When it comes to cup that have water in them, I’m usually a half empty kind of person. I can’t say why I’ve always been so pessimistic. In my eyes, I’m just trying to be a realist. Perhaps it was how I was raised. Or the things that I’ve experienced over the years. As the saying goes, ‘all good things must come to an end.’ Maybe that’s the reason why I’ve never been able to savour the time that I should be enjoying myself. 

Whatever the reason, when I’m feeling a little morose or sad, people around me constantly try to tell me to be ‘happy,’ practice mindfulness and try not to dwell on the bad things. For ‘this too shall pass.’ But I’ve never been able to subscribe to that particular mindset for it feels as if they wish for me to deny my current feelings in favour of a false perception of positivity.

My relatively negative attitude towards life also extends to other facets – like when I’m working or trying to commit to hobbies such as writing. As is always the case of this tortured wannabe writer: I am my own worst critic. Coupled with my perfectionist tendencies, I hate the thought of failing or doing the wrong thing. In fact, it’s one of the key triggers for my anxiety as I agonise over what else I could have done as I fear the worst possible outcome.

Rational discourse and logic never work. Often, as I stewed in bed over the fallout of my actions, I try to point out that hardly anyone would put weight to my words. That even as I dissect the corpse of a past conversation, they have, no doubt, pushed it into the past like water under the bridge. Should they have taken offense and not wish to be my friend, there was no going back and undo the damage that I wrought. Or if I had made a fatal mistake that would have cost the company exorbitant amounts of money and brought about my own sacking…

The key focus, in each scenario, has never been about the past. For it is immutable. It has already happened. All that I can do is learn from it and prepare myself for the future. 

But, in saying that, there is no use pondering the possibilities of the future and envisioning the darkest timeline when it gives me sleepless nights and stomach pains. As the adage goes: what will be, will be. A contingency plan is all well and good until it crumples in the crumples in the wake of a variable that was not taken into consideration. It’s a lesson most dungeon masters/ game masters have learned the hard way.

This post, however, was not supposed to be about my anxiety, however. It was actually meant to be about my adverse reaction to compliments. The last week (at point of time of writing this blog post), I received very favourable comments from my supervisors. Yet, though I should have been preening that my valiant efforts were recognised (finally!), I couldn’t help but blush and feel embarrassed. The more praise they heaped, the more I felt compelled to downplay my efforts. “After all, anyone could have done it,” said I. “It was luck. I just so happened to notice something was amiss.”

I’m not sure why I can’t simply accept the fact that someone thinks well of me. A part of me believes it stems from going to a selective high school and being in a hyper-competitive environment. Or the fact that there is a well-known cultural phenomenon in Australia called ‘tall-poppy syndrome.’ Maybe it was just always an aspect of my personality of never seeing myself as good enough.

In fact, all throughout my childhood, my mother’s friends would say I was ‘pretty’ or ‘cute.’ Always, I would deny it. Why? I’m not sure. I think a part of me believed that they were lying. That their compliments were only said as a means to befriend me but were never what they truly thought. 

Some might call it an advanced version of ‘imposter syndrome.’ And I suppose there is truth in that. Entering the work force, I’ve realised that I’m not as ‘average’ or as ‘normal’ as I presupposed. There are, in fact, many that never quite hit the bar when it comes to work commitment and due diligence. I have seen many an error that was never picked up until I came along. My ability to touch-type and various turns of phrase when it comes to writing reports is remarkable.

My stories, which I often think are trash and I should just delete it all, are actually finding a target audience. True, there are elements that could be improved. But that’s what having an agent and an editor are for. I have none of these things and yet I seem to be able to write stories that people are enjoying. 

Of course, I’m not receiving as many reviews or favourites as some of the best out there, but each positive one I do receive actually helps buoy my ego for a good long while. Even as I wonder why anyone, that is not my friend, likes what I cast out into the void that is the internet. And, if you’re a friend that says my writing is good…well, I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you. 

At this point, I’m basically Tony Tony Chopper of One Piece fame. 

It’s a hard and slow process. Yet I’m hopeful that in the near future I’ll be able to look back and laugh at my lack of self-confidence. That is, of course, contingent on the fact that the world doesn’t end.