"True consistency isn’t about frequency—it’s about identity. It is about becoming the kind of person who does what needs to be done, no matter what."
For a long time, I thought I knew what I wanted. I chased internships, opportunities, and the validation that came with them. These things were within reach, yet the more I pursued them, the more they felt disconnected from who I was.
It wasn’t that they were bad opportunities—they were, by most standards, great ones. And I wouldn't pass them up if I did get them. But they weren’t my purpose, I realize. They didn’t align with the person I wanted to become.
I had let them define so much of what I did, and in that pursuit, I lost sight of the deeper question: What do I actually want? Ironically, chasing them helped me realize that they were never my end goal to begin with.
Yet, the pressure I put on myself was unbearable. The competitiveness I internalized made failure feel worse than death itself. Fear reduced me to a shell of myself, and suddenly, I found my self-esteem slipping through my fingers. I had always believed I was confident, self-assured, but if that were true, why did I feel so fragile? Why did the weight of expectation make me crumble?
It wasn’t an isolated experience. I always believed in handling things with grace and understanding, in giving people the benefit of the doubt. And I still do. But watching others in positions of power wield their seniority like a weapon, justifying their authority not through knowledge but through numbers and status, was disheartening. I respect those above me, not for their titles, but for what they know, for how they lead.
Even if they don’t have all the answers, it is their ability to navigate the unknown with humility that earns my respect. But when my own experience and capability were questioned, despite having met every qualification, when my presence in a room was disregarded, my eyes never met in conversation; I took note.
For two days, a fire burned inside me. The ash of disbelief is still warm as I course my hands through them. I wanted to be understanding, but not at the cost of what I knew. I knew I was capable. I had been undermined at every turn. It didn’t feel great. Not one bit. But it fueled me.
This spite will keep me going for a while. But I don’t want to run on spite forever. I hope it transforms into hope, into love for what I do. I feel closer to a purpose.
That said, my life is not a self-improvement project. There’s this unspoken belief in certain circles that I, that we, can undo all the generational curses that came before us, that we can fix everything. Maybe I can. Maybe I can’t. But I don’t want to live my life as a constant process of fixing. I want to live.
So, I bought fairy lights. They look nice. I watch the tiny yellow bulbs glow in my room, and I smile.
Two years ago, when I first moved in, I told myself I would keep decorations minimal. It felt impractical to invest in a space I would leave in three years. But here I am, letting myself enjoy something beautiful, even if it’s temporary.
Do I get an award for keeping my hair black all my life? I wonder.
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