“I’m Perfect” Oops! I mean Imperfect.
This world never had any time to empathize the reasons behind incarnations of my imperfections and it would never have any. I know, I am not good at others expectations of me. But I have my ground and I do not solicit the world’s agreement on this. Masses in and around me has got a mammoth listing of adjectives warranting my imperfections in their own way. Few of the many adjectives often invested for me are IMPOLITE, IMPATIENT, IMPOSSIBLE, IMMATURE, IMBALANCED, IMPROPER….bla bla bla.
If I sit back and review my distinctive day then it simply appears like this…
I unremarkably get up at any time in between 7.00 am and 9.00 am. The instant I wake up, I go straight down to my mom’s kitchen. Yes, it is hers………as I bear no role to play there. The path between my bedroom and my mom’s kitchen is dented by my granny’s room. There was never ever any day where I arrested any luck to fly the coop; especially my granny’s penetrating eyes. I go, look at her, she reciprocates and remarks IMPOLITE girl. She requires me to wish her GOOD MORNING and that’s the argue at the backside of her comment.
I make my way into kitchen to snap up a cup of coffee. I go along requesting for my casual dose of coffee and mom seems overly engaged, readying breakfast for the rest since 4.30 am. I ask for coffee and she screams IMPATIENT. I ask once again and she cries IMPOSSIBLE. You see, my mom is so benevolent. She affords me TWO adjectives for one mug of coffee. More often than not, I find my dad trying out his noesis about weird gizmos. He expends a big ratio of his morning time fixing up things. A midst all my liberally given personifications, I have a genial heart and I extend complimentary assistance to all. I say, “dad, need any help?” He answers, “nope dear. I am all fine.” Till this point, I feel good and the succeeding adjective narks me a lot. He sums up, “you are IMMATURE to deal with my dealings.” I walk uninfluenced, not learning how to react. I guess, I should take to heart only when I veritably consent with what they say.
Anyway, I gear up to my college, where a bunch of my unlike friends wait for me at the gate. They feel that my behavior is ill-timed. According to them, I laugh when I am expected to turn up a grave face. Yes, I laugh too much because I feel happiness is life and I see the life silently laughing tickling my funny bone. Not more than ten feet I displace, they echo “she is IMBALANCED.”
In the Science lab, my teacher asks me to draw some shapeless creatures and label them. For example, an amoeba, a formless protozoan. I draw an amoeba and she says, the diagram is IMPROPER. Blooming heck! She says there is no definite shape to it and how the heck it matters if I draw any form. Perhaps, she meant creating new form of amoeba………..a kind of evolved amoeba with a definite form.
I return home………….everything repeats, just with a svelte edition. Granny anticipates an evening wish instead of a morning one and I beg for a cup of tea instead of a mug of coffee. The remaining time finishes in my room; precisely, inside me. Every night, I feel………….. I am a big hoo-hah. Perhaps, heart of heart, I wish masses to cognize the things beyond their perception. I feel my mom has time for everyone. She is speedy at doing others’ things except mine because OTHERS demand a good deal of her time. I never exacted to be her priority any time. I unremittingly prayed for my morning coffee and was invariably the final to ask for my evening tea. Given a moment, I feel my mom takes my conforming nature for granted. I also feel, may be, I am the only person with whom she can be little easy with.
I am barmy being greeted by OTHERS. Every time, I be the first to wish a guest, friend, neighbor, teacher, headmaster, anyone for instance. I do not mind greeting my granny but in the deep pit of my heart, I pray others to greet me before I do.
Witnessing my dad dissecting the gadgets, as part of his morning ritual, I expect him to count on me and accept my service. I cry out to prove that I may not be that wise like him but I am mature enough to help my part. I guess, not holding yourself back when you see others breaking their heads is a sign of maturity.
I love all my friends and I wish they understand the way I feel about things and situations. After all, life is not about being serious all the while. I pray, they accept me with all my imbalances of which they whisper at my back.
I respect my science teacher sincerely. She never called me IMPROPER. By improper, she meant the diagram not me. I am so habituated being tagged with words starting specifically with “IM” that I end up taking the remark too personally. When the rest of all tags are categorized in one where should I put the only one meant for my diagrams? So I resign without googling for another category.
A NOTE ON THE BOOKMARK:
Oh! I deliberately left the rest of the pages until the last but one page blank because there is absolutely nothing to pen down. Just Ctrl+c and Ctrl+v needed. Do mind to witness the date changing on every page.
LAST PAGE OF THE DIARY:
A year passed and new tags used in my honor pooled up and the list started fattening. Whatever the tags be, they all meant ‘imperfections of mine’. At this point of nothingness in my life, there descended a special friend. This friend on a peculiar day, obviously my birthday, read my diary. A day before my birthday, I earnestly prayed for someone to edit my life’s story in my diary. This friend was the first to even out the handsomest blunders ever in the literature of my life. The first line in the diary was a total catastrophe. My friend counterbalanced the opening sentence and the remainder of lines got switched automatically. The structure was corrected and the whole story got a new definition and a renewed dimension. The friend executed a very fiddling job but the result was magnificent. It was just about restructuring IMPERFECT to I’M PERFECT. All the IMs were exchanged to I’Ms. Find and replace did a commendable job in my story. It was amazing to witness the result of this command. The adjectives read from Impolite to I’m polite; Impatient to I’m patient; Impossible to I’m possible; Immature to I’m mature; Imbalanced to I’m balanced and so on………
I guess, the first line was no accident. Connecting all the dots surfaced so far, I feel, I wished for someone to change ‘I am Imperfect’ to ‘I’m perfect.’ May be it was a little business to remove A between I and M……. put ” ‘ ” after I . Or its just that I prayed for someone to recognize this deliberate error of my subconscious mind.
Guessing who is that special friend of mine? Just look into the mirror and you will find yours. It is a waste of precious time yearning for someone special to change your life for good. There is no one as special as you are and as unique as you are and as gifted as you are. No one, ever walked on this earth, can replace YOU. It is YOUR life and only YOU have the unlimited potential to mess or mend your life.
THE LAST LINE:
Imperfect! Oops. I mean, I’m Perfect.
I guess, punctuation is damn important.