The loudest sounds in a room filled with achievers aren’t always the cheers— it’s the thoughts you try so desperately to silence.
“First place…”
As the speaker recognized their awards, my hands moved on their own, striking along with the rhythm of the people around me. They deserved it after all.
They always did.
Each step they take toward the stage, a seed of doubt plants within my mind— the thoughts becoming louder with every award called under their name.
Why couldn't I do that?
I’m capable enough, right?
I pushed the thoughts down, it’s not like I’ll reap anything if I continue thinking that way. I told myself that admiration is enough— being happy for someone else is enough proof that I’m a good person.
But admiration doesn’t always stay pure.
At first it inspires. It fuels you to do better the next time. It tells you that you can emulate what they did too. But over time when the distance between where you are and where they stand gets further and further, admiration turns into something heavier. Something quieter.
Why did they do what I didn’t?
Was I ever enough?
Or was I just pretending that I was?
The event remained gleeful, filled with voices full of pride— unaware that something in me dimmed. Not completely— but enough to notice.
Maybe it was my spark.
Because envy doesn’t always wound loudly. Sometimes it extinguishes the spark quietly.
Sometimes, it subtly seeps in, disguising itself as self-reflection.
Until you realize that it has begun to reshape how you think of yourself.
I did not hate them, I could never.
That would have been the easier choice.
Instead, I continued to admire them. I respected their hard work and the hours they spent honing their craft.
I clapped because they truly deserved it.
But beneath the sincerity was something weighing on my shoulders— a weight I could no longer ignore.
It was the weight of knowing.
Knowing that I could’ve done more.
Knowing that I could be more.
Knowing that I wasn’t far behind.
And now I was left watching.
People eventually moved on, the applause ending— as it always does.
But the thoughts stayed.
I wondered if the distance between me and the stage was ever real— or was it something I built myself, piece by piece, doubt by doubt.
Perhaps the hardest part isn’t seeing someone else succeed.
Instead it is realizing that the gap between you and them is not impossible to reach— rather it is something closer. Something within reach.
And somehow, still slips through your fingers.
Written by Temposage
Temposage is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
