There’s something about imperfections, an allure in things left incomplete, doodles without meaning.
There’s a song that often gets stuck in my head and I often find myself whistling it on the stairs on early mornings. It says ‘be what you be in all that you are’ and for however trivial it may sound, and for however hard to follow, I find it somehow liberating to whistle this every day, even on the stairs, under the shower or when things get messy. And here’s my tiny piece of advice, slice of idea taken from my scars and attempts in life. Stop hiding the marks on your skin or the scratches on your soul. Go with the idea that this is what makes you, you.
So here’s to the slow mornings of coffees, to uncombed hair, unmade beds and muddy soles. Here’s to hurting feet after a day of wandering, to hiccups and to wine stains on white shirts. Here’s to dry lips after an improvised night, to bike rides across the city, sunburnt cheeks, long walks on the sand and unmatching colors.
There’s nothing more real than flaws. And real things aren’t supposed to be soft, they’re supposed to make you feel.