Kapag Hindi Na Ako Matalino, May Silbi Pa Ba Ako?

Kapag Hindi Na Ako Matalino, May Silbi Pa Ba Ako?

A love letter to every overachiever who's also the family's quiet survivor.

“Kids who grow up with people telling them they’re smart become extremely vulnerable when they think they’re no longer useful.”

— Anna, Korean drama starring Bae Suzy

Some quotes don’t just make you pause—they hold a mirror to your soul.

This was one of them.

Because if you grew up in a typical Filipino household, being the “matalino” often felt like your entire identity.

Your brilliance wasn’t just celebrated—it was expected.

It was your currency. Your armor. Your ticket out.

But no one talks about what happens when life humbles you.

When your shine fades.

When you no longer know who you are without the medals, the praise, the “ikaw na naman ang top.”

No one talks about how lonely it feels when you’re no longer the child prodigy, but just a person. Still breathing, still trying, still aching.

The Gift That Became a Burden

You became the family’s hope.

“Siya ‘yung magpapatayo ng bahay.”

“Siya ‘yung mag-aahon sa atin sa hirap.”

“Siya ‘yung matalino—hindi puwedeng pumalpak.”

So you gave everything.

You said yes to expectations you never agreed to.

You lived for the dreams that weren’t yours.

You turned your childhood into a proving ground.

And every time you failed—even a little—it didn’t just feel like a mistake.

It felt like a betrayal.

Paano Pa Kaya Kung Ikaw 'Yung Bakla?

Now imagine if, on top of being “the smart one,”

you were also the gay one.

The unspoken secret. The "buti na lang matalino, kaya tanggap kahit papaano."

Paano pa kaya kung bakla ka—at laging may dapat patunayan bago ka mahalin ng buo?

You learned early to perform not just intelligence,

but strength, grace, and charm—

to overcompensate for simply being who you are.

You became the family clown.

The achiever.

The one who had to shine just so they wouldn’t look too closely at your truth.

And sometimes you wonder,

“Kung hindi na ako top student,

at bakla pa rin ako,

may silbi pa ba ako sa kanila?”

To the Ones Who Carry This Quiet Pain:

You are not alone.

You never were.

There are so many like you—

The queer, brilliant ones who grew up thinking love was something to be earned.

But hear this:

You are not just “useful.”

You are not just “tolerated.”

You are worthy, even when you’re not excelling.

You are valid, even when you’re not performing.

You are loved, even when you’re soft, scared, messy, and figuring it all out.

You don’t need to keep proving yourself to deserve your place in your own family.

You don’t need to be the smartest, the funniest, the most successful, or the most forgiving just to be accepted.

You are enough.

Let This Be the Beginning of Our Healing

Let’s stop praising children only when they win.

Let’s stop making our LGBTQ+ siblings feel like they have to earn their seat at the table.

Let’s teach our families that brilliance is not a bargaining chip.

That queerness is not a debt to repay.

That kindness, softness, and stillness also deserve applause.

Because if no one ever said it before, let me say it now:

You matter—kahit hindi ka na matalino.

Kahit bakla ka.

Kahit pagod ka na.

Kahit tahimik ka lang ngayon.

You broke cycles just by surviving.

You are the proof that love can be reclaimed.

And you are the kind of story the next generation deserves to hear.

You were never the burden. You were always the light.