It's funny how we are all obsessed with perfection.
How in primary schools, we all rubbed our erasers against the classroom walls, hoping that it would regain its pearly white colour before we disfigured it into a shapeless thing when we tried to erase every mistake, however minor.
The truth is that people do make mistakes, leaving behind the traces. If not on the notebook, then on the eraser, or on the wall with all those ragged white patches.
Maybe sometimes we should try moving past the tiny blemishes, stay satisfied with the ninety nine per cent on the Math paper, or on the ever-so-slightly crooked line that was supposed to be straight.
Who knows, maybe with experience, the ninety nine would become a hundred, the line would become straight and the eraser would get back its colour before getting used up. And if at all not, then a new eraser can always be bought and our efforts can always be resumed, can't they?
How in primary schools, we all rubbed our erasers against the classroom walls, hoping that it would regain its pearly white colour before we disfigured it into a shapeless thing when we tried to erase every mistake, however minor.
The truth is that people do make mistakes, leaving behind the traces. If not on the notebook, then on the eraser, or on the wall with all those ragged white patches.
Maybe sometimes we should try moving past the tiny blemishes, stay satisfied with the ninety nine per cent on the Math paper, or on the ever-so-slightly crooked line that was supposed to be straight.
Who knows, maybe with experience, the ninety nine would become a hundred, the line would become straight and the eraser would get back its colour before getting used up. And if at all not, then a new eraser can always be bought and our efforts can always be resumed, can't they?
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