A loss is a loss. No loss can be greater, or smaller, than another. All I lose is the loss of being my own-self, being myself, doing what I want to do, being what I want to be, and doing what I can do.
I'm sorry. Sorry that I have failed to live up to your expectations. Sorry that despite your efforts in moulding me and scolding me and guiding me and deriding me, the projection of your energies and hardworks have been in vain. Sorry that I have yet to attain what you seek of me.
I won't pretend to be the dream you sought when you think of me in an act of kindness. I am not a personification of perfection, I admit the fact that I am perfectly imperfect - a bloke who is so full of flaws. I am not a divine creation. I am not Galatea. And you are not Pygmalion.
I am not a building you can tear down and rebuild from scratch. I am not an immaculate statue given life. I am here: I have been born and I have been made this way - I am who I am. Now it is time for me to make myself.
I may be scratched and scarred, knocked down and showed up, played out and pushed in. I may thrive or fail. I may find an easy path. Or learn the hard way. I may choose the road not taken by anybody.
|I will never be good, I guess.|
I came forth with flaws. I am wanderer finding my way. I am a dreamer finding my dream. I am flawed despite your efforts. I am a work in progress, and I do not know when the work will be done. Perhaps it never will. Even if dreams can take time to come true. And sometimes they never do.