The Artist's Struggle by Bianca Ishbelle Bongato

I don’t know about you guys, but self-doubt was never really an issue for me…until freshman year at the Ateneo, that is. Being placed out of a relatively small, all-girls Catholic school and suddenly immersed in a university brimming with idealistic/passionate/talented/brilliant peers, knowledgeable and legendary professors, and a diversity of personalities, ideas, talents, and skills made me realize quite a lot of things about myself and about others. It was both a humbling and inspiring experience, but admittedly, it wasn’t easy for a SOH student like me. All I had was my high school diploma and my course—AB Literature—as my one-way ticket to helping me become a better writer with better chances. Although my idealism was the very thing that got me here, something else threatened to take place and control my thoughts/actions—and it was that of self-doubt.

Ah, yes. Self-doubt—often the artist’s worst enemy and constant companion. It can come in waves, thought bubbles, and it can even be unknowingly etched in the subconscious of our minds—this voice that brings us down before we can even try to succeed, this voice that downplays every success and triumph, and this voice that seems to emphasize even the smallest setbacks and shortcomings as an artist struggles in the art of something. 

Though I never fully acknowledged its presence, I knew “it” was there—this nagging feeling that I couldn’t seem to shake off. It manifested itself in the smallest ways. There were those pesky Math classes I was still required to take and struggled to pass, those classes that I excelled at in high school but ended up getting mediocre/averages grades in during my first year here. There were papers to write for Filipino, in which I pretentiously thought I could get an A by impressing my professor with the superfluity of my flowery words, verbose style, and “poetic” prose—only to end up with something like a C or a C+ on the first draft (one that admittedly hurt my ego). And those articles you see on Yahoo! don’t help, either (“Subjects You Shouldn’t Let Your Kids Major In”—in which Humanities courses would be listed). 

I remember one particular class in which I was listening to my professor talk about the literature in the Philippines from the precolonial to contemporary times—and although I can’t remember what question he asked, I do remember this one classmate who raised his hand (for what seemed like the nth time) and said—all in one breath--“Maybe it implies the phallocentric ideology of society back then, as well as the attempts in justifying imperialism and the continued existence of neocolonialism,” and I just sort of stared at the blackboard in front of me, letting the words sink in (when in truth, all I could think of was, “BIG WORDS BIG WORDS BIG WORDS I DON’T UNDERSTAND…” “Phallo-WHAT?” “God, I need to Google these words when I get home later…”)

I know of people who can write, sing, dance, act, and speak more than two languages—and they’re not even in SOH. I remember my seatmate in Math class who sketched so well, who practically doodled Magnum Opuses while the teacher talked about functions and graphs, and she modestly said that it was just a hobby for her. Just one look at other people’s blogs, Heights folios, and The GuidOn articles (with the headlines: 7 Ateneans win the prestigious Palanca Award) would be enough to trigger self-doubt (and of course, the huge waves of admiration and awe). Sure, my friends and I would often joke and say, “BUT HOW DO U WERD,” “NOT WORTHY,” and “HOW DO U WRITER,” but if it were not for the jokes, I would have felt much more worried. I seriously started to sit down and think, over and over again: Is this really what I want? Is this really where I’m meant to be? (How cliché, I admit—but it was necessary to ask.)

Many people I know are brilliant and prolific writers, and I knew they only looked at it as a hobby—and even this started to discomfort me just a little. In my case, writing was almost my everything (not to be melodramatic about it…but it’s true). Writing was and is the constant in my life. While I changed as a person, while my interests changed, while I lost interest in some hobbies, writing never got boring for me, and writing was never just a hobby. Realizing how much I depended on this and how I unknowingly made it the foundation of my life (and the direction of my future) scared me. I had invested a lot in this. Was it worth it, I wondered? 

At the end of it all, I can still wholeheartedly tell you: yes. 

Knowing that I struggled with self-doubt made me realize something. Caring deeply about your art makes you vulnerable to it. It makes you very sensitive, very passionate, and so deeply involved with it. Once in a while, you will probably find yourself questioning your motives and entertaining second thoughts about your course and career plans—and if you find yourself doing this, know that others in the past have felt this way, too, and yet they still chose to push through, they still chose to struggle. Being SOH students and artists—being human with goals and ambitions--it’s natural to feel this way. 

Art as a whole is a struggle. The reason why art exists and why it has survived throughout the centuries is because it struggled to do so, and it persists, as it always resurfaces. Even if it does not appear to have a practical purpose, it still lives because humans have attached value to it. It feeds our soul. It’s what keeps humanity going, and as humanity struggles, art is born, and in turn, art shows us that we are struggling. Our art is our ideals, and we’re all trying to reach for it. Whatever our art may be—singing, dancing, acting, writing, drawing, designing, etc.—the fact is, we are all struggling. We are all novices in our art, something of which no one has fully mastered. The goal is not be the best, but to be good enough, to contribute something, and maybe change someone’s perspective with something you thought and created. 

  When you attempt to make art, there will always be struggle and a hint of imperfection, but it is that same struggle that makes art beautiful—and there also lies the art of struggle, and the struggle in art. Even as I write this article, reread it, and edit over and over, I admit that I struggle in the art of prose, and that’s okay, because art is not something you can easily capture—it is the result of different attempts, and I hope that through this, I am able to get my point across with what I’m writing by telling you that’s it’s okay to doubt yourself, but it’s never okay to let your doubts stop you from pursuing your art. Every artist will struggle, but struggle is also a sign that you’re climbing. If ever you feel inadequate or inferior, turn it around and use everything as inspiration instead of getting discouraged. 

Despite everything, I still encourage you to struggle. Perhaps this is the most beautiful thing about it—our attempts to perfect, our attempts to capture, our attempts to embody something, to capture images and ideas even in the smallest ways despite self-doubt—is already an art in itself. Keep at it, anyway, and know that you’re not alone, because SOH students all struggle in their art at one point or another. 

There is struggle in our art, as there is art in our struggles. 

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Bianca Ishbelle Bongato, 17, is an AB Literature (English) sophomore at the Ateneo de Manila University.