Howard Hughes: Does that look clean to you?
Ava Gardner: Nothing's clean, Howard. But we do our best, right?
(from The Aviator)

friends and family still backstab each other, masking their devious intentions with sugary smiles. man and wife still hurt each other for years, each too proud and/or too afraid to apologise and give in. the children still sleep in though the sun has risen 3 hours ago. a strawberry falls to the floor but it's the last one left and the 3-second rule is evoked. girl falls in love with a boy and gives her whole heart to him only to have it returned in a mushy mess. the world around you is obsessed with superficiality while all you want is an ounce of truth. you slog your way through a project, an assignment, an exam and even when you are handing it in, you shake your head sadly at its lack of excellence. so should we bubblewrap our hearts and our minds? should we live in despair, struggling in the hollow, suffocating gap between dreams and reality?

are there little perfectionists in each one of us in some area of our lives where even a little imperfection is intolerable? areas which we struggle so hard to protect that we don't give others or even ourselves room to breathe? nothing's clean and that's the law of nature. a baby is born a rightful mess. it doesn't come into the world smelling like johnson's baby bath all wrapped up in warm towels. the amazon does not look like the botanical gardens with trimmed lawns and neatly arranged orchids. the clouds don't have taps to hold the water back when they are full. a downpour is released whenever, wherever, on whoever and whatever they please.

in this world, there is no perfect beauty, perfect intelligence, perfect hair, perfect painter, perfect song because perfection is not just the best, it is something that is infinite. and if infinity is not governed by concepts or walls, then all things perfect are infinite and thus one. only one is perfect, the source of creation. and creation is but the offspring of love. and if the source is infinite, then it is love that is infinite and who is that love but god who gives of himself in every creation?

nothing's clean. so what? even the most perfect unblemished one chose to dwell amongst the unclean. because perfect love makes no such distinction, and if perfection is to be strived for, then it should be love that is strived for.

hey, nothing's clean, but we try our best right?

witchi-tai-to, gim-mie-rah
whoa-rah-nee-ko, whoa-rah-nee-ko,
hey-ney, hey-ney, no-wah

water spirit feeling springin' round my head
makes me feel glad i'm not dead.