Everything doesn’t have to be perfect
The title is simple and easy, but in case you need a reminder, here’s a story of mine.
September 23rd, 2020. Still stuck in quarantine.
Today, I kinda off, like really off. I usually find my peace through painting, even though I didn’t like watercolor that much. But unfortunately today is suck, I didn’t know where to go, what to draw, have no sketch, got zero idea, my brain is currently full of only words, and I don’t know how to convert them to painting. So I choose violet color instead, I stroke the brush, I started it so hard and ended up fucked my painting. I started to distract myself, get the new paper and draw some flower, with zero knowledge of technic, I keep reminding myself that, this wasn’t your life, it was only a painting, make mistakes, you can always try again.
No darling, it doesn’t turn that easy. But still I draw, the lines, the red ones, make a bouquet of fire flowers I guess, but I didn’t know anything else. I started to try to dip in the water, draw some grass, the green things, like pine tree, died tree with branches, and tulips.
I was born as the first child, as a female, and also the first in the family who continue her study to college. The pressure it’s really hard, I admit, but what appears on the ourside didn’t reflect as much as the inside. People said that I enjoyed my life, but no, not that much. As I said, I’m a role model to the youngest, I have to be that kind of A-straight student, with good scores, amazing experiences, a lot of knowledge, no boyfriend, and no time to complain. So in conclusion, I need to be perfect figure for everyone, especially for my family.
Finally the time comes, I’ve come to realization where i don’t have to be perfect, like painting, it has it’s own character, nothing’s better than others. No one in this world declare that Van Gogh is a lazy artist, the painting is such a mess, or the women that Da Vinci draws has no soul, they are all pale. No one ever said that, no one.
My heart is so full and I cried, I feel like today’s journey of painting has taught me something that I already knew but I denial about it. As a person who ever wanted to commit suicide, I just realize that my life was like a painting, like drawing your own fate, no directions, not knowing what to become, but I need to keep going, nothing will ever goes to waste, I still have to keep stroking the lines and don’t just stop, maybe paused for a sec to take a breath and think, but all I need is to keep going, or I will miss the best part of it. I don’t have to be find the purpose like right know, this time, I just have to be patient and we’ll see where it ends.
And all the echoes in my head suddenly make sense, I’m on painting duty to improve my skills on drawing branches of the died tree, it really is kills me to draw the perfect branches. There was the point where I missed all this time, even the died maple tree has their own beauty, the black branches they got, it still attractive though, they didn’t straight and thick, they are all so weak and thin dan fragile. If I dare to say, they don’t perfect at all, they crumpled, old, and soon will fall to the ground. And so do I, I’m a creature full of imperfection, I don’t have to be perfect fit for everyone, or everything doesn’t have to be perfect, shit happens, and it’s okay. Life is full of flaws so stop make it all about perfect only.
