Bound to perfection
If there’s one thing in life I strongly believe in, it’s that all of us began this earthly journey as lost souls perpetually searching for the purpose of our very existence. Yet, unlike many others, I think mine unfolded in an unusually distinct manner. I didn’t have to look for my purpose. Purpose found me, and it knocked on my door. In three words, I learned its name. “Call me Perfection,” it said.
Perfection followed me wherever I went. I’ve always thought my purpose in life was to be “the ideal girl.” But to maintain that image, sacrifices had to be made. To be a stellar student, I had to give up sleep and forsake fun. To withstand the challenges that rocked my perfectly unperturbed life, I had to suppress the voice of my own heart. In the pursuit of a flawless existence, I knew emotions must be silenced because they invited uncalled troubles. A perfect life never had room for such mistakes.
For 17 years, I didn’t let go of Perfection as I learned that its company alone brought me a sense of solace and ease. When you live most of your life staying at the top, there’s really nothing you can do but simply remain up there. That was enough for me. But life probably scoffed at the stillness of my story. So, to amuse itself, it decided to test my resilience. It threw me an unforeseen challenge powerful enough to lose the tight grip I had on Perfection. It targeted where it would hurt me the most—my family.
Last September 2021, my mom shockingly told me my dad was having an affair with another woman.
My life came to a grinding halt. Apart from being the perfect student, I grew up believing I was the perfect daughter of what seemed like a flawless family. How could this be happening to me, then? I didn’t want the disillusion to take effect, so I refused to accept that my life would always carry this ugly truth that ceaselessly brought me indescribable pain.
Perfection trained me how to evade rocks, but it never taught me how to dodge bullets. I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that life took aim and pulled the trigger because it wanted me to fall off that metaphorical cliff I never left. But even in the throes of despair, I was not one to write a story of defeat. So, instead, I sneered at life’s malicious attempt and firmly hung on.
As days passed, I tried my best to suppress the pain that refused to be buried. I kept myself busy with academics and club meetings, ignoring the soft whispers of vulnerability as I climbed my way back to the top, back to Perfection.
For a time, this coping mechanism helped. But covering up the ache by relentlessly striving to be perfect introduced me to another alien feeling—emptiness. Keeping Perfection meant giving up time to nurture meaningful friendships. And while Perfection did stay by my side, it never, however, treated me as its friend.
I didn’t find solace in Perfection during these times, so I turned to my family, hoping their presence could make me feel a little less lonely. But in my search for comfort, I found that they were also in pain, their hearts and minds gashed with the same deep wounds longing to be treated.
It was then I realized I needed to console them. So I reclaimed the most important thing I sacrificed for Perfection—the ability to feel. Because it became clear to me that I could never give my heartbroken mom a warm hug if my heart was made out of stone. I could never tell my hurting little brother that he could always come to my room for comfort if my doors were latched. But above all, I figured I could never truly forgive my remorseful father for his infidelity if I had never fully learned how to love.
I almost lost my grip on the precipice for allowing myself to soften. But it felt strangely good to embrace vulnerability, knowing that my family was there to assure me that I would never bear the burden of hurting alone.
I smiled wistfully at that thought.
I saw Perfection shaking its head in disappointment from above. Eventually, it left. Perfection simply went back to its throne, perched atop the hill, forever content in its self-contained existence.
It also dawned on me that my perception had been skewed all along. Perfection never followed me. It was I who tirelessly pursued Perfection, as I was made to believe that my sole purpose was to be nothing but the perfect girl.
I was wrong. I discovered I could be so much more.
Giving up Perfection taught me that there is something a lot more important than chasing an illusion that never once helped you tread the steps to go back up. It’s to cherish the ones who will always catch you should you decide to let go—in my case, my family.
As they say, when something leaves your life, something better arrives. I found a new purpose now, and while it may not be as stupendous as Perfection, it will always be the very first reason I finally heard my heart sing the most beautiful melodies.
I named that purpose Happiness.
Stella Hermosa, 19, is currently an incoming sophomore majoring in psychology. She is often seen daydreaming under pink skies and starlit nights—hoping that one day she’d finally be able to find the best way to write that first line.
