I Was Jealous
t was simply a fact, I decided as I threw out the trash.
I couldn’t help it.
I took one longing glance to burn the horrible things into my memory.
The delicate strokes, each of them painting a pretty picture in and out of itself, made me angry. I wanted to create beautiful things like that. I wanted to be that good. But… somehow, I never could.
I entered a competition once-only to be sorely disappointed.
The sharp strokes and thick textures were not suited to the beauty that was overcast in the tent housing all the eager artists and competitive judges.
I was crushed.
It finally occurred to me, in the most devastating way possible, that sometimes your best isn’t good enough.
I had worked for months, slaving away on the sculpture and paintings that I had entered into the first preliminary rounds. I had lost weight, my friends kindly noted, trying to smile as I stared at them, vision fading and stomach aching.
I had worked so hard. So, so hard… only to find out that working as hard as you can isn’t good enough. Then-then that girl-younger than me had won.
My pride shattered.
I had nothing.
Then, to make matters worse. She moved into the apartment beside me.
At that moment, I truly felt as if there were no meaning in life.
Of course… I knew I could improve and it took time. But I also knew that no matter how hard I tried at this level… I couldn’t win.
To say it broke my heart was an understatement, for an artist without ‘good’ art is nothing to some people.
I drove myself into a secluded depression. Months of my life that could of been spent on improvement were wasted as the dark rain cloud of my life spread itself further and further, somehow disrupting the regular lives of my family.
A stroke of emotions hit me for the first time in a while.
Guilt.
For myself, for my family, for my friends. No place was safe from the feeling. I decided to find a different art, painting with words, superficial and superfluous feelings were tangled around one another as I wrote.
I threw it all away. Trash.
Eventually, however, I found myself being pulled out of it.
I didn’t need anyone’s help to do this; it was pure coincidence.
My apartment had become a mess and I had finally decided to clean it up. In the process, I found a piece more beautiful than anything I had ever seen. I did not recognize it as my own.
The painting was bright; full of colour and life-something of which I no longer had. Alien and enticing, I was drawn to the painting. It was warmer than anything in the whole apartment.
I was dumbfounded as I remembered that I had created this as an entry to art school.
I was successful in getting in.
Then I laughed. Unfamiliar… vague… and beautiful. The chime sounded exotic in my ears as I realized that I was alive and successful.
I continued to paint.
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Just a short little piece I wrote, I guess. I gotta stop with these impulsive things. Honestly. I’m supposed to be doing an article for Humanities. FML. Better get to that. Sorry. When it gets to be night time my attention span goes downhill and I spout nonsense like this. So does my spelling and grammar. TROLOLOL. Ohyeah. o-o This isn’t based off of me or anything. It’s just something I realized a while ago. .-. It took me a while to realize that sometimes your best isn’t good enough and even longer to realize that even if your best isn’t good enough right now-someday it will be, as long as you keep working at it. Idk. Give me your opinion, guys.