Kept convincing myself that in the pursuit of athletic perfection, I cannot dye my hair because I'll need to keep washing my hair and it'll lead to the color washing out at the speed of light but HERE I AM WITH GORGEOUS HAIR AGAIN!
I once asked Gabriel what's my obsession.
He was supposed to answer yoga or some shit, to which I will say 'do you know what yours is? poker' and cue intervention. But he flipped the tables on me and answered 'control' at first. I was pissed but asked him to elaborate.
He said I knows I hate it when I cannot control things. He said I try to shape him into a certain way and when it doesn't happen, I get miffed. I asked him for three instances where I successfully coerced him into fitting my mould of a perfect boyfriend. He was blank.
So scrape that and I asked again, demanding a better thought out answer this time.
This time, he knew clearly.
Perfection.
I didn't ask him for more, but he went on.
He described how in everything I do, I always strive for the best.
I like to tidy things and I cannot rest till the room looks spotless. I started yoga and since then have been aggressively trying to top every class I go to. I started my job and since then swallowed a fellow editor's magazine and am a dog with a bone with it, even after getting my degree admission.
And at the point of him mentioning it, I wanted to cry.
Not because I'm touched he knows me this well, but because he actually noticed. Someone noticed. Someone noticed I am stretching myself to all my limits, day in day out convincing myself that second best or doing less is for losers and that I must never accept it.
I thought my pursuit of excellence was quiet and unnoticeable. But he did. Someone did. Someone sees my undying efforts. My God.
What was I talking about again?
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