February 05, 2025
right now, as I am typing this, I am sharing a little love story with “Skinny Love” by Bon Iver. on the train, I sit, and I share little secrets with “Walkin’ After Midnight” by Madeleine Peyroux. through low days with no motivation, Tracy Chapman guides me through my sorrows and shows me the beauty of what my sadness blinds me to.
when I listen to “Wild World” by Cat Stevens, I think of my father and remember all that he has taught me, good and bad. my father has been my everything and also my nothing. as a child, I remember him being my best friend, me and him against the entire wild world. puberty hit, life took its course, and things began to get difficult for my family, and suddenly, everything was different. my father was no longer my partner in crime, he was no longer my friend. years passed, and my anger towards him turned into resentment. and I thought it would be just that for the rest of my life, but I’m so glad I was wrong.
but slowly and surely, things took a turn again for the better. I often became highly critical of each of his actions, and I stopped and began to think of why. why are we highly critical of those we love sometimes? for me, it was because I put them, their character, and their behaviour at a higher standard than mine. I put him on a pedestal, and when he didn’t act upon the job requirements of the position I gave him, it didn’t make sense in my brain, and I retaliated. two important lessons I’m beginning to learn in my 20’s, no one is perfect, and time heals.
I know each of these things sounds a little premature in terms of the literality of what they state, but let me explain. my lesson, resulting in my conclusion that “no one is perfect,” was taught to me like this. everyone exists in their own brain, to the people around them, and as an individual entity. everyone has their own lives, their own experiences and their own processes that captivate them and excite them, and each is wildly different from one person to another. sometimes, rarely, you meet someone who’s just special; their mind excites you, and their words entangle you. they can turn into a lover, a best friend, a mentor, and you put them on a pedestal which blurs their mistakes and highlights their strengths, and you are left in a puddle of awe, wondering how someone could be so perfect.
and then boom.
suddenly, they aren’t so perfect; they did something that altered the fantasy of them that you created in your head, and you have absolutely no idea how to wrap your brain around this inconceivable fact. you go through this spiral of emotions trying to come to terms with the fact that this person is not who you thought they were. they’re evil, they’re mean, they betrayed you.
but they didn’t.
they didn’t do anything of those things, and they are not any of those things. they are just people, as you are just a person, and they are not perfect. they aren’t perfect because not being perfect is the most perfect thing they could be, because if everyone were perfect, then no one would be them. sometimes, when your thoughts become too messy and your emotions get the best of you, take fifteen minutes and do absolutely nothing. sit in a quiet room, play your favourite song and listen to it like it was the first time you ever heard it. find solace and calm in the fact that people mess up; you will mess up, but in the end of it all everyone is worthy and deserving of love, and that, my friends, is perfect.
toodle-loo,
asma
asma halai's blog 