I was around 12 years old when I discovered that excellence could be ironed to death. It was the first Wednesday of the new term and our headmaster had announced a full uniform inspection. Shoes had to reflect like black marble, socks had to be long and pure white in color and the school crest on the shirt pocket had to gleam like a freshly minted coin.
That last line was a mistake, as it translated in my mother’s mind as melt the coin, laminate it on the fabric, and make sure the eagle looks alive enough to fly. She plugged in the electric iron at around 4:30 a.m and I could smell the heat before I even saw it.
While I recited the multiplication table in the kitchen because brains must also shine, she laid the white shirt on the dining table padded with an old blanket. A thick cotton cloth went over the pocket to protect the nylon blend. She pressed once, twice, then without the cloth for extra clarity. The eagle that was once embroidered in gold and navy began to flatten.
“One more swipe,” she said, unknown to all of us that swipe was the murder weapon. A hiss, a faint chemical smell, and the eagle’s head disappeared as mum lifted the iron and we both stared at what looked like a bald, frightened chicken.
The heat had turned the brave eagle badge on my chest's pocket into a fallen hero, lol. By the time I wore the shirt, the eagle was shedding flakes into my armpit. I walked around with microscopic gold feathers stuck to my skin.
Inspection came and the inspection officer Mr Ayi stopped at me, lifted his pen to the level of my chest, and tapped, as a quarter of the crest fell off. “Boy, what happened here?” The corridor went silent and I could hear the tick of my classmate’s watch.
I wanted to blame something or someone, but Instead I heard myself say, “Too much heat, sir.” He gave me a demerit for untidiness and a second mark for honesty. That was the first time I realised life grades you on both outcome and admission.
During assembly, while the school hymn dragged through verses, I kept touching the frayed edges where pride used to perch. That was when I realized I had spent the entire holiday procrastinating on big dreams like waiting for the perfect time to learn guitar and start writing songs.
I was waiting for the metaphorical iron to reach the ideal temperature, while time was gradually passing and pressing forward. My chest literally carried the logo of over perfection, as a once majestic bird now flightless because someone tried to make it shinier than thread could survive.
That evening, with a borrowed needle and navy thread, I sewed tiny blanket stitches around the cracks, although the eagle never regained its factory gloss, but it stopped crumbling. In fact, the rough outline looked fiercer, like a bird that had weathered something and kept flying.
I wore that wounded crest every day until the end of the year, with each fray reminding me to start the journey, then adjust on the way. Since then I have launched projects wrinkled and I don't wait for perfection no more.
This mindset has helped me alot because am currently a fullstack web developer and I have built multiple web applications and projects within the past few months. For most of this project, I didn't have a clear picture of how it was gonna end up looking but I started anyways and it always ends in joy.
The goal is not to underperform, but to choose progress over presentation. Yes, polish when you can, but never let the pursuit of shine delay your departure. In most cases, even birds learn to fly when they are not prepared, they adjust in mid air.
