I’ve always been the boring one. Always done what I’ve been told and rebelling only when it really gets necessary. I’ve always listened to my elders, submitted work on time, done what I had to be normal. Mediocrity defines me. I’m just there. Never at the top and never at the bottom. But always in the middle. Sometimes I come close to the extremes but I never actually reach. I am the stem of the flower. Not the root nor the petals. Merely the stem. I can both hold it all up and also have it all crash down on me. I’ve given up trying to be perfect. Perfection is too high of a goal for me to reach. At the same time to be at the bottom is scary too. To be trampled on by everyone else is not something I look forward to. Then all that’s left is the middle. The safe zone. The comfort zone. The boring zone. Swaddled up in the warmth of the middle often I can find myself choking. No matter how much I stretch to try and reach the top, I cannot. Even the things I love most I cannot be the best.
When I was in the first school I ever went to, I apparently told my parents- after coming first in the class- that I never want to be first. Ever. I don’t know why but my mother says that ever since then I wouldn’t do my studies properly and I just began to lag behind with everything.
I suppose it’s a thing that happens when you are born lazy too. The lethargy in my bones spread to my muscles carried around in my blood, swirling around in my body making me want to simply lie down and never move. I was always told that I was good at things. But never the best. The last few times I went up to do things that I supposedly excelled in I failed miserably. And I say this not because I failed as in came last in a competition, but because I failed to reach my goal. I aim for the stars and slip on a banana peel half way up the stairs and fall right back down to the previous floor.
Mediocrity rules my life. I am her, she is me. Never the one in the spotlight, neither the one in the darkness but always the one in the shadows….