Tim was no stranger to chaos. Living in a shared apartment meant he often returned to surprises — a broken cup here, a misplaced shoe there. But that Thursday evening tested his patience in a way nothing else had.
The evening had already been long. He had stayed outside the compound with the other tenants, arguing over how to settle a constant problem which is the annoying electricity supply. The wind had broken a high tension pole again, and the caretaker wanted everyone to contribute a fixed amount to cover the repairs. Tim barely had the energy for bargain with them, but he stood there nodding, watching the day light darken and feeling the weight of the day down on his shoulders.
When he finally dragged himself to his apartment, it was nearly 9 p.m. He opened his door, turned on his phone’s flashlight, and was stoned. The room looked so unkept and sandy, his books scattered on the floor, clothes were hanging on the chair and table, and shoes littered the floor. The only thing untouched was his bed.
He did not ask who the culprits were because his niece and nephews had been around since morning. Tim sighed, not with anger but with despair. He was too tired to shout and too drained to even lift a broom.
He dropped his bag on the bed — or so he thought — and collapsed beside it. That moment you almost fell asleep but caught yourself.
“Where’s my bag?” he asked himself after a while. Sitting up, he looked around the mess. Panic set in as he cleared the sheets, tossed aside a pillow, and looked into the corners of the room. His phone was in that bag, and for a moment, he was uneasy, thinking he has lost it.
He took a tour in his mind. He remembered pulling the phone from the bag outside during the discussion to check his messages, remembered putting it back after using the flash light. But now nothing.
“Now I’m sweating,” he said to himself, wiping his forehead. He started to unbutton his shirt and change from his work clothes to something casual before searching again. That was when his hand brushed against the bag's strap on his shoulder. He paused again.
The bag had been on his back the whole time.
Tim stood straight up, staring at the ceiling before letting out a deep breath and sigh, shaking his head.
Looking down, “Wow, Adam,” he said under his breath, referring to himself whenever life played tricks on him. “Well played, Imperfection: five. Me: one.”
He thought about it for a bit, absurd yet true. This wasn’t the first time he had caught himself being absent-minded. Just last week, he kept going outside and coming in just to remember what he went inside to get. To remember that it was just soap and detergent to wash some clothes. A month before, he forgot to carry his charger to charge his phone and powebank at his friend's place, laughing to cover his embarrassment.
Tim had begun to think of these moments as part of what he jokingly called The Imperfection Syndrome as a condition where his mistakes showed up not as failures but as a hysterical reliefs of his life's episode. He never got it right, and yet, somehow, he kept moving. It is inborn.
Leaning back on the bed, he thought of his father, who always asked perfection from him. A neatly ironed clothes, spotless shoes, every answer ready before a question was asked.
Growing up, Tim often felt like he was never enough. Now, in adulthood, he had made peace with his heart. Tim was never perfect, but he always kept it real real.
Maybe the room was messy. Maybe he forgot things, lost track, or laughed at his own mistakes. But wasn’t that what made him human? The tiny cracks in his daily life left space for humility, humor, and, above all, resilience.
Tim closed his eyes, bag still backed on his shoulder, and smiled. He thought of tomorrow. Here we go again. Another morning, another meeting, another chance to stumble and laugh.
If imperfection was a syndrome, then maybe it was one he would never want to cure. Because in the end, it wasn’t about going to work everyday. It was about living the mess and still finding a reason to giggle at the ceiling in the quiet of the night.
#theinkwell, Hope I'm welcomed
