Perfection

I think we all think that if we could be perfect, or just simply be better, we'd be better in all sense. That, being smarter, more athletic, more sociable, more talented, wealthier, and better dresser, or even innate characters such as having more empathy, being punctual, and being agreeable. But more and more I realize that it's not true. It's the relationships we make and the qualities of them that define our value, whether good or bad. If we could really be better by being more perfect, then some would be much more unfortunate than others. And I don't think people are made equal though all are valued the same. Some are simply smarter, more athletic, and more talented in different aspects of life than others. But I believe we all have the same potentials to love or hate another. Cherish and endear those who we love, and it inherently betters ourselves. Hate and despise one another, and that has its consequences also.

I have people who I look up to. I admire great people and the historical figures. To list some are Winston Churchill, Oscar Wilde, and Bill Gates. But reflecting on this admiration, I have trouble calling it love. It's mainly because I don't have a personal relationship with any of them, but I noticed that it's also because I've come to idealize their character. To me they are, in one sense, complete. I have easier time expressing love for those in need, hungry, and not loved. And it's because love is better found in redemption and in act of console. It's the imperfections that I can readily perceive which enables my heart to open up and empathize. With people and things I see perfect or simply good, it's much harder. And although I haven't tried, it often seems impossible. It's that opportunity or space reflected by another's imperfection that you can come to forgive, redeem, and love. If we were all made perfect, we wouldn't need to be forgiven, we wouldn't need redemption, we wouldn't need to depend on another, and we would never find love. We'd be self-sufficient.

There was once a dream that was timeless. A perfection that spoke of paragons of ideals and stood impeccable to corruptions. With virtues and might, he mounted himself on the fragile plane where he could only whisper of this perfection. Anything more and it would vanish. But to what end?

Redemption is better than perfection. Photo from Insadong, Seoul.