It is time we celebrate us, the perfectly imperfect ones.
Written on
erfect human beings don’t interest me.
Firstly, because they don’t exist. So It would be kind of weird to be interested in things non-existent. Secondly, if they do exist, they’d be boring as hell. You see, nothing happens in the life of a perfect human being. There is no rise, no fall. If the perfect human was a voice it would be a monotone that drones on and on and on. Their life has been a series of ‘good times’. But one wonders how they can classify that as good times when they’ve never seen bad times to hold up against and compare. Perfect people are like porcelain vases, they are good to look at, but no one is comfortable going too near them for fear of breaking them. Perfection, my dear friends, is vastly overrated.
It’s the deeply flawed, floundering yet striving people that interest me. The ones with scars to show and more than a single story to tell. The ones who’ve had their heart shredded to a million bits and spent years painstakingly stitching it back together. The ones who have seen the peaks and the valleys. The ones who have lived through the darkest of nights to witness a single sunrise. Who are these people? It is us, the regular folks. The ones who cherish happiness because they know what’s like to have nothing working for them. The ones who hold on through tough times because they know good things are waiting for them on the other side. The ones who love and lose and love again and never forget to laugh.
It is time we celebrate us, the perfectly imperfect ones.
Nazreen Fazal
Writer, Wife, Mother, Indian, Muslim. So many labels, one me. I write, I rant, I ramble in order to make sense of everything happening around. Join me on this journey as I share snippets of my life, going about work, my parenting wins and fails, and the murky waters that's long distance marriage.
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