I used to downgrade myself, used to compare myself with others, and used to make everyone seem like they were perfect beings.

I used to set high expectations on myself, and if I couldn't do something another could do I would automatically think I'm not good enough.

I have learned it the hard way, and I have learned that not everyone is perfect, and that everyone have different abilities and talents. Everyone have different beauty and different perspectives. We perfect as ourselves. There's no other standard of perfection than us individuals.

I'm here to take you down the memory lane of mine; so spare me 3-8 minutes of your time. Promise I'll make it quick, maybe not, who knows?

Memory Lane. No #1101

The school bell rings, and so the teacher sends us out to recess. I remember sneaking my phone into the sleeve of my jacket, and heading into the bathroom. Scared to face the reality I was scared to change with my very own hands. Scared to the face the girl I once called perfect, scared to compare myself with her once again.

The bathroom was completely empty, I head into one of the stalls. Placing myself up on top of the toilet seat covers, I power on my phone. I just remember, staying in there for the whole period.
With the intention of distancing myself away with the friends I have thought that were too good for me. Who would be better off without a girl who constantly drags them down with her dark thoughts.

They were happier. They will be happier.


A rainy day, another lonely day in my classroom. Friends were in a different class, and I was all alone. I continued to draw in my notebook, while all the other classmates ran around and played many games. A boy approaches me, he told me my drawing looked cool.

The heat rises up in my cheeks, and I say nothing because if I did, I would make a fool out of myself. He comes to me every rainy day, telling my drawings looks great.


I hold the eraser with faces drawn on each side, one side having a happy face and one side having a sad face. I continue to flip the eraser in silence, wondering why it would always land on the sad face. The boy takes the eraser from my hands and turns it over to the happy face, I smile. But that only disappeared after a short while.

I come back home, with my mom crying. I cry too. I felt like I have lost everything.
Our doors are damaged. Our clothes are scattered. Our privacy, violated. Our property, broken in.

But the longing in my chest, told me to work hard, to gain back what I have lost. That, is not money. But a childhood dream.


My stomach hurts, it continues to hurt and hurt. My friends looks at me with lots of worry. I have not properly ate for a week. I have tried to lose weight. My friend offers me a string of cheese,
and just a tiny string of cheese, eased the pain.

And hopefully, just by clinging on that tiny string of hope, it could maybe ease the pain too.


Now I look back, and I just smile. Not because it was where the good times where, but because I have grown.
And I'm glad more better days will be ahead of us. Believe, and it shall be.