Not being perfect

You know, I've been thinking quite a bit about social life. How I always wished I was pretty, how I could never be comfortable in my own body, how my face always had the ugliest acne, scars, and eye bags, how I could never see myself beautiful, how I always had such low confidence in my abilities, how low confidence always led to disaster, how I'm a jack of many trades and master of none, how I'm so socially inept and awkward around some people, how I'm rhythm- and tone-deaf, how I pretty much hate myself for...well, not being perfect.

I believe that every girl knows the feeling. Blame it on whatever you will but I guess I'm past the point where blaming the world, mass media, consumerism, men, and all that jazz helps me feel any better.

I know that I don't have to be perfect. And I know I ought not bother too much about what the rest of the world says I should be. And I know that I should embrace and accept who I am.... But there comes an important question...

Who exactly am I?

Turns out the inconvenience of being a "victim of society" (as Shin and I like to phrase it) is that we can't break out of the world's cruel tricks of who we should be because we no longer know who we ought to be. And the problem is finding out who you are is a long-term and intrinsically lonely Herculean effort.

Currently Reading: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

Currently Listening To: Chasing Cars (Snow Patrol), Human (The Killers)