Some people are built to be quick language learners or have beautiful afros or be good at chess.

Some people have eyes shaped like crescent moons that blaze when the light hits them, while others have poor vision masked by cute glasses.

We are all unique.

Right?

There's something we are all good at, something we were made to do; all of us have that thing about us, whether we like it or not. It could be the way our teeth are aligned or the way clothes hang on our body. It could be an innate ability to perform arithmetic in our heads. It could be the number of fast-twitch muscles in our legs.

It could be anything.

There are some clothes that look appropriate on us and some that don't. There are some hairstyles were were made to grow and some we weren't. There were sports we were made to play, and sports we weren't.

There is something unique to all of us.

But only when we accept what we were given can we truly become beautiful like the girl with the freckles who decided to finally stop hating them and just smile, or the really tall skinny kid that only stopped hating his body after he picked up his first basketball, or even the girl with the red hair that decided she would never dye it again.

Though, of course, we haven't all accepted who we are yet.

There are those of us trying to steal other's given abnormalities and make them our own, like me trying to steal the kink in an African's hair. I wasn't built for it. I want it.

It's kind of stupid.

Like a kid I knew in grade school who had that super fluffy hair that grew out all blond and thin and soft. He hated it, and constantly kept it short, but when he finally let it do it's thing in high school, he became himself and people loved him just just for who he was.

He just had to accept himself, and what he was.

And though I recognize this,, I'm still trying to live a life not made for me, and I'm jealous of those for who it was made.

I'm not talking about my hair.

I'm not talking about my desire to learn Japanese.

I'm not talking about all those failed races I ran last year.

I'm not talking about my poor writing ability or my poor photography ability.

I'm not talking about any of that, necessarily.

I'm just saying.

What do those of us with nothing special become?

What abnormality do we have to accept?

Must we simply accept that we are nothing special? We don't have that quirky ability to throw a football extremely well, we don't have that amazing talent to play the piano without trying, and we certainly don't have a tongue made to learn all the languages of the world with minimal effort.

Are we resigned to accept our mediocrity at everything and blend into the crowd, or are we forever to fight against that fact that we were born completely unremarkable, and thus spend the rest of our lives trying to be someone we can't become?

I'm not sure what I'm asking, exactly.

But I'm searching for an answer.