Being home in Bataan for the sem break, I rummaged through my old documents on my old laptop, and I found this-- the essay I wrote as part of my ACET application last year, answering the question "Are there any experiences you have had, or any accomplishments you have realized, that have helped to define you as a person?"

Looking back now, it helps me reflect how much I have changed--and how much I have stayed the same over the course of a little over a year. And while my current setback(s) are a far cry from what I described as my first failure below, it inspires me just all the same.

My first love

If I would be asked to describe my life, it would probably be similar to something out of a Disney movie. When I was younger, I saw the world through rose-tinted glasses, as I lived what seemed to be a twisted and sugarcoated version of life. I was oblivious to the many realities, the everyday hardships people seemed to undergo around me. Inevitably, this also affected my view of success, as I had seen so far, I seemed to get everything I wanted. It felt like second nature that things seemed to go my way. When my father first told me about the saying, I knew what it was trying to say theoretically but never really understood it. Given that my outlook on life was one-sided and naïve, I was under the idealistic impression that once you work hard to reach your goal, you succeed. While in several ways it was definitely true, there were no ifs and buts for me. Failure was a foreign concept.

But what exactly changed that notion that seemed to mislead me for the years I’ve been living? A simple answer to a seemingly simple question: my first love. My first love, like many other firsts, is something I will never forget. It feels like the missing piece in the puzzle of my life; without it, I’m incomplete. Yes, I know it’s clichéd. However, trite as it may be, it does not hide the fact that writing is innate in me. It is part of who I am.

One of my most fervent passions is writing. From an early age, I had already been exposed to literature, starting with bookshelves full of children’s books and encyclopedias. While I also enjoyed playing with children my age, most of the time I immersed myself in my house’s library, relishing every bit of information and stories the pages relayed. Consequently, I had been inspired enough to compose stories and poems of my own. For me, writing was more than just a creative outlet of releasing emotion; it was capturing it. I loved how a chain of words danced around the pages, vivid enough to bring a fictional character alive. I was amazed with how the biggest adventures thought unimaginable unfolded before my very eyes with a mere flip of a page. I knew that inside my little heart, I wanted to create that same magic that these tightly bound pages in my hands possessed. Since then, I knew I had already wanted to be a writer.

When I had grown a little older and was already in grade school, I had the privilege to join our school organ. I kept contributing my own stories, anticipating the moment when the drafts would finally turn into articles, and the rough layouts would finally turn into a newspaper, with my name printed on some sections. I was cultivating not only my skill in writing, but my drive to keep on pursuing something I obviously loved. In the sixth grade, I was appointed editor-in-chief of our school paper, and I joined the Division Schools Press Conference for the first time competing in Editorial Writing, along with my classmates. We emerged as the Highest School Pointer in our division, and progressed to the Regionals. I can still remember the feeling being in a room with almost fifty other pupils in my category, knowing that we were all competing for only three slots to join the much-awaited National Schools Press Conference in Aklan. I walked out of that same room a few hours later, nervous yet satisfied, knowing that I had given my all and written what I knew and felt. I was shaking when they announced the names of the winners the next day, and imagine my awe when my name was called out as the champion. I competed in Aklan months later and luckily enough, I secured 5th place in the competition for my category. The next year, I was again fortunate to be chosen to represent my school in the same contest even if I was only in my first year of high school. I won 3rd place in the Regionals, something I considered astounding for myself since my competitors were older than I was. Though I didn’t win in the Nationals, I had gone home with all the confidence in myself.

The story does not end here . In my second year, I had once again competed in the division level and won first place. I was hoping for another triumphant repeat-- after all, I had done it before, why couldn’t I do it now? I rigorously prepared myself for whatever topic they would let us write about and I made sure to be knowledgeable about the subject matter. I spent the nights away writing and researching about every possible topic the judge could have us write during the contest. The competition came and I knew I was ready. However, akin to the popular song, I did my best but apparently, it was not good enough. I did not even make it to the top 10 which was so ironic, considering how I fared in the past two years. I still met the same fate last year, which needless to say, devastated my spirit. Yet again, overused as it may sound, it is definitely my passion for writing which fuels me to keep on moving forward and hone my craft. How was I possibly going to do this if my interest had gone astray?

I was halfway determined to give up writing for I felt like I had lost my touch. Dealing with two losses in a row was something I was not prepared for; I had never really encountered failure in the past, or rejection, for that matter. My self-esteem truly suffered, on account of I had always seemed to do well before. I wouldn’t say I am an excellent writer, but I make sure to put a generous amount of effort in my writings, and to be rejected for something I had put so much work into was a huge disappointment. While it might seem petty to some, for me it was a big deal because I believed that the contest determined my skill in writing. I felt like whatever article I wrote would never surpass mediocrity; my consecutive losses had totally undermined my belief in my abilities.

“Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game”. My family and friends, knowing how affected I was by this, little by little helped me recover from my shattered self-esteem, and somehow the quote came up on several occasions. By then, I had now known what it truly meant-- Just because I lost did not necessarily mean I was a loser. In fact, losses are simply God’s own way of emptying the glass, so to speak. My first taste of defeat and disappointment was a wake up call to me to plant my feet firmly on the ground and to let me comprehend that what comes up must eventually come down. I should not let myself be affected by setbacks; rather, I must let those downfalls serve as a reminder for me to truly strive for my goals. And if I don’t succeed, it is better to have failed knowing I tried than to spend the rest of my life thinking “what if”.

Since then, I had realized a lot of things, especially about myself. Writing is and will continue to be a part of me. Being free to express my emotions and weave worlds through pen and paper helped me realize that not only am I strong-willed and independent, I am also creative. This experience solidified the fact that I give my one hundred and one percent in things I am passionate about. I learned to be triumphant in victory, yet gracious in defeat. I realized that I am courageous, because I did not walk away from my fears. I may have struck out, but fortunately, I’m still here playing the game for one last time.

Now that I’m a high school senior and editor-in-chief of my high school’s campus paper, I will not let the fear of losing or getting rejected force me to abandon my first love--writing. Who knows, maybe someday I would end up writing my own fairytales for thousands of generations to enjoy. As long as I know that the fear of failing is well behind me, I know I can be invincible to obstacles that would threaten to disparage my soul. For the true measure of man is not by how long he is able to stand, but by how he rises after he falls.