Arrange the books in alphabetical order. Wipe them once a week.
When you are done, touch them again, tell them you adore nothing else.
Water your plants. Throw away every bit of dirt from their body.
And while you do that, stare at those raindrops on the windowpane.
Cherish rain even though it covers your shoes with mud.
Put the place-mats. Check if their color matches with the rainbow
love of the dishes you made. Smile when you chop those shallots,
tell the world, tears are for weak people and pragmatics.
Be proud of your spotless face once in a while, even when
your mirror reflects someone you don’t recognize anymore.
Put your favorite shade of pink because the world loves you
in pink now. Miss those bold red shades of yesteryears,
and tell your heart in a hushed tone: memory is just a mirage.
Smile when you don’t want to. Laugh because you have to. But
hug unconditionally. Remember those who won’t return.
Control your tears. Blow your nose. Hug again, tighter.
Strive to be the best in the group, even in those activities
in which people waste time. Try to start a gossip. Try
to escape one. At night while making notes, realize some
mistakes. Be harder on yourself tomorrow. It’s never enough.
Forget to dream. Because reality is where a perfectionist lives.
I grew up with a perfectionist. I saw some of them in my friend circle and extended family. Then I almost became one. Then I chose to change. To me, perfectionism is not about making yourself perfect, or making everything else perfect. There is more to the story.
A year ago, I wrote Recipe, homemade. Today, I wrote a different story following that tune.