An obscure number can never contain all the dreams that kept you awake all night,working.
Neither can it count all the tears cried in the battle to balance out an education,
nor portray the pain you felt curled up on the bathroom floor,telling yourself you'll survive tomorrow.
I read somewhere,today,that experience is what you get when you don't quite get what you want,
and maybe,just maybe,
the intricate grace of a dancer's hand gestures,creating imaginary flowers with her fingers
and how your grandmother no longer smells of the specific kind of tobacco she used to chew
and how her sleep-like silence is a sharp reminder of all the stories she no longer tells you,
the smell of your dog's paws that lingers long after they've left the room,
the surprise you're taken by when someone notices the shadow of a cheekbone under your tired,waiting face or how one of your ears is missing a earring,
and the painful relief of watching someone you love lie in a hospital bed,recovering,as you sigh away the night
The wonder that strikes when you see comatose patients or cases of emergency,breathing heavy,
wheeled away to their destiny,questioning finality.
The small act of kindness when you least expect it,sometimes just a smile or a "hi" in the school corridors,or when someone let you get away when you were one too many times late for assembly.
Just the very the bittersweet loss of what once was a possibility
The gratitude of just having survived so much..just maybe
a number can never give away all of that.
A number can never personify all the stories left to tell and people waiting to be met and growing up left to be grown into.
No,a number is not enough.You are.
You are symbolic of survival,these numbers are just infinitesimal fragments of a universe of infinite possibility-
yes,they might matter in the moment,maybe for a while longer.Yes,they reward the best with medals and news paper articles and admiration,
but topping in an exam has so little relation to keeping well in life,it is such an inaccurate reflection of ability.
After all,brilliant is an adjective,not a number.
It took me a week or so of moping to get to this realisation,because after having done conventionally "well",it did not feel like enough,it did not feel satisfying,It was too empty,and too full,at the same time.I realised I've been wasting time waiting for an approval that is not and will never be mine,my whole life.Almost like an indoctrination of how academic validation makes me good enough.
And all it felt like in the end? A fucking joke.
That's what all these numbers we compete for and compare with,and measure by mean.
Almost nothing.
Neither can it count all the tears cried in the battle to balance out an education,
nor portray the pain you felt curled up on the bathroom floor,telling yourself you'll survive tomorrow.
I read somewhere,today,that experience is what you get when you don't quite get what you want,
and maybe,just maybe,
the intricate grace of a dancer's hand gestures,creating imaginary flowers with her fingers
and how your grandmother no longer smells of the specific kind of tobacco she used to chew
and how her sleep-like silence is a sharp reminder of all the stories she no longer tells you,
the smell of your dog's paws that lingers long after they've left the room,
the surprise you're taken by when someone notices the shadow of a cheekbone under your tired,waiting face or how one of your ears is missing a earring,
and the painful relief of watching someone you love lie in a hospital bed,recovering,as you sigh away the night
The wonder that strikes when you see comatose patients or cases of emergency,breathing heavy,
wheeled away to their destiny,questioning finality.
The small act of kindness when you least expect it,sometimes just a smile or a "hi" in the school corridors,or when someone let you get away when you were one too many times late for assembly.
Just the very the bittersweet loss of what once was a possibility
The gratitude of just having survived so much..just maybe
a number can never give away all of that.
A number can never personify all the stories left to tell and people waiting to be met and growing up left to be grown into.
No,a number is not enough.You are.
You are symbolic of survival,these numbers are just infinitesimal fragments of a universe of infinite possibility-
yes,they might matter in the moment,maybe for a while longer.Yes,they reward the best with medals and news paper articles and admiration,
but topping in an exam has so little relation to keeping well in life,it is such an inaccurate reflection of ability.
After all,brilliant is an adjective,not a number.
It took me a week or so of moping to get to this realisation,because after having done conventionally "well",it did not feel like enough,it did not feel satisfying,It was too empty,and too full,at the same time.I realised I've been wasting time waiting for an approval that is not and will never be mine,my whole life.Almost like an indoctrination of how academic validation makes me good enough.
And all it felt like in the end? A fucking joke.
That's what all these numbers we compete for and compare with,and measure by mean.
Almost nothing.
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