Imbalance

The dictionary defines imbalance its usage with something that creates tension.
I am attempting not to let it.
The story began five years ago, when I went to an art show on my dad's behalf. A very popular artist whose work I had not seen in years. So I walk in to the Oberoi's in Mumbai, and the series was on Bhuddha and most of it sold out. At the far end, on a easel, sat a 5x5' golden hued buddhist monk with eyes cast down, smiling tenderly. The artist told me that this one was not part of the exhibition and was an after thought.
He also told me that it was about someone looking within and happy with what he sees. Perfect.
It was meant for me. On closer look, while the artist, I suspect was trying to distract me, I saw that paint from the eyebrow's deep black had spilled a bit from the artist's hand on to the cheek's fine tones that were gently walking from soft ochre to cream.
He mumbled something along the lines of 'blah blah and I can touch up some bits for you, if you are interested in this piece'. I didn't care. The painting with its flaws further enforced the essence of being happy within, despite the flaws. Perfect. I repeated.
It came home around the time I just heard I was going to be a mother. It stayed with me through those nine months and after. It was placed in the most visible place in our living area, and for my partner and I, it reflected the vibe of our life, relationship and home.
Great so far. Last month, I moved cities, and it too moved with me. Again it is placed on my favorite wall in the new home. Only, I now suspect the rains have decided to see how much I believe in it after all.
Yesterday, I saw moisture taking a toll and fungus all over it...it was smeared with spots in grey as though it had chicken pox. A little something inside me began to sink.
An artist friend came home and said that I must attend to it right away as the spots can get stubborn. So I call the artist, he doesn't remember the work, I mail it to him, he didn't revert.
Today, it was sunny, so I decided to bring it down and give it a little sun. I tried to softly work with a muslin cloth in circular motion and it seemed to be clearing softly. My driver told me, to let it stay in the sun a bit and then I could attempt cleaning it again.
I return to my desk. An hour later, my driver calls me to show how well it has been cleaned.
It had. Now, the spots were not there, except a little greying on the edges. And there is a smudging of the paint on the top right side. And while he pressed hard and cleaned, the frame at the back has lined itself around the frame's border and right in the middle there is now a Plus sign. The frame has let itself be known.
I asked him to hang it back. Perhaps a restorer can fix the painting.

But I know, I will need to restore myself on my own. It is a little smudgy; the frames on which our beliefs hang within us, reveal themselves, even if we are not ready for it.
Will I still like what I see within?
Five years on...in my world, in my relationship, in me; maybe I see a lot more than I asked for..
I still want to look within it all and be happy.
It seems like I do while the painting hangs titled on my wall. Imbalanced, with down cast eyes, smiling tenderly.