𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Jack of All Trades” By Angela Garilao

 

Published by: Shaina Pajarillo 

Date Published: February 9, 2026

Time Published: 7:55 AM

Category: Prose

Subject: The inner struggle of chasing many passions yet mastering none. 

There are so many things I know how to do, and sometimes I wonder if that’s even a good thing. I’ve spent years learning how to do everything—writing, singing, painting, crafting little pieces of myself into a hundred different things—and yet here I am, still feeling like I’ve mastered 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

Being a jack of all trades but a master of none feels less like a gift and more like a curse—like holding so many doors open, only to realize I can’t step fully into any of them. It’s like standing at the edge of a finish line I never seem to cross. I begin with excitement burning in my chest, only to feel the fire fade before I reach the end. I try again, and again, and again, yet each time I’m left falling short, chasing a version of myself that always slips away.

And it’s hard not to compare myself to others—the ones who seem so certain of their place, who cradle their passions like trophies and polish them until they gleam. I look at them and wonder, why can’t I be like that? Why do I keep chasing everything and mastering nothing? It’s maddening, knowing I can do so much and yet never be the best at any of it. I feel like a puzzle with too many missing pieces, no matter how many times I try to put myself together, I always end up incomplete.

But maybe there is nothing admirable about being this way. Maybe reaching for so many things only shows how easily I let them slip through my hands. Perhaps I was never meant to be defined—not by one passion, not even by all of them—but only by the fragments I’ve left scattered in my wake, pieces of unfinished attempts that never found their place.

On quiet nights, the weight of it keeps me awake. I lie there wondering if I will spend the rest of my life like this—scattered, unfinished, a collection of almosts. The saddest part is that I am beginning to believe this is who I am meant to be: a 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴, a 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦, a person 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩. 

And yet, even in the midst of it all, a small part of me refuses to let go. It clings to the thought that maybe there is a reason for every misstep, every fragment. Perhaps, one day, these scattered pieces will find their place, and I will finally see the shape they were quietly trying to form all along.