My mother owned a salwar-kameez set that had designs I copied onto paper long before I saw the Taj Mahal and knew of pietra dura. She wore it to most of my childhood excursions, zoos and parks and playgrounds, and there are photographs of me covered in sand and staring at her clothes. I look idiotic mostly.

My grandmother still carries a diary with my scribbles on it, I scribbled over everything. I had a lotus phase because the lotus was the easiest flower to draw, but even then things were mirrored and always have been, two flowers on either side, leaves and tendrils bent at precise angles. Everything looking like it was meant to fall into place without apparent reason. But there are signs, I saw them when I looked into the diary and the photographs this time. Age six and the frustration already shows. Age twenty and no matter how hard I look the other way it's always there, everywhere, all over, yin and yang, dum and dee, sita and gita, a pair and a symmetry to everything till I decide I might as well be the blemish, haminasto haminasto haminasto.

This could be a self-pity post or an I Am Special post, but really it's a Fuck Perfection post. Pun intended.