In the world of Advanced Nurturing High School, the hierarchy is everything.
It's a place where status and power are determined not just by one's academic excellence, but by their ability to navigate the complex social structure.
A place where subt...
"Perfection...it's a beautiful word, don't you think? The idea of something being perfectly executed, flawlessly executed, perfectly flawless...it's an alluring concept, one that we humans seem to be naturally drawn to.
But I have to admit, I've never understood the allure myself.
Sure, I can appreciate the beauty of a perfect symphony, a perfectly executed dance, a perfectly written essay.
But the pressure that comes with striving for perfection?
That's something I've always struggled with.
Maybe it's because I grew up in a home where imperfection was not tolerated.
My mom, you see, was a perfectionist through and through. She would spend hours trying to perfect her appearance, her home, her work, her life. And she expected nothing less from me.
It was a never-ending cycle of pressure and disappointment.
I would study for hours, spend hours practicing my instrument, spend hours poring over my homework until it was flawless.
And yet, every time I presented my work to my mom, she would find some flaw, some small error that I had missed. It was like she was intent on finding something wrong no matter how hard I tried to be perfect.
Eventually, I began to hate the idea of Perfection itself. I hated the pressure, the expectation, the constant feeling of failure.
And yet, I couldn't escape the allure. Because despite all the things I hated about striving for perfection, there was one thing I craved even more - my mom's approval.
In my mind, if I could just be perfect, if I could just do things perfectly, maybe then my mom would finally love and accept me for who I am. Maybe then I would finally earn her approval, her affection, her pride.
But no matter how hard I tried, I could never seem to attain perfection. And so, the cycle continued.
The pressure, the disappointment, the constant feeling of failure.
The hate for the very concept of perfection, yet the desperate craving for it.
I know it sounds absurd, I know it sounds like I'm insane.
But that's the truth of my situation.
I hate Perfection, but yet I cling to it like a lifeline, like a lifeline that will never truly save me.
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