April 1. 2011. .Rainy.
Seeing my art typed on the school newspaper didn't make me feel any tingle. Ever since Emily told me about Ms. Chow's recommendation concerning my satire assignment being published, I felt nothing special. She had occasionally suggested for me to enter into provincial competitions. But I always brushed them off. In one ear. Out the other. No one cares about whatever I write. I always imagined having Ms. Chow's recommendation stamp on my paper, the full marks written on my paper by her as something unbelievably epic and a life-changing honor that would never happen to me. Guess not.
Everyone kept saying, "Are you crazy? It's such an honor! Obviously publish it!" Even when I wanted my brother to read it and give me advice. He didn't look at it. "Just publish it." Doors shut. The end. But I couldn't help but hesitate. I'm not exactly sure what made me second guess. It's not like anyone would really appreciate what I write, or even bother to read it. It's a satire based on A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift in the 1700's. Yawn. I guess I didn't really feel anything because my audience is empty. My theater will always be left closed. Filled with plays and programs, but no one to witness it. No one really can understand what I write, what I am aiming to do unless it's a teacher. That's why I never once thought that my writing is a talent. I never let anyone venture into my world. It's all forbidden. Duct-taped. Locked. A deadly knot.
I simply don't want to be critiqued. I'm scared of fingers pointing at my papers. Magnifying my unnoticed mistakes. I never received any harsh ones when it came to creative writing. All the teachers that read them would just pat me on the shoulder and tell me I did great. Almost everything flaw they can see sticking out, I already saw it the moment I wrote it. But I guess that is the nature of creativity. Nothing can be suggested or pushed. All is within.
***
Slowly, I begin to crack open into reality. Step by step, keeping my balance. I have to accept that I'm not perfect. But I'm blessed. I have a body that functions. It can digest, it can move, it can hold others. Some people have legs but are unable to walk. Some have eyes that can not see. They are confined, and I'm not.
My mom has always told me that I "should only buy things that I need, not what I want." Although I don't always apply that to my daily life (= ="), I shouldn't punish myself for something I want but can't seem to achieve or embody. I already have what I need to survive. And I should thank God for all I own. Although I can't change my ideas and personal requirements completely, I finally reached this obvious epiphany.
Yes, there will always be people that are wealthier.
Stronger.
Smarter.
Prettier.
But I can only offer what I am given. I can only utilize what I can grab. I shouldn't base my happiness on a comparison between other's accomplishments and my own. I've already used everything to its fullest extent. If I continue to be my own harsh critique, I will never improve. I would just sink deeper, faster. I always slip. Fall face first. Scratched and bleeding. But it's inevitable. Always will be. But I can always put a bandage, and move on. Or pick on it. Infect it further. Farther from the answer. Longer in time.
I shouldn't judge others and shouldn't use my mouth to say foul or petty things. I shouldn't consider concealing my eyes with fake circle lenses. I always thought that all should appreciate God's decisions without question. Big or small. Many or limited. All have reasons. But now I'm here doing the opposite of what I believed in. Contemplating changing what God has given me. Possibly harming and leaving scratches on my eyes.
I want to just keep my lips sweet. Lips that make others laugh, or teach them something they may not know. Lips that show appreciation for others. Like they once was. I want to be my old self. The one I recognize and know.
My body functions perfectly.
