I was reviewing applicants as part of my corporate job when I came across Pineapple’s resume. Envy, like a hot flash, surged through my body. I wasn’t expecting this; I thought I was immune to comparisons by now. Apparently not.
Pineapple is Chinoy like me, but in her late 20s. She has a master’s in creative writing and a bachelor’s in literature, degrees I covet because I didn’t get a chance to acquire them. My parents, with their pragmatic kikita-ba-yan concerns, never indulged my writerly aspirations, nor could we afford the prestigious school she attended.
Reflecting on it, I realize Pineapple isn’t currently employed; she’s an applicant to my company. In contrast, I’m on the other side – a regularized employee, taking on increasingly important roles. Yet, a nagging feeling persists, like I missed out on something–like a life not lived.
Aside from the degrees, what is it about her that I envy? And why can’t I kick the habit of comparing myself with others, and then doubting my self-worth? Is it because I’m Asian?
Pineapple seems to have it all. Based on her resume, I noticed she could speak Mandarin fluently, unlike me who’s trying hard to relearn it in my 40s. But the icing on the cake was her nonfiction story getting published in an international online literary journal. I haven’t nailed that one. Yet.
While she has her whole life ahead of her, I’m at the halfway point. This job, which I’m so proud of, marks an achievement and a way to redeem myself after many years of being a stay-at-home mom. Meanwhile, for her, a stint in this place might just be a stepping stone.
Her brilliance points out two things I want to improve within myself: I will continue relearning Mandarin, and I will do what I can with my art, writing. If I desire to be published in the same literary journal as Pineapple, then I must put my heart into it. (But do I want to do it? I’m not so sure.)
But I should not compare. I really should not compare because all I see is a resume, a short story in a literary magazine, and a picture of a Chinoy woman at least 15 years my junior.
Feeling lost, I go back to my “why”. I want to write to explore my thoughts and feelings, gain insights into myself, and eventually feel better. I also write to connect with others—hoping that by sharing my authentic self, I can establish genuine, caring bonds. I want to matter, to be seen, heard, and remembered, even if only for a brief moment before I die. If I receive a Palanca for doing so, then that would be so fab.
So what happened to Pineapple? In the end, she didn’t make the cut in our organization. As a result, I’ll never get to know her or her story. What a pity—I would have loved to investigate whether my assumptions about her were true, or perhaps more conceivably, to find out that my assumptions were just that: assumptions. She’s got a long way to go, with heartbreaks to endure, shame and humility to face, and much more. I wish her the best in her career, may she find her place underneath this sun.
My brush with an idealized version of my younger self prompted introspection, and that’s the sweetness hiding behind the acrid taste of jealousy. Because of this incident, I was able to ponder about what I still want to develop within myself. I also found out it’s more soothing to accept parts of me that I can’t and don’t want to change. Such is middle age.
At this stage in life, the die is already cast. I’ve gotten neck-deep in psychology, I’ve got responsibilities as a mother of two grownup kids, and I don’t have the skills she has as a litterateur. But lately, I’m starting to believe that I can make up for what I’ve lost. It’s better late than never! Hahabol pa ako.
The featured image on this blog was AI-generated by me using free tools, namely ChatGPT, Canva, and Leonardo AI. I use these images to support my written content creatively and cost-effectively.
