“I will try” I said to myself, knowing paints are not my thing. I sat my anxiety down, even though I was alone in the room it had shot up because I was going to do something I knew I wasn’t good it. “I will try” I said again.
▪ I tried to paint a perfect sky, but I couldn’t get the shades right, the blend of shades of blue and white. I could not paint the trees right and it made me feel weird because paints, I thought were liquid, how difficult could it be to control them. I went on, but I couldn’t perfect my scenery or whatever I was trying to make. 
▪I didn’t know how to shade the leaves of the trees of bring in the branches on paper, so I simply let my brush waltz around a bit. It wasn’t perfect but it was something. 
▪I wasn’t satisfied because it was not good but I was satisfied that I tried. Hurriedly I cleaned up the place and before I knew it, laughter echoed behind me, I turned to see who had caught me in my state of imperfection. 

“that’s not art, that’s pathetic, even a child can do better. It’s not your thing, stick to writing, nerd” 

said a voice. 

A tear rolled down my eyes and my heart shattered because I had only tried. I wasn’t trying to be perfect, 

I was only trying. 

I buried the ‘art’ I had created under the bed and cried myself to sleep, 
▪but that was me, ten years ago. 

Today, I still paint, I still let my brush waltz how it likes to. I don’t maintain a periphery and I paint even the wooden table sometimes 

but that is okay, I realised, after a very long time.

That is okay because everything we create, no matter how imperfect or naive or mediocre, 

everything is art.

Trying, is art.

-Wanderer // Marlyn Pereira 

T  R  Y ❤


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