People who are really close to me can safely say that I am a clumsy person – a really clumsy person. I once dropped my umbrella in front of a Van Gogh, dropped a full jar of freshly-made strawberry jam on the floor (sorry, mum), and tripped in front of a crowd – among other things.
My clumsiness seems a bit incongruent to my general personality. Although not a perfectionist, I like order and keeping my things organised. However, I am consistently drawn to inexplicable body shenanigans that more often than not embarrass me in front of other people.
So you can imagine my frustration when, in the summer of 2018, a few minutes before seeing one of my favourite artists performing live in Italy, I accidentally stained the front cover of my newly purchased notebook published exclusively for this artist’s tour. At first, frustration took over topped with personal blame. Although the notebook was far from ruined, the mark that I left on its cover was prominent.
After my initial disappointment, my partner offered a different glimpse into my tiny misfortune; although crooked, it seemed even more beautiful that way.
And damn it, he was right. I took a close look at it, under the golden sunset of Caserta – we were up on the hill of a palace, a cool wind against our faces and bodies and a strong smell of weed coming from a guy right next to me. It was indeed, uniquely beautiful. A few months later, I started writing some of my deepest thoughts in this crooked little thing. Every time I take my pen to write, my mind takes me back to that lovely evening and the events that followed.
I go back to the moment I messed up my notebook and I find myself in the middle of a philosophical question: do things lose their identity once they are changed, or do they merely acquire a new, more profound character, one that is reflected on the experience of its owner? Surely few identical notebooks were purchased that evening, however didn’t mine immediately separated itself from the rest the moment it was distorted?
I think perfection is overrated. Beauty can often be found in the most unlikely places, and it’s not identical to perfection. The things we own are unique, they come into their current existence through our own special experiences and memories; imperfections always come with a story.
I often think about broken things, and they remind me of people. The people in our lives are never perfect and can never be. However, every single broken person is a piece of a constantly changing puzzle that is our life. Our whole existence is based on our mistakes, our flaws, our ‘wrong’ choices. It’s like a sequence of things that end up forming who we are at a particular moment. The process is fluid and ever-changing; I am a different person than I was yesterday, with new thoughts and new experiences.
I have long realised that the most interesting people are the ones with the darkest thoughts, the weirdos and the ones who are not afraid to lose control and let go, to make mistakes and own them. Because the truth is, being an imperfect person with several issues may also mean that you allow yourself to experiment with life, to fall down and come back up again, until the next fall.
Perfection is not something that characterises me. I have a multitude of flaws that go beyond being clumsy, I frequently get moody and I often overthink things to the point where I get hopeless. Some of my past actions are questionable, but despite the mistakes I have done in my almost twenty-seven years of life, I know that they came to form who I am, and I actually like the way I am, which is quite revolutionary in a world which feeds on our insecurities.
I am still learning to embrace my clumsy self in the same passion that I am intrigued by broken people. “I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things”, Tyrion Lannister famously said (Game of Thrones, Season 1, Episode 4), and his words capture the essence of cherishing what is flawed.
For me, true beauty lies in the scars of the body and the mind, in the little imperfections of our objects. Embracing them and accepting their uniqueness is an unconventional act against the boring and fake facades that this world is so full of.
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