It has just dawned on me that I have been spending most of my life trying to be perfect. The perfect daughter who gets the top spot in the class. The perfect friend who always listens, who always tries to run some damage control whenever there is a conflict in the clique. The perfect girlfriend who understands, who tries her best to get to know football, politics, music, film, video games, to be able to become a great conversation partner. The perfect writer. The perfect acquiantance. Or even, the perfect enemy.
I don’t think I have succeeded. I think, often times, I only say so and try so to compensate my overwhelming flaws that keep coming up here and there.
But even so, a lot of times, I just wish to arrive a home that reminds me how it is perfectly fine to be imperfect.