As I look back at my old essays and read on how I raved about my problems, I smile with content. I feel somewhat proud when I see that I've gone through my problems and became a stronger person. Although I wouldn't call my life at this age and under these pleasant conditions problematic, of course, it is still not perfect. It should not be. Perfection is a flaw, and imperfection penetrates the beauty that is not visible from the surface.
I've always enjoyed writing since as I go on with my sentences, I notice feelings or join dots I was not aware before. My flow of thought automatically adds on to my syllables to reveal profound insight I had not exactly realized yet.
I wish to, one day, look back on these few paragraphs and remember the importance of reflecting on my life. Just to make sure that I am keeping up with it and not missing out on the beauties words are ready to present daily. Because wouldn't it be disgraceful for yesterday if we missed out on today to prepare for tomorrow?
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