Every day I wake up with the thought that I was not good enough and no matter what I do I never will be. I’m the imperfect piece of perfection that never deserved the perfectionist you were. I am the torn piece of paper that never deserved to get the right ink that can be used on me. I’m the line that smudged the whole ink throughout the sheet. What remains are the marks of the pen that are so harsh to let go off. These pen prints are what set you apart. They are lines of damage that break you into pieces that can’t be put together again as much as they are the lines that shape you to become a more wholesome human being. What we mostly forget though is that even if either of the objects are broken, they still leave a scar, a scar that stays for the rest of your life. The pen isn’t supposed to just write only what you expect it to, it’s just a writing aid. What’s to be written can be spontaneous too. Sometimes the most unexpected words create the most surprising and hurtful impacts, even ones that you may have never imagined. Also remember, no pen is perfect, but that’s what makes it so unique. Even with less ink, there’s an affinity it shares with the writer. We only get to choose the pen and therefore we risk putting it as one of our favorite pens for free writing but sometimes overusing it makes it rough on paper and not glide as you write. Does that mean though that you one day change the pen only because it works but not as you’d like it to? Or would you rather change the refill or the ink cartridge and fix it from exactly where it was broken. The core competency of the pen was its ability to write, how it writes can differ in various conditions such as on soft or but as a writer you would still have a favorite pen than throwing it away because after a few attempts your writing seemed up to the mark. I’m by no means you shouldn’t get rid of the things that don’t work but no mistake or dysfunctionality makes life any more imperfect than it already is. We aren’t flawless but we’re filled with flaws in the most endearing manner. The relationship between a pen and a blank piece of paper is so special. It’s something similar to the bond between an artist and his canvas. The artist has a freedom to do almost whatever he likes with his canvas, something similar to the independence of pen and paper. But remember a pen is only as good as what it writes, and an artist’s brush is only as good as its strokes on a canvas. The question that arises here is, using what do you judge the picture, is it the artist's initial inspiration to paint or is it what he creates as a result of the resources he has or the depth of the colors he uses? In the same way do you judge the pen by the amount of ink it has or its longevity to write or even whatever’s written on the page. Your answer to the analogy can be quite different and that’s primarily why we are human. We’re human because of our perceptive nature. No one person can for sure say two things are the same. Our opinion is what differs with what we read or draw or even paint. Sometimes, you overlook the specifics of the pen because it’s written words that don’t please your eyes, but have you ever noticed that the same pen was there to help you write your best-selling piece? Why is it that we expect perfection out of the imperfectly perfect people that we are? Why is it that when the pen stops working, we stop reminding ourselves of the days when this pen was the one thing that we carry alongside our journals? Does making mistakes make you any smaller? Let’s say for once you’ll probably also learn to write well with the new pen, but does that mean you just throw away the old one? Would you do the same to the people around you? When they aren’t in the best situations, or let you down, you leave them because it felt like a convenient and easy way out of a bad situation? This is where the fault lies. For each imperfect and flawed painting on a canvas, there’s at least a few truly wonderful canvases with unforgettable designs yet for one reason or another the ratio between the two is often blown out of proportion. Hence, no matter how much good you do, in comparison with the bad, the guilt is never enough to cure the pain you caused. So never showcase your guilt because it’s only a desperate move on your behalf and means nothing to the people you have harmed. A home is made of the people you fill it with in the same way in which people are made by what you say to them. And people can be broken, sure, but any surgeon knows, what's broken can be mended. What's hurt can be healed. That no matter how dark it gets the sun's going to rise again. Sometimes, life is just like this. It’s never an objective answer, you can have multiple right answers to a question. Who’s to say that one’s righter than the other? This is the problem with perfectionists. No matter what you paint on a canvas, they fail to acknowledge that still is art and always ambiguous. Perfectionists don’t like ambiguity. They like it all clear. There is no flawless object, everything is flawlessly flawed and that’s what we miss out on. Just because a person makes a mistake or a collection of mistakes, we fail to look at them in a mature manner. Instead we see them as our emotional criminal. In the case of our canvas and paint brush, it is the one wrong or several wrong brush strokes that ruin a certain element of the design until we throw the whole canvas away. As far as the pen is concerned, it’s the excessive leakage we count as the sign that it’s time to get rid of the pen. Do you have a favorite pen that you can’t let go off? I’m not saying that you’ve got to hold it on for the rest of your life but aren’t those pens the ones that create a legacy? There is beauty in being flawed too and in the chase to perfection, we forget the flawed behind, there’s nothing wrong with being wrong, you’re only human and you’re wrong only because you were once right too. You can’t always expect yourself to be on the right side of everything. If you do, keep that pen or brush carefully, for the ones that break you can only fix you or make you some day. We fail to see those times. In the chase to perfection, we leave all the imperfections in the way as if they were nothing. Your flaws were what made you the perfectionist in the first place. Then why do we miss these out? To my dear damaged pen and paintbrush, I wish people look at you as objects of progress. I hope that your image in the eyes of fellow painters and writers is better than how tarnished it was before. What’s broken can always be fixed, unless the aid that fixes it is unwilling to do the needful.
0 Comments
|
AuthorStudent, Thinker, Writer with a passion for poetry & creative wordplay ArchivesCategories
All
|