Perfection used to be my silent goal.

 Before my stroke, I strived to always get things right—my words, my work, my world. I thought strength came from control, from polish, from doing everything just right.

But life had other plans.

After the stroke, perfection vanished. Suddenly, I had to relearn the basics. I stumbled over words. I forgot names. I got frustrated with things I once did with ease. My rhythm changed. My pace slowed. Nothing looked perfect anymore—not on paper, not in speech, not in life.

And yet… something deeper emerged.

 Something real.

I found honesty in my struggles.

 I found connection in my flaws.

 I found strength in just showing up as I am.

I no longer chase perfection. Instead, I honour progress. I treasure authenticity. I allow myself to be seen—even when I am messy, tired, or uncertain.

Because the truth is: real inspires more than perfect ever could.

In being real, I wrote six books—one of them soon to be in Chinese.

 In being real, I began sketching and illustrating, even though I never trained as an artist.

 In being real, I started a play, and said yes to a movie project.

 In being real, I joined Dragon Boating and picked up Piloxing—things I never imagined doing before, but now they give me joy, strength, and purpose.

Not because I had everything figured out, but because I dared to be honest with what I felt.

People connect with truth, not polish.

 They relate to wounds, not perfection.

So to anyone struggling with not being “enough”—you already are.

 You don’t need to be perfect.

 Just be real.

That is where the healing begins.

 That is where the magic lives.