Perfect.
What does it truly mean?
To be without flaw?
But can anything exist without a flaw? All that exists is inherently flawed. All that exists is destined to end—fated to meet death. Fated. Is there any such thing that exists in this world that will never reach this doom that we know as death?
Maybe you could tell me. During the recent break, I died and came back to life on multiple occasions. But to say that I didn't die wouldn't be the truth. It wouldn't be the full truth. A version of me died. But by some cruel Joke, I was able to experience life all over again. Experience is the wrong choice of wording, considering that I didn't truly live during the vast majority of that time.
I can die, but not remain dead.
Thus, I, too, am imperfect.
But I was imperfect way before I gained this ability to come back after death (albeit, I have to wait an eternity to "come back").
I didn't go from perfect to imperfect.
I didn't go from imperfect to perfect.
I remained imperfect. And I assume I'll remain imperfect for as long as I live.
If nothing can be considered perfect, then all that is is incapable of becoming perfect.
Something imperfect can never become perfect.
But something perfect can remain perfect. Something perfect must be able to stay perfect.
Perfect.
Perfect.
Fragile.
This word was created to describe one sole person: Olympia Ventura.
Beloved by all, hated by none. She's the one who will allow this world to get closer to what we know as perfect.
The world is imperfect, but the only thing that isn't is Olympia Ventura.
This isn't based just on my standards, though. Whenever I hear gossip and banter within my school, Olympia's name tends to always pop up.
"Is there anyone as smart as her?"
"She's the most beautiful girl in the school. No— She's the most beautiful girl in the world. Her features are perfect." "I wish I were like her; I'd have no worries living my day-to-day life." "I haven't spoken a single word to her, but she seems like the ideal partner. I wish I had a girl like her in my life."
How people view her is what most people tend to describe as an ideal.
But an ideal is only an ideal if it weren't real.
The truth is, Olympia is perfect. I don't know if she was born perfect, but the person she was when she was born is not who she is now. Right now, and for, at the very least, the past threeish years we've spent together in high school, she's been perfect. I don't know how she was during her time as a grade schooler, but I do not doubt that she was perfect, too. In her home, she has trophies that date back to around the time we were four.
Why would a four-year-old be given a trophy? For the same reason as why anyone who has ever received a trophy received a trophy: they were extraordinary.
It seems that Olympia has been a special person ever since she became a person.
But this perfection of hers isn't always a positive thing.
Olympia's perfection is attributed to countless things, one being her never-ending kindness.
When someone is in a pickle, she removes others from their vinegar—sorry, bad pun, but you get it.
She takes it upon herself to help others.
She takes it upon herself to save others.
She carries the weight that other people can't bear to hold any longer, but this isn't the full extent of her kindness. Olympia is willing to help anyone, even if it's for something minuscule. Say, for instance, members of the student council club aren't able to do their job, for whatever reason it may be, they're busy, something came up, they're feeling lazy, she'll take it upon herself to cover them, even if it comes at her expense.
There's so much that Olympia does for people:
She tutors students for free.
She babysits whenever she has free time.
She raises funds so our school can have events that most of us students tend to take for granted.
She lends an ear to people who are facing struggles in their lives.
She offers to lend people money when they need (or simply want) it.
There's so much that Olympia does for others.
There's so much that Olympia sacrifices for others.
Sure, she gets a few thanks, but not always. I've noticed that people nowadays expect Olympia to treat them with kindness, as if they're entitled to it.
Most take Olympia for granted.
But she doesn't mind.
As long as she can be helpful, as long as she can be of use, she's happy.
But I'm not.
I don't want Olympia to feel the need to be perfect. I don't want Olympia to feel the need to carry unnecessary weight. I want her to live a life where she doesn't have to worry about other people's problems all the time. The only person who should worry her is herself. She takes care of everyone. She neglects one person, and this one person is the only person whom she shouldn't neglect.
It's a detriment if she does. It's a danger if she does. It's a problem if she does.
Olympia Ventura is a person who is perfect from every angle she is viewed from. But there is one angle, one specific angle, in which no one is capable of seeing. Even though I haven't laid my eyes upon this particular angle of her, I'm certain that it exists.
One day—
Some day—
I'll look at this angle of Olympia and show it the kindness that it deserves.
Show her the kindness that she deserves.
The kindness that she is entitled to after all the help she's given to others.
All the help she's given me.
She saved my life.
And I want to do the same, or, at the very least, something similar.
I want to repay her kindness.
Not as an obligation.
But simply because I want to.
In Olympia's home, the home that I am most grateful to be welcomed into.
There were plenty of photos hanging up of Olympia in them.
There were plenty of photos hanging up with Olympia smiling in them.
There were plenty of smiles…but not a single framed photo captured true happiness.