Oh dear.
I'm envious. And it's all because I'm a competitive perfectionist. I'll admit that much, and I wish I didn't have to. Because I don't like admitting my flaws.
It was like the time I heard about the Australian girl who published her first book at thirteen. 'Thirteen?!' I thought, being twelve at the time, and incredibly far from publishing my own books. But since I was so jealous, and began writing furiously, and never really finished any of the stories.
This time, being three years older, you'd think I wouldn't be so jealous. But I am. Even more jealous in fact, because I believe I'm older therefore wiser, therefore I should be so fantastic at everything that I needn't ever be jealous of anyone else ever again.
But curiosity got the better of me. I remembered hearing about a little girl who began blogging about fashion when she was twelve years old, and the proceeded to make it big (no, not big- insanely large) in the fashion world. Apparently she had an awesome blog. So I googled her.
And she does.
In fact, it's so good that now I'm jealous. And I found myself thinking 'why aren't I that good? Why isn't it my name that rolls off all the famous designers lips?'. If anyone else was in the room with me, they'd respond 'Because you're not that good.' to which I'd reply 'Yes I am! I'm even better!' but surely we'd end up in an argument, resulting with me in tears, because suddenly I'm terrible at blogging.
But before someone decides to humble me themselves, I will proudly (okay, maybe not proudly, but never mind) admit that I am most certainly not the best blogger in the world. I'm probably not the best author in the world, nor am I the best photographer or fashion designer.
But hey, I'm working on it.
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