A WORK IN PROGRESS.

I am sorry. 

Sorry that I have failed to live up to your expectations. 

Sorry that despite your efforts in moulding me and scolding me and guiding me and deriding me, the projections of your energies has been in vain.

Sorry that at 18, I have yet to attain what you seek of me.

I won’t pretend to be the dream you sought when you made me in an act of love. I am not a personification of perfection. I am not a divine creature. I am not *Galatea*. And you are not *Pygmalion*.

I am not a building you can tear down and rebuild from scratch.

I am not an immaculate statue given life. I am here; I have been born, and I have been made. Now it is time for me to make myself. In the process of remaking, I may be scratched, scarred, knocked down, played out, pushed in, and hurt. I may thrive or fail. I may make mistakes. I may find an easy path. Or learn the hard way.

What can I say or do? I was not born complete. I was born flesh and blood. Perhaps an accident. Either way, I was born of you.

I came forth with your flaws, and to make things interesting, I brought my own.(:

I am a wanderer finding my way.

I am a dreamer finding my dream.

I am flawed despite your efforts.

I am a work in progress, and I do not know when the work will be done. Maybe it never will be done.

I am a human, aware that I am imperfect but trying to perfect my ways where I can, when I  can.

After all said and done, you too are a human((: