Imperfect

I am the daughter who brought bad grades home. And every time I did, I saw a look of disappointment in my parents' eyes. I am the daughter who made my parents worry about my future. To the world that counts the intelligence of a child by their maths number, I was the stupid, head-in-the-clouds, immature person who cried at the slightest inconvenience. I matured later than my parents expected me to, and I was pretty sure at some point in my clueless life that I could perhaps never make anyone feel proud of me. The complaints were piling up.

But I did, I made myself proud of who I am the most. Everyone else comes after that. I found my way, I stick to my dreams and believe in my ability to fulfil them, maybe not all at once but slowly, gradually and finally. I became independent not by choice but by the way life experiences taught me to be self-reliant is the best way to keep me from expectations and hurt. I go through existential crises, knowing so does everyone else at all ages around me, trying to find meaning and purpose in things beyond our control. None of us has our lives going exactly the way we envisioned, and that is fine; we will figure it out.

© Suranya