There has been several moments in my life where I was sure that I was good at something, was ready to receive the best possible result after great hard work coupled with something that I believed as possibly talent as well, but at the end of the day, things didn’t work out the way I wanted them to be.
Last year in 2016, it happened twice. I gave my best effort with hard work and prayers and all, and people and I myself knew if there were things that I was legit good at, it was those things.
Well, it didn’t work.
And it just happened again, within this current phase of life that I planned to take care as best as I could, after having learned all those lessons before. The final results weren’t bad though, but it was just moderately good. In my own scale however, that would be just so-so. And it wasn’t going to be that disappointing if it weren’t for those things that I thought I could definitely nail.
People and I myself have told me several times that I suck at being grateful at times. The truth is, it’s not that I forget to be thankful; it’s just I’ve always raised the bar so high and I barely forgive myself easily when I fail jumping above it.
To me, these kinds of things hurt the most. More than actual scars I got when I had my first traffic accident, more than any major heartbreaks I went through, more than mood swing times when I feel like all persons are trashy. Because this one lingers, this one I’ll remember for the rest of my life, particularly when some of them are indeed literally written in the form of official note of accomplishments.
A short talk to a friend that I knew would be able to give me some reasonable advice made me realize the primary issue: I’ve always forgotten to be sincere at those. Ikhtiar, my mother language says.
Maybe, it’s not that hard work doesn’t get paid off, or that best effort betrays. Maybe, it’s not that the greater power doesn’t answer my prayers. Maybe, it’s just that I’m being too clingy at it, as if it’s the most and the only significant accomplishment I’ve ever wanted, then I get too attached to my own expectations, as I want those things too much that I forget to let God do the rest.
And I can only tell myself: dear future Bila, don’t be anymore.
