A piece of my work was rejected yesterday by who was set by some undemocratic system upon the seat of authority. Now often, when your work is rejected, the flaws pointed out – though hardly apparent – it is easy to lose the correct perspective on it; the perspective with which you looked at it when crafting it; so that it appears to you, after the little disheartening critique, as something you cannot believe you had thought of in the first place – what a terrible piece of work this is, and what it more odious, it came from my hands! But no, this did no happen to me. I could still see my work with the eyes I saw it before; and it looked impervious to insult. To say it short, I did not agree with the man who disagreed. Normally I’d back down, and surely, if I were the boy I was before, cowardly and bereft of will, I would have. But no, I am no longer that person. So I stood my ground, I stood before him steadfastly, when he thought I would be leaving to ponder the mistakes of my work, and I told him, in a rather frank tone, that there was something wrong with his seeing and perceiving and understanding; and that I understood things better than him. I told him that I am going to be a great man one day, that it is my destiny, an indomitable destiny; and that he would eventually see that he is wrong. I told him that if he had better eyes and a better mind, he would easily curse at his foolish judgement. Finally, I told him that I will eventually exceed him, and he will look back as I loom high above him, to this very instance where he had dismissed my work. On second thought, maybe my work does look imperfect.


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