It seems that everywhere I go, there’s some girl trying to look like the photoshopped models on magazines, or some girl starving themselves in order to become perfect and beautiful. I have been in their shoes, more than once, to be honest. While I was in that “phase” of life, I realized something. The perfect me that I was trying to achieve was not achievable. Not because I was not feeling motivated enough, but because perfection does not exist. Throughout my experience, I realized, that the imperfections that we try to get rid of, are the reason that we are perfectly unique.

 In the sixth grade, I started to join more social media, like Instagram and Twitter. It was then when I would look at all those selfies, I started to realize all the perfect models and actors that were plastered around social media. When my mom decided to try putting on make-up for the first time in a long while, I started to realize all the beauty products that would cost hundreds of dollars that many women would buy just to make them look beautiful. When I was on Tumblr, I started seeing all the pictures of the thigh gaps and visible bones. I started to realize, that most people in this world were trying to become their definition or someone else’s definition of perfection.
I have to admit, I was a little bit more weak minded back then. When I started comparing myself to them, I realized that although I was somewhat skinny, I wasn’t skinny enough. I did not have a tiny waist, or an incredibly flat stomach, or a big bust. I did not have the incredibly smooth skin or long, soft hair. I was no where close to what I wanted to have, what other people seemed to have.

 I was never a big eater before. I would usually eat a little snack every once in a while because of my small stomach. But after that realization, I started to eat less. Instead of one meal a day, it would be one fruit a day. Whenever I finished my homework, I would try and get as much exercise as I can to lose off the calories I had eaten. After my mom had left for work in the morning, I would use her products to start getting the little acne on my face. Every day, I would look in the mirror and point out my flaws.

 It was the summer before eighth grade where I had another realization. After two years, I was still not perfect enough. After a few minutes of pondering and staring at my reflection, I realized that there is no such thing as perfection and trying to achieve it is just a waste of time. I started to realize that I don’t need supplies, or less food, or an extreme exercise to be perfect. I just had to be one thing: me. Because being me, was perfect enough. My imperfections made me perfectly me.

 And I wouldn’t like it any other way.