Perfect's Not Worth the Trouble

What are we doing? Who are we trying to convince? Honestly, who are we convincing? Because the more I try, the less I feel like I'm succeeding. Why is it so difficult to be honest about being human? I mean we're all doing it. Why is that so hard to admit?

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I've recently stumbled upon an epiphany: Practice makes progress, and perfect is not worth the trouble. To be fair, those were the words that I wrote at the end of SF, months ago. So it's a bit of a stale epiphany. Nevertheless, it was an important lesson that Domus taught me, the lesson I thought I had finally learned. And I know it's cliche to say "history repeats itself," but like Mark Twain once said, at the very least, it rhymes.

Korea is amazing. There's so much attention to detail and almost every aspect of the society feels like it was "optimized" for the best possible output. For example, you can get virtually anywhere with a T Money card, and it's one card for the bus and the subway and even other random little things. Sure SF had a similar thing, but the transportation is cheaper, faster, more connected, safer, and cleaner than anything I've ever experienced before. The clothes always feel like they're made from quality fabric, the coffee beans from quality beans, and don't even get me started on the aesthetics.

But what's interesting is that the aesthetics in particular (the "optimization") doesn't stop at society. It feels like the people need to be optimized too. Perfect skin feels like the norm, everyone is always dressed nice, smells nice, acts nice. Obviously there are exceptions to every rule, but it feels like the expectation of being a good, average person, is to be "optimal".

Suddenly the aesthetic of only seeing people dressed in black and white on the streets, made me feel boxed in. Suddenly the stores felt like they only sold repeats of every other store I visited. Suddenly, I felt like I needed to be this... perfect... thing?

I'm sure it sounds stupid, and you're probably thinking, well every society has expectations to be pretty and successful and smart and whatnot. Why is Seoul any different? Why does it feel different to me?

I honestly don't know.

Sometimes I'll walk out to go get a snack or something, and feel grossly out of place in my haphazardly put on coat and pajama pants. A couple wearing matching outfits will giggle past me, and it'll throw me into a shockingly unwarranted spiral of why I chose not to care what I put on before I left the house. And the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced, yeah, I don't really care. I'm walking 200 yards to buy some ice cream or something. What do I have to prove? But that doesn't change the impulse. That reflex. It doesn't change that gnawing in my gut that keeps whispering "It's not enough. It's not optimal".

So I started dressing better when I went out. I'd try to match my clothes more. Comb my hair. Put effort into my skincare. I'd pay attention to not only what I looked like, but how the world outside looked at me.

And it didn't help that I'm brown.

In a way, maybe it was better? I couldn't be automatically compared to Korean beauty or decorum standards. Afterall, I was very clearly not from here. So I got a pass most of the time. As if "I AM A FOREIGNER" was tattooed on my forehead and people would constantly so I wouldn't forget. And usually when I was with my friends, who were equally colorful looking, I wouldn't fret too much about it. Afterall, it wasn't just me getting stared at, right? I'm not the odd one out, if there's more odd around me.

But when I wandered out alone? Or when I was in a bad mood? Or god-forbid, I was feeling a little bit insecure about myself, that pressure came crashing down on me full force.

Sometimes I'd look in the mirror and start crying because the hours spent following all the right directions, my acne just wouldn't go away. Sometimes I would spend extra time choosing the clothes that I would put on my body so that I could walk outside and not be recognized as a foreigner from the back. Sometimes I'd wear a mask, and believe me, I'd tell you it's because of the pollution or that I'm sick or even that I just felt cool. But deep down, I always knew that it was because it was my way of covering up that I AM A FOREIGNER TATTOO. Or my angry acne. Or just... the brown. A mask meant that I didn't have to explain my existence to anyone, because there was less of a chance they would notice my existence in the first place. It was an excuse that let me hide.

Oh man and did I get good at it.

One of the beauties of living in cities, and particularly Seoul, was that I could hop on the subway, and for a couple of cents, buy myself some alone time in a crowd. I could go to Myeongdong or Itaewon or Gangnam, and walk past people who would never turn their head to look at me. To notice that I exist. And when I felt alone in the rez hall? When I felt like I could disappear and nobody would notice? Or worse, that people would notice and just not care? I would disappear into the crowds. I would put on my black jacket and my black mask and comb my hair down, and just become another cookie cutter person in the endless stream of people minding their own business.

It's strange really. It feels paradoxical almost that a city that showed my show much interest and compassion and love, could just as quickly turn so cold and distant. One moment, the beauty of the synchronization and aesthetic of the repeating patterns captures my eye. And the next? I find myself wondering where the color went? The individuality? The people in the crowd?

Obviously no place is perfect, but I found it almost comical that I had forgotten my lesson from SF so quickly. "Perfect isn't worth it," I thought. "I'm gunna wear my bright red beanie and my ugly pajamas. What are they gunna do? Stare? What's the difference? Shouldn't I at least give them something interesting to look at?".

I stopped worrying about my acne as much. I wore weird clothes because I could. I stopped trying so hard to fit in, because the more I tried, the less I belonged. And obviously there were good days and bad days, and there were people who loved me for me and could care less about society's standards, who helped me grow. But there was also this lesson, that I had thought I learned, "Perfect isn't worth it", which I couldn't help but feel was only stuffed further down instead of completely addressed. Like an old friend you hang on to, just because you have history and just because it's not worth the effort to completely throw out. Like brown skin, that ties you to your culture, only to be betrayed by the accent that leaves your lips in the next moment. Like a relationship that we can't sever because of the expectations of what we should be doing to be good people, be "optimal", be a part of the crowd. I really did learn that lesson. But not permanently. Not perfectly. I was out of practice.

I remember growing up and constantly wondering if I would ever be enough for the people around me. It felt like a battle to prove my worth, to prove that my existence was worth all of the other pain and time and energy and baggage. I remember feeling like if I succeeded, if I did something, then maybe I would be worthy of the love that followed. Because I didn't get it otherwise. So I convinced myself that perfection was the only option. That perfection would mean that all the compliments and the praise and the happiness... was justified. Because then I had earned it right? Then I would be the optimal friend, daughter, student, person.

I don't know why it's so easy for me to fall into this trap. I've learned the directions to it. I've walked it so many times, that I should know where this road leads. But somehow, I always end up in the same place, with the same set of mistakes. Mistakes, which feel like they've been handed down for generations. Like they have history.

Some part of me thinks that all of this... agony, is worth it. Sometimes I convince myself that because I'm unhappy, it means that I'm learning or growing or "p u s h i n g m y s e l f". Which is a good thing right? Afterall, that's what we signed up to do in Minerva right? That's why I am who I am, today. I couldn't have gotten here without always constantly striving for perfection right? That makes the pain worth it right? All of this optimization, this constant state of working hard, all of this perfection. It's... right... right?

And it feels like every time I try to answer this question, I end up with a different answer. Sometimes it's worth it, other times it's not. Sometimes I care too much, other times not enough. Sometimes I feel as if the weight of the world rests squarely on my shoulders, and then someone smacks me out of my daze, only for me to realize that it's all, all of this... is in my head.

All of it.

We've created all these things that tell us who to be and what to do and what is right and wrong, but the truth is: LITERALLY NOBODY KNOWS WHAT THEY'RE DOING.

And there is a difference between necessary and unnecessary suffering. And they don't weigh on the heart the same.

We constantly buy into this lie that "we should know better" or that people can be blamed for their mistakes, and yes sometimes lessons need to be learned so that harm isn't just constantly passed around for no reason. But who are we kidding? Nobody knows what they're doing? Adults? Adults are adults for the first time in their lives, which is just like everybody else. People are figuring out what they believe in and who they are and what they want, and for some reason we've got it in our heads that these societal rules are the one's who've got it all figured out?

What are we doing? Why is it so difficult to just be honest about our flaws? Logically we all know we have them. Even the ones who we put on a pedestal and praise for being perfect, deep down, we all know that they've got their own set of demons waiting to introduce themselves at the first moment's notice. So why do we fall into this trap over and over and over again? Why do we constantly convince ourselves that the people around us are judging or staring or laughing at us, when in all reality, they're probably just as insecure as we are?

I hope that one day, I can look back at all of this and laugh. Not at how much I learned or changed or did, but at how much we all think we know about the world. Each time I convince myself that I know better or that I can be better, I hope the angry, annoyed, and exhausted part of me acts up and says: "Amulya. This is stupid. Is this worth your time? Nope. Just go back to being human. Do what you want to do." Afterall, it's hard enough to be human. You want me to be perfect too? You want me to wear actual pants when I go to the Ministop for ice cream at 2 in the morning? Nah. Really. It's not worth the trouble.