No Such Thing

"Welcome to the real world," she said to me, condescendingly.

Life is full of imperfections. Why is this so? One simple reason.

Perfection is relative.

The ideal is relative.

What may be perfect to a person might be less than ideal to someone else. What constitutes perfection in the eyes of one may not be the case in the eyes of another. Some may argue that a perfect square is perfection, others may think that being math-less is perfect. Okay, bad example. The cheesy saying goes, "Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder." In this case, perfection is in the eyes of the beholder.

My ideal mate. Would have to be female. But that's obvious. And corny, I suppose.

Since we are talking about ideal mates here, I am going to leave my second's hesitation about sounding stuck-up. After all, one can't scrimp on perfection.

I have this thing (read: fetish) about long hair. My perfect girl has long, shiny hair, for me to play with when we're cuddling. She has the kind of eyes that can speak volumes in one look. Her eyes are never cold, though. She has a well-formed nose and full, red lips. She has a beautiful face, which becomes even more beautiful because she always has on a radiant smile.

My perfect girl is fair in complexion. She is slightly smaller than me, and she carries herself with dignity. Her body is just right, slim, but not too skinny, well-formed, but not fat. I never liked girls with chopstick-thin limbs. Of course, being a full-blooded male, my perfect girl has curves in all the right places. I'm never really particular with measurements, but the sight of her would send shivers down my spine.

My perfect girl is loyal and thoughtful. She knows that I may sometimes feel insecure about her, because she is just so beautiful. She loves me because of my being me. She always reminds me that she is always there for me. She does little things, thoughtful touches that always makes me feel better.

My perfect girl is open. Whenever she has a problem, she always tells me, and I try to help her work it out. Whenever she feels down, or whenever she worries about something, she never hides it from me. I never feel that my help is unwanted. Our relationship is mutual; we both understand that. Both of us have to help each other.


My perfect girl, most of all, is considerate. She understands that even though I sometimes appear to be lazy, that is just my way of handling things. She knows and understands the little things that constitute me. When we are talking, she gives me her full attention. She never makes me feel ignored. She understands that sometimes, I need some time alone to ponder on the mysteries of life. She understands that I will always be corny, and she accepts me for who I am.

She knows my little faults, and my not-so-little faults, and she accepts that though she might be perfect, I am far from being ideal.

She knows how deeply I feel about certain things. She knows that I give my trust freely, that I believe in the kindness of strangers. She knows that I am most afraid, ironically, of being betrayed and ignored by someone I have grown to trust. She knows that I am most afraid of being hurt by those close to me, and she will never do that.

When I am with my perfect girl, I can dispense with pretensions.

When I am with my perfect girl, I can be me.

[Note: this post is our English One homework. The topic is not of my own choosing. Although it turns out that I have a lot to say this time.]