m actually pretty proud of who i am. i’m content. i’m doing well. i’ve made peace with the fact that their approval is no longer my goal. i don’t need everyone to clap for me. i just need to clap for myself. and i do.
so if you’re reading this, and you’ve ever felt like the world just doesn’t get you, i hope this serves as a reminder: your story is valid. your identity is not a problem to be solved. and even if they never say it—you’re doing great.
i wouldn’t trade my story for anything. because even if the world screams that i’m not good enough, i know what i’ve been through. i know who i’ve become. and that will always be enough for me.
because the more i tried to fit in, the more i realized that wasn’t the goal. the real goal? finding yourself. loving yourself. and knowing that your adversity doesn’t define you—but it does shape you.
and let’s be honest—if you can’t name at least one moment that changed you to your core, then we probably won’t see eye to eye. some people just lack empathy. and no matter how well you dress it up, no amount of self-help books, therapy appointments, or morning affirmations can change that.
so i guess the question is… when will being different stop being something to prove—and just be something to celebrate?
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