I am a perfectionist. I always have
been. I stopped learning guitar
because I don’t like making ugly sounds.
The fact that you are witnessing this is testament to the fact that I am
ok with being ok. Ok so I am learning. I may one day look back at these musings
and cringe. At the forced rhymes
and off timing. But maybe time
will tell of my journey. Of the
young girl I was who thought I had no right to aspire to inspire anyone if I
could not achieve in all. That
girl would not be so disheartened if she new what was to come. That her daddy would be proud to call
her ‘daughter,’ that her daughter call her ‘friend,’ her friend call her ‘lover.’ I hope she gets to the stage she
accepts who she is before she is much older than I am now. It is an exhausting existence hiding
talents under baskets, no matter how small the baskets need to be.
I have learnt one thing, though I have a
way to go.
I used to think my handwriting was too left-handed. Too squished and smudged and slanted to
be the sort of script someone would want to see in a love letter. But those
slanted sentences are the pouring out of my soul. They are proof that I am. That I think and feel and
breath. Though my letters may not look perfect they sure have
character.
