'I Have No Idea. I Am Not That Smart.'

I was not really watching then, yet sound from the television could not be ignored. Everyone just had a great time being arrogant winners and sore losers from the NBA championships just concluded a year ago. The San Antonio Spurs won. I heard this man answer questions from the media about their win, I assumed their coach. He caught my attention when this sportswriter asked him a long, technical, heavy-worded, winding, intelligent-sounding question about basketball. To which he answered, 'I have no idea. I am not that smart.' He then proceeded to answer the next reporter's question. 

I had to look up who the coach was, and learned his name is Gregg Popovich. I found myself smiling while looking at his photos, grey-haired, simply-clad, with eyes always in deep thought. He successfully gave the smart-ass reporter the middle finger with two short sentences: 'I have no idea. I am not that smart.' That, coming from a head coach of one of the best NBA teams ever, with a track record one can only read about. (I read.) Oh, those two sentences said with ease, humility, tempered with intelligence and class.

For years, I have considered myself brilliant. I seemed to know plenty ever since I can remember. When I first went to school, I was valedictorian of my class in kindergarten. I did that with no effort, I recall. I was third in the top three of the whole graduating class in the elementary, and the same when I graduated in high school. I did not have honors when I graduated in college, although I did make the grades for Cum Laude. This monster of a professor gave me a 75 in Physics, and a 75 was not allowed by the university to be on the transcripts of their honor students. If it means anything, I did breeze through my Economics course in three and a half years, and was Miss Economics on top of that. Papa was not very happy about the beauty title, but he was ecstatic about the three-and-a-half-year-college degree. 

I have this facility for the English language, I guess I got it from my family's genes. 'Inglisera Kuno' as my brother aptly pointed out. He also pointed out that I am who I am today because of him, not my being that ('inglisera kuno', which by the way I found so flattering I used that as my name in my blogs at blogspot, trip advisor and instagram accounts),  but that's another story altogether. I call myself 'a gifted child', jokingly, as I have this gift: of knowing, of speaking about what I know fluently, and of looking and sounding, well, brilliant. Perhaps I am who I am now, too, not only because of my brother and other kindhearted and generous people who believed in me, who helped me along the way, because of that 'gift', coupled with the rich experiences life has afforded me.

Anyway, lately, I surprise myself with words from my own mouth, in meetings and discussions where I am supposed to be the brilliant one. A case in point; when asked by a Provincial Board Member what other foreign-funding agencies had the same policies as World Bank, I replied, 'I have no answer to that at this time, sir, but I will find out and give you the answers when I have them.' He gave me a nod of respect. In a meeting with my colleagues, I candidly expressed my frustration over our accomplishments and blurted out, 'Tell me what I can do for you now, so we can make this happen. Because truth is, I don't know anymore. I thought I have given you all that you needed.' Everyone who heard that had to keep their jaws from falling, like I admitted to some unforgivable sin. 

Perhaps it is because of my own doing, that now that  I am older, more mellowed, mature (at 48, yes), collected, resigned, accepting, those who know me are surprised at my 'ok-whatever' stance in all the chaos around me. I have postured myself to be the go-to-girl, the leader of the pack, the voice of reason, the know-it-all, the solution-to-all-problems-of-mankind, the superwoman who will and can do it all, a hero. Back in the day, I did everything, and I mean all, even pushing my limits to the unimaginable, to make others all right, to my own detriment. These days, I discovered, with great pain, that I will not die if I admitted I can no longer be Wonder Woman. One described me 'ok ka na sana.', with the 'sana' hanging over my head, like a long list of all the faults, weaknesses, flaws, ready to roll out I imagine written in a manuscript like in the olden times, to hit me right on top of my head, to crush my dignity to bits. 

Like Popovich, I can now say, 'I have no idea. I am not that smart.' Thank God. This is me. I am stupidly vulnerable, I have irrational compassion, I bear false pride, I am burdered with responsibilities and obligations which stretched to spreading myself too thinly, I am inadequate. I do give myself points though, for simply being me. I give all that is handed to me in this life, my best shot. I give in to my feelings, I help even when I know I am being taken for a ride, I lash out at those who dare criticize me for all my indiscretions, I work harder and harder to earn my keep, and make me worthy of the post I hold. Most importantly,  I bear hope, not only for others, but for myself, too. I may not have all the answers now, but I bear hope. I am enough. Truly, I believe, I am enough. If I am not enough for others, I am not so arrogant as to say, leave me. But I will no longer beg that you stay.