This Time, I Don’t Know

"You're lucky. You go through life with the certainty that what you're doing is right. I know how comforting that is."
-- Boyd, a patient, to House (said regretfully, after having lost some of his own certainty)

"It is possible to believe in something and still fail to live up to it"
-- Wilson to House


Self-doubt, you find out, is an ugly thing that happens inevitably.

When I was a kid, I used to believe my parents have all the answers. Then my world got a little bigger and I realized that some people still get sick even if they eat their vegetables or take their afternoon naps religiously.

Before, I thought that educated, independent women are way better off than their domesticated counterparts. Today, I’ve met enough to know they’re not necessarily any happier.

I grew up believing I was smart. How can I not when my family keeps telling me so, when my records seemed to support it and my teachers affirmed it? And then I entered U.P. and that belief was challenged a bit. So okay, I may not have been the smartest after all, but I was still smart, I thought. And then I grew up some more and made mistakes along the way. Major ones, small ones… enough to make me realize that I am stupid too.

While I was still in school, I was so sure I’d be a good writer. I aced my English subjects, joined publications, read enough books, and criticized those who couldn’t put two sentences together. I believed I knew enough. Now, I write for a living. Yet everyday I find myself struggling to remember the basics. Half of the time, I’m not even sure if my S-V structures are right. A lot of people turn to me for their copy needs. If only they knew. If only they knew that a lot of times I just don’t know, then they wouldn’t trust me so much.

I remember a 13-year-old me declaring to my best friends that I would never, ever be with a guy who wouldn’t go down on his knees for me or who wouldn’t or couldn’t afford to bring me flowers everyday. I remember a 15-year old me who believed that there really is that one perfect guy out there somewhere I’ve yet to meet. At 18, I remember saying that I would only marry for love. I detested arranged marriages. I believed that marriages only work if two people love each other completely, that love lasts forever, that there is only that one, great love for each person. Now, at 28, I’m not so sure anymore.

While I was younger, I was so sure about what’s right and what’s wrong. I was full of advices. I thought I was wise for my age. I couldn’t understand why so many people would pick the wrong choices when the right ones are so obvious. How was I to know that, faced with the same problems, I would fall too? That I don’t really know any better. That the world offers more options other than black and white.


Funny and frustrating, isn’t it, how life constantly challenges our beliefs through time. The resulting self-doubt is no joke. It’s depressing and it’s ugly.

But without it, how would we know how annoyingly arrogant we’ve become believing that we are so right? How would we discover that fresh or bigger perspective? How could we learn to tolerate people and be more patient with them? How can we start to reshape ourselves to become better people?

Self-doubt is an ugly thing that happens inevitably, true. But going through this, I’m thinking, maybe it’s not necessarily a bad thing.