Charls Freinster Basubas

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In his heartfelt essay “Failed Caterpillar,” Charls Freinster Basubas opens up about the struggles of self-doubt, judgment, and the pressure to succeed.

Awarded First Place in the PhilScholar Essay Writing Contest 2025, Charls shares his personal journey of transformation and resilience.

His story is a powerful reminder that, like a caterpillar breaking free from its cocoon, we too can overcome life’s challenges and rise stronger.

Achievements:

  • Award: First Place in PhilScholar Essay Writing Contest 2025
Philscholar | Certificate of Outstanding in Essay Writing
Awarded to Charls Freinster Basubas
In Recognition of Outstanding Achievement
January 17, 2025
S.Y 2024-2025

“Failed Caterpillar”

By. Charls Freinster Basubas

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I dream of becoming a doctor, to save lives and ease pain, but how can I heal others when I can’t even heal myself? How can I stand strong for someone else when my own strength is fading away? If I can’t find the will to move forward, how can I ever help someone else fight their battles? Do I even deserve to dream when my life feels like a mess I can’t fix? This is the story of the “Failed Caterpillar,” struggling in a cocoon of my own making, wondering if I’ll ever grow the wings I once believed I could. Trapped forever or is it?

THE YOUNG CATERPILLAR

You see, for years, I was labeled. I was branded. “Dumb,” they said. “Useless,” they whispered. And this all started when I was just a kid, back in elementary school. I didn’t know any better. I was just a child trying to make sense of numbers, letters, and the endless worksheets they shoved in front of me. But somehow, that wasn’t good enough. My classmates would ace their quizzes, smiling as the teacher praised them, while I sat there staring at my paper, covered in red marks that screamed, “Not good enough.”

“Why can’t you be like them?” they’d say, their voices dripping with disappointment. “Why don’t you try harder?” But I WAS trying. I was trying with everything I had. But no matter how much I tried, no matter how many nights I spent staring at my books until my eyes stung, I could never measure up. It was like there was something broken inside me, something they could all see that I couldn’t fix.

The kids in my class weren’t subtle about it either. They’d snicker when I couldn’t answer a question fast enough, rolling their eyes like I was some kind of joke. “How do you not know that?” they’d say, loud enough for the whole class to hear. I wanted to disappear. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Even the teachers, the ones who were supposed to help, would look at me with that same tired expression, like I wasn’t worth their time. Like I was a problem they couldn’t solve.

I hated it. I hated how they all seemed to decide, so easily, that I was nothing. That I’d never be anything. I hated the way their words followed me home, turning into a voice inside my head that whispered, “They’re right. You’re just dumb.” I was just a kid, but even then, I could feel the weight of it, like I was carrying a boulder too big for my tiny shoulders.

Back then, I didn’t know how to fight back. I didn’t know how to prove them wrong. All I knew was the sting of their laughter, the heat of my own tears, and the crushing thought that maybe, just maybe, I really was as useless as they said.

THE ADOSLESCENT CATERPILLAR

But in high school, I fought back. Reading over textbooks until my vision blurred and the words bled together. I studied harder than I ever thought I could, fueled by a quiet desperation to prove them wrong. I earned awards that gleamed like fragile shields, and when my name was called as a student “with honors,” I thought I’d finally silenced the whispers.

But I was wrong.

The whispers didn’t stop. They only morphed, twisting into new shapes, sharper and more suffocating. Now it was, “You can’t slip.” “You have to be perfect.” The weight of their judgment turned into an anvil strapped to my chest, pressing down harder with every breath. The walls of my room, once a sanctuary, felt like they were closing in, lined with trophies that stared at me with hollow eyes, mocking me in my solitude.

Every people came with invisible chains, binding me to the crushing expectations. Every test was a battlefield, every mistake a dagger to my pride. The same people who once sneered at my failures now dissected my successes, whispering behind cupped hands, “Is this enough? Can they keep up?” When I stumbled, their eyes gleamed, hungry for my fall. And when I triumphed, their applause felt hollow, laced with the unspoken command to climb even higher.

It was a never-ending cycle, failure invited ridicule, success invited more. The suffocating pressure, the ceaseless demands, it felt like the air was being squeezed from my lungs, leaving me gasping for the freedom to simply breathe.

THE QUITTER CATERPILLAR

I stood on the edge, literally and figuratively, questioning everything. Would anyone even care if I disappeared? Would anyone even notice? Those were the darkest days of my life.

I’m tired. I’m so tired. I don’t even know how to say it anymore. How to make anyone understand. Every single day, it’s the same. The same pain, the same emptiness, the same screaming inside my head that no one hears. What’s the point? What’s the point of waking up, of breathing, of trying, when everything just falls apart?

I keep fighting. I swear I do. But it’s like the world keeps pushing, keeps crushing, and I can’t hold it up anymore. I just want it to stop. I want it all to stop. I don’t want to feel this anymore. Do you hear me? I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!

You win, okay? I GIVE UP! I don’t care what happens! I don’t care about anything anymore. I just want peace. That’s all I’ve ever wanted! Just a moment where it doesn’t hurt. Why can’t I have that? Why does it have to be like this? I don’t want to wake up tomorrow. I don’t want to keep waking up. I just… I just want it all to end.

I remember standing at the top of the stairs, the kind that seemed to go on forever, disappearing into the shadows below. It was late, and the house was silent. My thoughts were louder than they had ever been, drowning out everything else. I gripped the handrail, my knuckles turning white, my body trembling, not from fear, but from the weight of hopelessness.

I looked down at the steep, unforgiving steps and thought, Maybe this is it. Maybe if I just let go, it would all end. The pain, the whispers, the constant feeling of being a burden, it could all disappear in an instant. I convinced myself no one would miss me. No one would even notice.

Slowly, I leaned forward, testing the edge. My heart was pounding, though not out of hesitation. It was the kind of racing heartbeat you feel when you know the end is near. I closed my eyes and imagined the relief of silence, of not having to face another day of feeling like I didn’t belong.

One foot moved forward, then the other. My body teetered, and for a split second, I felt weightless. It was as if I was giving in to the void that had been pulling at me for so long.

But then something stopped me. It wasn’t a voice or a sign, just a sudden realization, sharp and clear as lightning: What if this doesn’t end the pain? What if it just creates more? For someone else?

I stumbled back, gasping, my knees giving out beneath me. I sat there on the cold, hard floor, tears streaming down my face, realizing how close I had come to disappearing forever. And in that moment, as broken as I felt, I realized I wasn’t ready to give up.

Not yet..

I’m tired!

I’m tired.

I’m… ti…red…

But what can I even do? I guess being tired is a proof that I’m still alive? That I’m doing best? Or just being stupid?

THE ADULT CATERPILLAR

Now, as a Grade 12 student, this is my final year in high school. My last chance to prove myself. My last chance to show everyone who doubted me that we are more than their labels, more than their expectations.

But this year isn’t just about proving them wrong. This year is about breaking free. Breaking free from the chains of their judgments, the endless cycle of “not enough” and “too much.” This is the year I prepare for my metamorphosis.

Because when I enter college, I won’t just be a student anymore. I will be a butterfly breaking out of its cocoon. I will finally spread my wings and rise. All this pain, all this pressure, it won’t define me anymore. It will fuel me. It will push me to soar higher than I ever thought possible.

To those who are still trapped in their own cycle, I say this: you are more than their words. You are more than their expectations. And one day, you will rise too.

This is my year. My final chapter as a caterpillar. And when I leave this stage of my life, I will be unstoppable. I will fly even If I’m labeled as the “failed caterpillar”.

The question is: Can I really do this? Can you really do this, self?

I hope so… I really believe on it, I really do…

Do everything in your power, Charls the Failed Caterpillar!

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