I get sick and tired of myself not completing something I’ve started out to do. And on the “big” occasions where I actually achieve something, I’m not excited about it.

Take my graduation for instance. After a thrilling time at SFU switching majors and almost failing economics, I finished university in three years. Prior to graduation, I was so excited to finish in time for a summer convocation. So excited that I took on five full courses in my final summer semester. And yet when convocation came around, I was the least excited of my family. My parents couldn’t sleep the night before. Eli forgot his coat. My brother wore a double breast suit. I woke up late and didn’t pick out an outfit to wear under my regalia.

My convocation happened 5 June 2009. At least I showed up for that one.

At another graduation ceremony, one that might be the last for some, I did not even know the date of. I had long gone off to pursue my degree at SFU.

And yet as I blow out more candles each year, I sulk about how “underachieved” I am.