I hate numbers
Ever since I was a kid, at home or school, people could get me to do almost anything. But if it involved numbers? Nope. Count me out.
Ask me to compute the total cost of something? No, thanks. Solve a math problem on the board? That might take a while … or forever. Ace a math test? Never happened.
Everyone in my circle knows math is not exactly my strong suit. My parents knew, my teachers knew, and I knew, too. And when you zoom out and look at the bigger picture of my family, it could make you raise an eyebrow.
I have a cousin who loves math so much she became an engineer. Another cousin around my age even won a big math competition in high school. I was raised by my mom and aunt, who are both fast when it comes to computing anything. Some of my relatives also have number-heavy jobs: bank officers, accountants, and math teachers.
So yes, I was the odd one out.
Family friends even said I was unlucky. And for a long time, I believed them. I doubted myself. I wondered why it was so easy for the rest of my family to do something so frustrating for me. Why couldnât I just âget it,â like most of them did?
Even though I excelled in other things, it felt like anything that dealt with numbers, especially math, always pulled me down. At one point, I tried to turn things around. I tried to convince myself that perhaps, if I try to love numbers, theyâll love me back. Spoiler alert: they didnât. I still wasnât at the same level as my family. At best, I was average.
And now, here I am, in my 20s. Iâve started resenting numbers all over again. But this time, for an entirely different reason.
Itâs not about solving for x anymore, or needing a calculator just to double-check a simple math answer. Itâs that now, as an adult, I realized most of my life problems somehow involve numbers.
Itâs not that Iâm flunking a math classâI already graduated in 2023. Iâve been working for almost two years. But even with that, I canât shake the feeling that I havenât achieved enough. And hereâs the irony: for someone who struggles with numbers, my life is now being measured by them.
I donât have much saved in my bank account. My parents, and other people connected to us, keep asking about my salary. As an only child, and with parents nearing retirement, some relatives have also hounded me with questions, asking if Iâm ready to take over their expenses. Can I afford it? Am I prepared? Itâs exhausting.
And with all that stress, Iâve noticed changes in myselfâmentally, physically. Iâve gained weight, and of course, some family members have to comment on it. You know, the âtumaba kaâ unsolicited remarks at reunions, even when youâre already fully aware of your body. It messes with your head.
On top of that, my parents and I recently talked about the possibility of going abroad. That conversation sent me spiraling into questions: Is my current background enough? Do I have years of experience needed? Are my credentials strong enough to qualify for a job and/or education overseas?
Once again … numbers. Always numbers.
Itâs like everything is answered with some kind of measurement:
âHow much money do I have?â
âHow much have I accomplished since I graduated?â
âHow long until I get promoted?â
âHow much experience is enough to be qualified for a certain role?â
âHow much weight did I gain this year?â
âHow much time do I have left to reach my goals?â
These questions bounce around in my head the moment I wake up and until I fall asleep. Every single day. Itâs a never-ending loop of counting: my progress, my mistakes, my savings, my deadlines. This has also made me schedule everything, trying to squeeze in time to build skills, get experience, and fix my finances.
But hereâs what bugs me the most: Why is it that we are always tied to a number?
Why does society measure how âsuccessfulâ someone is by how much they earn, how many properties they own, how many awards theyâve won, or how many years theyâve stayed in an industry? Why is our worth sometimes even measured by our physical appearance, bodiesâby weight, height, and how closely we conform to beauty standards set by someone else?
I didnât get numbers before, but perhaps now Iâm starting to slowly do. Iâm starting to get how they control our lives, how they make us feel like weâre behind, not enough, not doing things right. I get how theyâre used to compare us to other people, even to versions of ourselves we havenât yet become.
I hate counting how far Iâve come. I hate calculating how far I still have to go. I hate how numbers can make a person whoâs trying their best feel like theyâre falling short.
I could only wish that, sometimes, life wasnât measured so much in digits.
But thatâs only wishful thinking. So yes, Iâm sure of it. I really hate numbers.
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Ashley dela Vega, 23, is a writer with experience in marketing and media. She also volunteers for an NGO.
