What is this thing? Another bit of my rambling mind trying to find a respite from my not so interesting existence. Well, yeah there are the books, those wonderful beautiful books which have so many beautiful things to offer. But, besides that, nada, nope, null. Am I frustrated about it? Surprisingly, no. Have I tried anything to change this state of continuous ‘not so interesting existence’? Not exactly. What I have tried, is to change myself into something which is more acceptable. What is that? Perfection. Have I achieved it? Far, far, way far from it. Do I feel bad about it? Maybe. Do I have a definition for perfection? Yeah. Being the best version of yourself (emphasis on the word ‘version’ as I’m feeling philosophical today but more on that later). What brought about this need for perfection? Everything. Blame it on evolution, globalisation, or what not. Our society has evolved into this terrific system where anything less than extraordinary or anything less than perfect is frowned upon. Being good in something is not okay, you have to be the best. You have to be phenomenal. A while back I used to think that words like ‘perfection’, ‘phenomenal’, ‘extraordinary’, etc. are being used a little too freely because let’s be real, not everyone can be like that. But then I grew up a bit more and realised that most of the people are phenomenal, most of the people are perfect; they really are extraordinary in what they do. Now don’t get me wrong, I respect all of that, it’s something I haven’t been able to do. On the contrary, it seems a Herculean task to do the right thing all the time. And maybe that’s the reason why I feel invigorated when I look at all the perfection around me. How could I ever match up to that? Will I ever be able to? Do I really want to? From the perfect dress, the perfect hair, the perfect smile, the perfect manners, the perfect report, the perfect presentation, the perfect everything. It’s exhausting. To think about it, all this could drive any sane person paranoid. Or is it just me, hence the lunatic in the title. But ranting out about it makes me feel much better. We can’t let it get to us like a poison ivy, forever itching its way into us. We need to breathe and let our imagination fly a little once in a while. Life’s a beautiful song, and a song is played both by the black and white keys. Who knows, the black keys could never look so beautiful. And maybe in that gentle process, we could evolve ourselves into a better version of ourselves, not something which the world desires; a little something for us. A little something for the tiny good in us. A little hope. Step out of the line, do something for yourself. Detangle yourself from the vines which tell you ‘what to do’ or rather ‘what to be’. Do your own thing. Sing your own song. We just need to give it a try, no harm done.