Of being not good enough

“Except now I think that she isn’t just beautiful in spite of the scar, she is somehow beautiful with it, Like Lynn with her buzzed hair, like Tobias with the memories of his father’s cruelty that he wears like armor, like my mother in her plain gray clothing.” -Tris Prior, Insurgent

I’m always overlooking myself. I often see myself as this girl with the frizzy hair, the girl and her scraggy body, the girl who’s not smart enough, the girl and her untalented hands, the girl who’s so afraid of changes that she neglects to take risks and ultimately the girl who can’t seem to get a grip of her emotions. And so I hid in the shadows not wanting to drive too much attention. I always have this nagging thought that I’m not good enough for anyone or anything and that I deserve the isolation. What a wistful thinking that I, of all people who knows that I can be so much more than I already am, decided not to step out from the dimness into the light? My weaknesses are greatly magnified in my life. I never saw myself as someone who can make a difference–or if I ever did, I will always have this little voice telling me I can’t.

Sometimes, ourselves can be our own worst enemies. I think this context spoke to me in a different level that it made me comprehend some things. That no matter how much we think we know ourselves with the somber pits of our past, how icky, shabby and rotten we think ourselves are, right in the corners of our identity there are still these beautiful, engaging, sweet, and exciting versions of us that are often neglected by our own selves. Remember that day when you felt so ugly because you have a zit right in the middle of your face but people around you think look adorably funny with it? Or when you said you lost your chance of achieving your dreams just because you flunk your quiz but the people around you are telling you that a failed quiz doesn’t mean you’re any less intelligent and it can’t define who you are as a person? And remember when you said you’re not good enough for anyone and that you doubt that even a frog couldn’t love someone as messed up as you but the people around you think you’re amazing and the person you will love will be so damn lucky to have you?

Heavens, I can’t thank enough the person who came up with the “People are like butterflies” figure. The accuracy is just too high because really, like butterflies, we cannot see our own distinct colorful wings, our own beauty. But the people around us, they greatly notice it. They see the parts of us that are shadowed in our sight. But as much as this thought is endearing, isn’t it kind of sad that we let these people see this beauty firsthand before us? Won’t it be amazing and just more fulfilling if it’ll be us who will see this apparent beauty and then let other people see it glow? We cannot anymore cling into these dismal thoughts. We gotta learn to love ourselves now. See this inner beauty firsthand. And as soon as we do, I bet we will all enjoy living more than ever.


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