I often think that I'm a failure for meeting my goals on time. But as I was working on a piece of craft one night, I realized how much of a meticulous perfectionist I was; placing each piece in ridiculously neat order. I did not rest - not until the critique in me had nothing else to slap on my face and oh, so much time had ticked away. When at last that itch in my hand had gone away, my world slowly redeemed to reality - and I was happy. I looked like a lifeless wreck after all the hours that went by, but inside me, my heart was very much alive. Maybe, the only failure there is for me after all is my ability to lay back, take a moment, and give myself a pat on the back for my efforts. Maybe, most people had gone far ahead of me for some greater reason. I wasn't destined to fail. I had chosen to slow down and take every other detail skipped out by those who had gone ahead for my own purpose.