A little piece to the Imperfect Mystery of my life.
He was a mystery, or maybe he just wanted to be one.
In the world full of chimeric perfection, he was nowhere. He was flawed, so flawed that he’d be hanged if imperfection was a felony.
Of course, he wasn’t that lucky.
Growing up as a mediocre and being reminded about it every morning in the hallways of his school, he knew he didn’t belong there. Amidst the fake smiles, fake promises and real envy.
All he wished for, back then, was an escape.
An escape from the misery, from the embarrassment of being himself and from the very own reality he lived in.
Nevertheless, there was one thing he liked about being the way he was— his subconscious. The part of his intellect that showed to him the sacred and the happy worlds of imagination. A world where he was perfect. Perfect not because he had perfectly aligned teeth and a fashionable dressing sense but because his world’s definition of perfect was being real.
Diplomacy, flattery, envy and jealousy were mere letters of the alphabet put together which had no meaning. Love, appreciation and happiness was all that mattered, here.
There was one major problem, however. It all existed in his mind. A place which only he could access, a world which no one else would knew about.
Alas, he was bound be mediocre in the real world and a perfect piece in the non-real world.
Then what changed him? What made him the person who he is now? A person with a smile always glued to his face and the illumination of burning stars in his eyes.
The answer is simple. The pen and paper, the keyboard and screen, the alphabet and ink, the imagination and curiosity, the words and the stories they tell, the rhymes and the songs they create. It was the power of his mind. The power of his will. Moreover, it was the power of writing. His greatest feat. His deepest rumination.
Is he perfect now? If you wonder, then you should know he’s not. He’s still the same mediocre man in the real world but he’s changing the real world. Contributing with others to make the real world a non-real utopia.
So maybe he is perfect, after all or maybe he just wants to be.