It’s not enough To be compassionate

JOURNAL April 3, 2018

I bought myself a pair of socks saying

 

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And it stroke me like a lightning,

uncomfortable truth slapped right on my cheek by a pair of pastel-coloured socks.

 

 

And after months of denials, of nodding to please and saying yes but feeling no,

After months of struggling with bad days and grey moods,

perpetually roller-coasting between long laughter and long tears,

 

I came to the conclusion that coming to compromise with everyone but myself, well,

that isn’t enough.

 

 

So I finally realized that I can’t be the perfect daughter,

the spotless friend

or the flawless hostel roommate.

That’s simply not me, that’s simply not my thing.

And that’s fine.

 

 

 

It’s fine that I can’t have a flat stomach after eating a whole pizza,

that I can’t be the next viral singer

or succeed in my first attempts at washing ups, entrepreneurship trials and relationship.

And that’s fine.

 

 

But I also figured that the best way to fall asleep with a hint of a smile drawn on my face is accepting what it is that makes me, me,

 

and water it.

 

 

And I might end up all tangled up in my thoughts and walking the stiffest way,

but as long as I do things my way – scratches and scars and all things summed up -,

 

it’ll all work out

one way or another.

 

After all,

sprouts aren’t made to be pretty at all times,

they’re a promise of finding a way out.

 

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