The Trap of Trying
I will always fall for the trap of trying. Don’t confine me in the prison of perfection. I want to dance with wobbly steps, trying to catch up with the rhythm of the song and my inhibitions at the same time. I want to sing in a hoarse sound, where my notes are all over the place. I want to make art where a person also kind of looks like an animal. I want to make recipes just like my mom does, fail at them terribly, and end up creating a version of my own. It doesn’t have to be delicious. It just has to exist. Even if it is not my comfort meal, it is something that came from my conscience. I want things to get messy and then clean it all up, leaving some spots involuntarily; a reminder that nothing ever completely goes away. I want the things I create to carry a piece of me, a piece that is so innately me that I never question my own authenticity. I want my hair to be messy, just like my thoughts are sometimes. I want to wear lipstick even if it is smudged at the corners. I want to...