Sometimes, I zone out and think about why is it that when others understand something in class after a second's thinking time, I have to take a minute.
Sometimes, I see people dancing and wonder why is it that when they look so cool, I look like a fished-up sardine gasping for its last breath on a boat deck.
Sometimes, I hear passersby in the hallways saying hello to friends, and I wonder why I can't even muster a simple hi.
Sometimes, I wonder how some people can paint a masterpiece with words that seem to flow effortlessly from their mouths and pens while I have to think for such a long time before some scum comes out like the last dregs of a toothpaste tube.
Sometimes, in ballet, I wonder if my instructors have lowered their standards for me, praising me at every turn and never giving me any more corrections anymore like they do to everyone else.
Sometimes, when I see drawings by others, I wonder why their styles are so stable and so wonderful, while I can't even draw a human correctly.
Sometimes, I can't fall asleep and I wonder why, when everyone else around me is so marvelous, why, oh why, I can't be as good as them, or why I'm not satisfied with myself.
And to the last one, I can't find a good answer, because then I wonder why I am comparing myself to others as a way of judging success. Then the wondering goes on, and I wonder why I don't have the confidence to believe in myself. I wonder why I need confirmation of my ability from others. I wonder why I never believe them when they say I'm fine. Or amazing.
Sometimes I even wonder why I look so absolutely horrendous, and why everyone else always looks so perfect. Then I remember those nights in front of the bathroom mirror, where I was so very proud to be in my skin, where I knew from deep within that I was and still am beautiful. Truly beautiful, in my own way.
Then, finally, I realize that this cycle of wondering will continue. That this discouraging voice will always be in my head. It will shapeshift in accordance to society's standards. It will change as I grow older, as my perspective changes. Though in reality, this voice may be small, it can sometimes be so blaringly loud that it can't be ignored.
I will never be perfect, but I will also always be perfect in my own way. I don't need to be completely satisfied with myself. I just need to know that I will always be able to grow.
The whole world may not be in my hands, but
my world is in my hands. It's what I'll make of the world around me and what I'll make
into my own world that matters.
