when the art of trying meets the actuality of failures

“The devil couldn’t reach me, so it makes sure that whenever I get excited, it will never work out.”

I was not expecting to read this on a Saturday morning, sipping on my coffee and hoping that it will be just another day. Not another day to endure, but an ordinary day where I could let it pass slowly.

Ever since I was a kid, I had a hard time believing in myself. It felt like I wasn’t able to shine at all, and I was meant to watch the others try their very best in order to have a spotlight. You know what? It taught me to fight for it, too. That light.

The light where you sparkle, the light where your visions could turn into reality, the light that will make you believe in the art of trying.

I tried in small things. I wondered if I cleaned up my mess every time I played with my paper dolls, maybe my mom wouldn’t scold me. If I learn how to count and pronounce words earlier than most kids, maybe they would be proud of me. If I become the top of the class, maybe they will display my medals and certificates in our living room.

The small things kept on getting bigger and bigger until I couldn’t distinguish what drives me to fulfill several achievements. Was it the pressure? Was it really the dreams of mine? Was it greed? Or was I enjoying this spotlight a bit too much?

Nonetheless, it helped me breathe with the familiar scent of success.

But you couldn’t have it all, as they say. When the art of trying meets the actuality of failures, the biggest victory you hold shrinks, and the tiniest of them all will be invisible. None of it would matter. In fact, you wouldn’t make sense after all these trials. As if you were a joke that was thrown in a conversation — a laughingstock.

I find it hard to look forward to mornings. I find it hard to be hopeful in times of struggle. Once again, I found it hard to believe in myself.

That was the heartbreaking point. I tend to throw away the parts that I need to keep in order to not fall apart. I unlove what needs to be loved, and I hold on to sufferings, thinking this is where I belong. Success wasn’t a familiar scent anymore, and I needed to find a place where I could rest for a little while.

Sometimes, multiple rejections don’t take you in another direction. Sometimes, you just stop and wonder if all of your efforts will die in vain. Sometimes, you grieve for the version of you that used to soar high, and looking at who you are right now, you just can’t help but feel pity.

When the actuality of failures outweighs the multiple tries you’ve fought for, the wind wouldn’t feel like it’s taking you to better places. Sometimes, it would feel like a dead end.

Date Written: June 21, 2025

I am Cloud and I write personal essays, poems, and reflections about life in general. This piece is published under a section named “Nimbus” under my publication, “To all the words I couldn’t utter,” This section opens space for carrying the weight of sorrow, struggle, and the rains that fall within.