I am an impostor. I live inside this persona of brilliance and bravery,
Behind a blinding smile, and an eloquent tongue.
A gentle human being with a kind soul, and humility.
But inside, I’m just a hollow shell of a human being.
A poor excuse for a soul.
See, it was a fluke I made it to one of the most prestigious universities in Canada.
My mind is rather slow, and although thoughts flood my brain all day,
I am not sure they are my own ideas.
See, I was born in a tiny Village near the sea in Palawan.
See, I was raised on a humble farm.
Corals wounded me, and lovegrass clung onto my clothes.
My teeth were gapped, and hair almost always unkempt.
My eyebrows were in discordance.
Yet here I am in this beautiful country.
There was nothing noteworthy I have done in my life.
Yes, I won Most Valuable Player, but that was a fluke, too.
Yes, I won spelling bees, speech and essay contests,
But only because my opponents were shy.
Speech Award 2009 (Moosonee Public School)
Yes, I have gotten the highest GPA in grades 9 and 10.
But only because I was not in the best school – a public school.
The same school that kicked me out for they could not offer university prerequisite.
But see, I convinced myself finally in Grade 11, when I moved to Boarding School.
Told that impostor, “you are not smart enough.”
And so that impostor believed me.
She stopped trying and indeed, I was right.
I had gotten my first 77% in Physics.
But that impostor was a little stubborn,
She made friends! Can you believe it? How dare she?
She had great time with friends, made sushi with them,
Hung out with them at Walmart, and Baskin Robbins.
Even dressed up like one of them.
But I had to stop that impostor, so I told her, “you are not pretty enough.”
And so, that impostor believed me.
She stopped associating with those so-called friends.
Sooner or later, they would find out she was faking it all along.
But that Impostor was still obstinate.
“I want to become a doctor.” She cheekily declared.
I shook my head, “No, no, don’t you see? You’re not good enough. Those people only pity you. That is why you are the registrar’s assistant. That is why you were Vice President of the dorm, and that is why you were appointed campus ministry leader. It is not about you, but the pity they had for you because you were harassed last year.”
The Impostor opened her eyes and had an epiphany, “you’re right. Who am I to be this person? Wow, this is not me! In fact, I do not even deserve the love of my life.”
I had gotten several awards at the end of the year: Caring Heart Awards for North American Division, Top Model Student, Highest Honours, Best Actress, Service Not Fame, Principal’s List, Perfect Attendance.
And I was disgusted. The cameras were flashing and my colleagues were clapping.
But I felt fear. The fear that someday, my disguise will be stripped down and they will see me. Fear and shame intermingled and I felt like breaking down in front of all these people who believed in me – the impostor.
The raw me. The farm girl, the girl with the teeth gap, the acne-ridden girl, the girl who foolishly fell in-love, the girl whose mind is slow, that immigrant girl who is poor.
And so, I made it to University. One of the top ten research universities in the country.
I saw my peers for the first time. They all looked brilliant.
What was this dumb, Filipina immigrant doing here?
By now, the Impostor in me had come to believe me.
The Impostor could not believe she has gone so far.
There is no escape now.
The Impostor does not know if she could fake any longer, and so she hid.
Hid from the world. Her mask was melting. The gimmicks were no longer working.
She was not pretty, smart, lovable, or good enough. The mask has been worn, now nearly but shreds.
She had stopped trying. 
There was no use after all.
The love of her life had left her for another girl – perhaps one who was not fake.
But then, two weeks ago, she confided in a friend.
Her friend was shocked.
“Elle,” her friend told her, “you are not an impostor.”
Then I realized, she was talking to me.
“There is no such thing as an impostor. You made it this far. You came from the Philippines, you learned the language, and here you are in our program! You’re learning the same things as I. You’re worth it, and you can do anything you want to do. It’s not a fluke you made it this far, please do not give up on your dreams.”
I looked for the Impostor that was within.
Be real. (Moosonee, ON)
But I could not find her. She was but a figment of my imaginations.
And for the first time, I accepted the truth.
I was meant to be here.
And I am good enough, I am smart enough, I am lovable enough, I am pretty enough.
I am enough.
Author’s Note:
I’ve never been one to brag about what I have done in life. In fact, there really is nothing noteworthy about my life (unless typing 800 words an hour counts. 😉
In my culture, brushing off your accomplishments is a norm.
“Oh it’s nothing, that was just lucky!” We call it the “humble effect.” I’ve placed that principle in my life, but I’ve also seen it’s adverse effect that manifested itself as Impostor Syndrome. Now I am in university, I have this insecurity that I will be “found out” that I am indeed not good enough, being a Filipina immigrant.
Anyways, two weeks ago, I confided to a friend who was in the same program and she was shocked at what I told her. I almost cried when she told me, “Elle, you’re not an impostor, you deserved to be here, you came to Canada, and learned the language, and you made it to [this program], learning the same thing as those born in Canada.”
I hugged her, with new hope filling my heart.
Optimistic Realist 