Permission to be Imperfect

This is not an entry for the people that make a living from letting it all hang out, from being hopeless, useless, unaccountable and just consistently bad at life. This is for the those who spend the majority of existence holding it all together, gluing back the broken wings, making the ends meet, cleansing, toning, moisturizing, making the perfect briyani and just fervently refusing to unravel.

Surely, it’s time to let things slip a little. Surely we can permit ourselves the opportunity to rock up incorrectly dressed, lipstick on teeth, break into uncontrollable tears and just crumble for a bit.

If perfection is supposed to be fictional, let’s keep it that way. Let us give ourselves space to get it all horribly wrong, to say inappropriate things or to say nothing at all.

Let us make room for no improvement. Let us sit back and eat more dessert. Let’s not worry about kilos and cholesterol and duty and punctuality. Let’s not keep it all tucked in. Let’s pack away the mirrors and the coasters. Let’s get into the hot oil and burst like an unsealed samoosa. Let’s feel jealous. Let’s be haters. Let’s lower our expectations of ourselves and increase it for others. Let’s steal the damn shampoo in the hotel. And let’s think weird thoughts while we meditate.

Who decided that we should always be perfect? Who decided that you should be so hard on yourself. The next time we feel only human, let’s pay close attention. Let’s give ourselves a hallway pass for imperfection. Because after all, we are only human – fallible, flawed, fumbling, fatigued.






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