As a child I was brought up to believe that the only way to be happy was to be perfect. What is perfect? What may be perfect to me may not be perfect to others. I pondered about perfection all my life and I’ve come to the conclusion that perfection is nonexistent. It’s more of an idea than it is a state of being. Perfect, according to the Encarta Encyclopedia, means with out faults, complete and whole. What defines us as a whole?
It was a week before I had to go back to school to continue my 4th grade year. I wanted to look different and fit in with all the other girls in my class, so I decided it was time to cut my hair. I went into the restroom with scissors and started to cut my hair, shoulder length. I’d done a pretty ugly job so I decided to ask my mom to cut it right. As soon as I walked into the room, my mom started yelling at me telling me that I shouldn’t had cut my hair since , according to her, it was perfect the way it was. I hated the way my hair was before and thought it looked a lot better the way I had cut it.
The next day, the girls in my class just looked at me as if they’d seen a ghost. They would talk about me behind my back and made me feel bad. I hated my hair and wanted to cut it all off. I started wearing a hat to school everyday so they’d stop teasing me. After 3 weeks of putting up with their teasing and mean comments, I decided to stop caring what anyone thought. ‘Why should I let a group of girls make me feel bad for liking something’, I thought to myself. No one told me anything after that. I wore what I wanted cut my hair the way I liked it, and didn’t care if anyone liked it. I was happy with who I was and how I looked so nothing else mattered to me.
Years have passed and have only made me a better person. I care for what’s really important and not what other people think or say. I’ve come to the realization that there’s no such thing as perfect, and I believe it to be true.
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