It's hard to admit one's fault. It's harder to admit that one indeed has a fault at all. But it is easy enough for anyone to declare and admit to the whole world the opposite - make a proclamation of praises for oneself to the public of the best qualities he has to offer.

Throwing humility and modesty out the window, he categorically states what and how he is supposed to be perceived. An oral slumbook of sorts, listing all the positive adjectives available in the dictionary. Juxtaposing one adverb before another adverb before every adjective to be attached to the word "I". And the list goes on filled with nothing but self-serving statements which could never stand even in any court in the world.

In the process, all he sees are the faults of others. Of course, it would have been easier to find fault on those seen clearly. To those which can be seen with both eyes, in a three-dimensional figure traipsing before his eyes, his vocabulary is suddenly limited only to words which could sting like poison darts.

Admittedly, all of us are guilty at some point in time doing the same thing. But not to the extent of forgetting subtlety when we unconsciously make a recital of our curriculum vitae or a very extensive resume, or orally reciting an answer to a slumbook item of "Describe yourself".

Rationalizing, it could be possible that such kind of person possibly missed puberty. That formative stage of life having known and established one's identity. True enough, one can easily reinvent and redefine himself in some random point of his life, but not as much as a drastic change as from freezing to boiling hot. The point is, he may have some identity crisis of sorts, sorting out his personality through the lives and experiences of others.

Which leads us to his trains of thought. Next item in the slumbook says: "Skills", and most probably, he may have listed each and every possible skill there is as humanly possible in this time and age. That, of course, is how he sees himself. If he describes himself in such a manner as to sell him to the highest bidder as the most precious thing that the richest man would give for all his money in the world, how else would he fill up this item? The items could be dancing, singing, speech, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Oh, and let us not forget to include writing in one of his top skills. Of course, how would he be able to sell himself were it not for the flowery, hifaluting words he will use to pad the already beefed up persona he projects. Let's say, he is indeed a writer. Everybody could be one. He may have been living his life through his writings - creatively. But let us say he had already used up each and every neuron in his brain to come up with a novelty. In such a case, even a "normal" person would seek resources for fresh ideas. So he resorts to reading, which by the way may have gone up his list of skills by this time. He reads the works of others. He collects, then finally, choose some. When he does choose some, he becomes inspired. However, he does not seem to mind enough to consider that inspiration does not necessarily entail trying to become that particular author. He now has his building blocks. He reads, and reads, and reads, until he becomes accustomed to the flow and train of thought. And when he finally comes up with a so-called fresh new idea, he tries to write like that author. And that appeases him more than he can say so for himself because he again has succeeded to become the skilled writer as he proclaims. And when he receives praises for that work, his elation reaches the moon, again, padding the personality fit enough to be the Man of the Year cover for the Time Magazine.

Rationalizing, again, probably he just wants to learn and improve. It's not just writing, he may have done the same thing with his other skills. He may have his own niche in this jungle of predators where he is the alpha male, respected and idolized. But, in this place we call the real world, we try to find our place. We find a niche to belong to. Or even our own niche, if the uniqueness to the truest sense of the word cannot be ignored. Then we develop. We try to improve and evolve to the best we can be.

We cannot claim to be overachievers enough to have adapted all the skill there is to adapt. We cannot claim to be persons better than the rest. We cannot continuously see ourselves in front of the mirror and like each and every inch of our reflection. Most importantly, we don't always look in front of a mirror under good lighting, which we would always prefer, satiating our ego.

What is being said here is that, there are truths behind what we believe. The stench of truth, no matter how much perfume you try to cover it, will anyhow reek. Refusing to see that truth will not only make you believe your own lie, but you will have to work very hard, exerting all your effort and energy trying to convince other people that this is the truth you want them to believe.

He may be the author of his own truth, but there are people, unbelievably for him, more skilled than he is, to be able to read between the lines. No matter how much he tries to repeat his version of truth often enough to reach others as true, he will be disappointed. In that sense, he is undermining his audience of their level of judgment.

Trying, again, to rationalize the situation, perhaps, he just doesn't want to be judged. But the way he judges other people, finding faults, narrow-mindedly speaks harsh words against them, he has no right to expect people to understand. His lies continuously pours on like sleets of rain. And when the rain stops, he finds himself sinking deeper and deeper in the flood he himself made. And the current brings him back to where it all started - the truth he has shielded to protect himself.

By this time, people will not rationalize anymore. They've grown tired. And since he had already given his personal testimonial on himself, there are no more words left to use to describe him which his audience haven't heard before. And as any consumer watching paid advertisements on TV would do when he sees a product claiming to be the best product there is, when he himself knows how much of a lie that is, with a knowing smirk on the face of disbelief, he would not hesitate for a split second to simply change the channel. And then, he is now left with no audience.

A little appreciation would make it all better. A simple thank you. A kiss. Or even a hug. The simple things that make everything all worth it -- the suffering and the pain.

A little bit of courtesy goes a long way. And how far it would stretch depends on its sincerity.

All of us have gone through the formative stages of life. It may have come early to some, or even later. As long as it comes, you can't have gotten through life reaching this day and age without knowing how you came about.

There are significant characters that influence one's growth. And all of them gave you something one way or the other. Some may have made you stronger, some made you weak. Some made you want to be the jolly person you are now, or even the grumpy and grouchy you. However way they have taught you a lot. And those things are a part and parcel of your very being.

Should you thank them, grant them as much gratefulness as they deserve. Good or bad, they made you who you are. And they might not know it or not, it's for you to make them realize how much they helped you over and over in every struggle you meet. And it's you and them who will understand what it is and what it would be when the right time comes.

Irony. It does not make life any easier. It's not as easy as it seems. It does not make life as it is. It does not offer you much choice. It always gives you something in between to choose. Rather than focusing on what is, what's not has to come intervene.

Count your blessings, is what we always say. And then something else happens. Keeping you repressed with the burst of elation waiting to explode. Ha! What's worse, you get condemned for showing any positive emotion when someone else has just gone through a tragedy.

Unconsciously, you show remorse. And what do you get in return? You become the punching bag. You absorb the pain someone else feels, keeping you from feeling great, and instead of just keeping your feet on the ground, you actually find yourself buried deeper, deeper than the next person's feet are.

It sure is a bummer. But hey, in the long run, you get appreciated for having been there. A sincere gratefulness coated with words of thanks and appreciation suddenly pours. And when it's the other person's time to be great, you still tend to be there and celebrate together. Even when you yourself are down there.

How about your greatness? Will there ever be a time when you would get to feel on your zenith and not feel guilty for someone else? Will they ever feel guilty celebrating when the situation is reversed?

How ironic. When you have the sun above your head, the rain suddenly pours all around you. And you find yourself getting wet with them instead of pulling them under your own sun.

What works does not necessarily mean it is what's best. It does not for sure mean that there are no other approach to effectively reach a goal. There are better and more efficient ways. And what works does not necessarily mean it is your one hundred and one percent.

Prioritizing and compartmentalizing different aspects of your life, part of it you would willingly give more than you can offer, others, well, you just have to do it to get it over with, not necessarily hoping for a substantial product, but merely to get through with the utmost grace and composure you can muster.

Surprises come, however, when you would find yourself doing alright, amidst the pressure and a whole lot short of the effort you may have given to the task. And you realize that no matter how much you have given, it actually works for you. But there is more to it than just "working". A lot of possibilities and opportunities open while in the process which is just at bay, waiting for it to be grabbed and taken advantage of. These are mostly things that would be utilized in the long run, yet, you blatantly refuse to see it that way. And when the time comes for it to be necessary, no more room for worries or regrets, you are just there making up for lost time. Eating up every aspect of your life and those other aspects you give your life to, suddenly crumbles.

And then you just stare blankly into space, thinking in the deepest, darkest pits of your mind that you should have given it the same amount of energy and effort when it was there. Time lost can never be regained. But time there is, is always an opportunity to make up for time lost.

What if the world were a little more perfect? There would have been less stuff to fix and a lot more room for progress. There would be a whole helluva lot more people happy and a lot less people coming into any form of personality disorder brought about by trauma or life's unfavorable choices -- less harm, less agony and less hatred.

Come to think of it, if the world were a little more perfect, each and every breathing specie would have a greater chance of survival. And there would have been no more balance in the population in the world. Nevertheless, there would be enough for everybody. No victims, just a peaceful coexistence with each and among the rest.

If this would be the case, then there would be no more room for faith, hope and belief in something greater to fix things. Or if not to fix, at least, to bring about any change in an uncanny approach. Each would be confident enough to do things more or less with such efficiency as the next guy. Competition sets in and each one would strive to be greater than the rest. All then would be hungry for power, limitless possibilities to explore and to take dominion over.

If the world would be a little more perfect, chaos and anarchy would set in, each would victimize the other. And each one in his proper place would have no more opportunity for some place else. Eventually, man alone would destroy the perfection there is. And then man again would hope that the world would again be a little more perfect.