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Saturday, May 21, 2011

My perfection.

Sometimes, amidst my ideas of perfection and its antonym, I'm often left to believe, if what I live is along my ideas of anything adept. If utopia is just a word, and never to be achieved. If ever the thousands of flaws i see in myself can be over-looked, by not just me, but by the world alike. Sometimes, I'm often found in quest for all that is beautiful inside me.
Ever so often, the naked me feels vulnerable.
I do not recall if as a child, there were these questions of perfection in my head. But then, back then, these things didn't matter. It all looms large, as you grow up, and when you assume greater importance in your scheme of things, that the real you makes you feel uncomfortable. How your face is not pretty enough, and how sometimes, if not always, you will be subject to some sort of inferiority. Having said that...


Me is not perfect, but me has its spectacles.
The real me, wakes up from sleep in a disheveled manner. With the hair bedraggled, the eyes all puffy. No, she does not wake up to look like the beautiful women on television. Perfect, she's totally not. Externally, that is.
She takes a lot of time in choosing the right outfit for the right occasion, and always finds herself falling short in the end.
She wished she had larger eyes, and prettier hair, and looks, that only movies boast of.


Frankly, the real me, has stopped caring about all that quite some time back. 


She assumes her share of importance when she catches hold of her favourite pen, and her favourite notebook, that contain her little tit bits of wisdom.
She sings with joy, when she instantly recognizes one of her most favourite songs being played in the distance. Yes, she secretly sings the song in her heart, and wishes she could strum the guitar as well as some of them do. 
She secretly chuckles at how funny her hair looks, on a bad hair day.
She secretly blushes at compliments, and pats herself for her deservedness on her back, though she might put up a straight face and nod in humility. Having done that, she congratulates herself once again for pulling off the straight face act.
She will never, and I repeat, never will she lose count of the niceties led to her. 
She doesn't look at herself when she passes by in a mirror.
For her, she makes a hell lot of sense, more than to anybody else she ever will.


I might say i don't care
Silently enough to sham myself,
only that i don't succeed,
all the more hoping if only things were a little better.
Sometimes, laconic complaints will surface, 
and external beauty will be searched for,
but the night will eventually give in to the day
and as the sun rays seep in,
I will be more relevant.
More extensive.
More beautiful, 'cause my inner courage will transpire,
and lead me on to eloquent beginnings, 
and satisfying ends.
The complaints will die a natural death,
and not much attention will be given to the hair,
The nuances will be looked up to,
and applauded to bring in the natural flare,
yes, the real me is a beautifully, innocent thing to be.




-Me.




So, the real beauty in me, has to be the ability to look beyond my imperfections. To nag about them, yet feel comfortable in my own little space I call world. That's 'cause loving oneself for what you are has to be the greatest form of contentment.



PS : I have posted this story under the topic "What does Real Beauty mean to you?" for Yahoo! Real Beauty.
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5 comments:

Eon Heath said...

Hey, Hi
well, like they say, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, i say, so does perfection....
perfection is the ability to see something or some person beyond its / their imperfections...

:) you do so in this beautiful write up...


Regards,
The Silhouette...

Blasphemous Aesthete said...

If I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet,
Or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror,
No vanity's displayed:
I'm looking for the face I had
Before the world was made.

What if I look upon a man
As though on my beloved,
And my blood be cold the while
And my heart unmoved?
Why should he think me cruel
Or that he is betrayed?
I'd have him love the thing that was
Before the world was made.

~Yeats


He spoke for me, once, many times, will continue to. I hope you understand. :)

Beautiful write up.

Cheers,
Blasphemous Aesthete

Someone is Special said...

very beautiful write-up.. I agree with BA.. here is a heart expressing what does true beauty means

Someone is Special

a1gaurav said...

wonderful lines !
u might consider changing the display format of the comments section.. :)

Amar said...

I've believed..If you've the power to believe in yourself..Feel blessed because a lot of people cannot do that! A very beautiful post! :)


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