Kilvington Writers Festival 

The following excerpt is from an entry written by a Year 9 EAL student in response to the prompt ‘Perfection’ as part of the Kilvington Writers Festival. 

I’mperfect

It’s Sunday today, a day before my birthday. I feel my fear mounting again, sensing the onset of another panic attack edging its way back into my mind. Once again, my entire body feels frozen. I feel hopeless. I duck under the sheets, drawing them close, creating a cocoon of material - my hiding place from the world beyond. 

The background noises of chatter and approaching footsteps become progressively louder. I pull the sheets even tighter, covering my ears. I feel a gentle tap on my head and distantly hear a softly spoken hello. It's my friend, Liam.

‘You’re a genius,’ he remarks. ‘Your essay was incredible,’ he continues. ‘The teacher even read it out to the whole class, and I could tell he was super impressed!

'The teacher and the class want you to come back to school and share your thoughts and ideas. Please come back. I want you to, we all do. I’m so proud of you, Shawn. You’ve put into writing what others refuse to talk about. Being autistic is not a reason to hide anymore.’

I'd always been fearful of imperfections and feeling the pressure from within to succeed. My father, a doctor and a perfectionist-come disciplinarian, had always demanded the highest results and was obviously ashamed of having an autistic son. 

Not only had I often felt the emotional pain associated with the idea of not achieving the very best of myself, but I’d also experienced debilitating headaches and pain in my joints, which I now realise were all associated with my fears and depression. 

Liam was right, his healing words made sense. Perhaps it was my destiny to help others who were suffering the same anxiety as me. Until this very moment, I'd been abusing myself, trapped in a world of fear, disappointment and shame. I suddenly realised that the word ‘imperfect’ spells I’m perfect, because everyone is perfect in their own imperfect ways. 

‘Hey, let’s go catch a movie to celebrate this?’ blurts Liam excitedly. ‘I’ve got a great one in mind. I know you’ll love it, it’s right up your alley.’

Smartass is the one we ended up watching that night. As I descended the freezing cold stairs, the midnight wind rushed towards me, causing me to shiver. I had the thought that maybe sometimes it's not that bad to be autistic; noticing every little detail around me, feeling deeply, being more sensitive. Perhaps my imperfections were my strength. 

‘You have good taste in movies,’ I say to Liam in an overly sophisticated tone.

Liam quips back, ‘I know, right?’ 

We were completely silent for some time. But this time, rather than feeling isolated and drowning in my own imagination, I wondered what Liam was thinking about now.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ his voice suddenly interrupts the silence.

‘12.05am to be exact’, I respond. 

‘Then I guess there’s something I need to say …happy birthday Mr I'mperfect.’