Trigger warning: This article contains discussions of eating and exercise disorders.
I RUN a well-oiled machine—a system constantly maintained and optimized for happiness, productivity, and self-improvement. At the age of fifteen, it became my goal to quantify and min-max every aspect of my life: hobbies, finances, sleep, and even my time usage down to the minute.
My life has always been measured by percentages, progress bars, and personal bests—whether it’s as frivolous as being a Spotify artist’s top 0.001% listener and maintaining the BeReal streak I’ve had since freshman year, or as grave as the Body Mass Index that told me I was obese.
What began as a way for me to meet my goals turned into an unhealthy obsession with the calories I consumed. There was a thrill in seeing the number on the weighing scale go down as I was on track to meet my target weight, losing 0.2 pounds per day with minimal fluctuations. It felt rewarding to see the number drop each day, confirming that my actions were paying off. All I had to do was skip breakfast and lunch and end the day with light dinner and exercise: 100 grams of rice (135 calories) and 200 grams of ulam (on average, 250 calories) minus 30 minutes on the treadmill (100 calories).
Over time, the toll on me became impossible to ignore: chattering teeth, hair loss, leg cramps, memory loss, and mood swings. Conversations, celebrations, and even ordinary moments became secondary to the noise in my head. I had been so fixated on chasing a number that I dismissed every warning my body was giving me.
Attempting to undo the damage, I made an effort to live in the moment without counting how many calories I ate or hours I spent with loved ones. After stepping away from tracking, I came to realize that the most meaningful parts of my life were often the least measurable.
My fixation on numbers did not develop in isolation. Growing up with smartphones made these metrics all the more accessible and increasingly unavoidable—from step counts to social media reach—just as society began treating these values as success indicators. Nowadays, society increasingly measures people through data, metrics, and performance, even life-altering decisions such as how much one pays for insurance or whether one is screened for the next stage of a job application are now made with big data.
More and more, this mindset trickles down into our self-perception—that reaching the arbitrary targets we set will change something fundamental about us: Losing x pounds means I will be able to accept how I look, checking off x tasks today means I’ve been productive, getting x number of comments on a post means I’m well-liked.
While I still value tracking, I’ve learned my needs, emotions, and ambitions cannot be boiled down to a single number. Metrics can give us a baseline we can work towards improving, but they will never tell the full story.
Accepting when I fall short of these targets has led me to realize that I am not a robot capable of meeting everything that I demand of myself—I am more than what I can track, calculate, or achieve. The tally in my head may never stop, but I no longer let numbers have the final say in who I am.
Qichsia is a Management Engineering senior at the Ateneo de Manila University. With a background in design and data, she champions climate justice and uplifts the local creatives industry by combining human-centered research with strategic planning.
Editor’s Note: The views and opinions expressed by the opinion writer do not necessarily state or reflect those of the publication.
