Dear Aunt Jezebel,
I am sorry. very sorry. I am sorry about all those things I thought of you. that you are rude. and uncouth. and irritating. and flippant. and flighty.
That you do not know my life. not at all. that you set the standards so high that I cannot reach them. As it is, I have a weight problem. its so difficult moving forward in a straight line that I cannot even imagine reaching up. I suppose the grapes can be labelled as sour. If they aren't sour today, they will be some day. Because nobody can reach them.
Yes. I know that you are beautiful, and people seek your company. And people are interested in you. And they get excited if you touch them. That they feel its good luck even if they see you around them.
I also know that you are depending on me. To stand up and be counted. To fulfil my destiny. To become like you. Tall. Graceful. Fashionable. Desirable. Yes, I also want those things. I would love it.
But it is far more difficult to change myself. I cannot see into the future. I just cannot.
I am fat, and round and shapeless. I cannot sit in one place for too long, and I cannot travel too far. I get tired very easily. I would have loved to laze around all day, but my appetite belies my size. After all I am trying to fit all the food I would need for an entire life in a few short weeks.
I just want to curl up in a corner and not be noticed. If my luck is good, I will be like you.
No. I am tired of hiding, and running, and being scared. If Robin wants me, let him come and get me. No more retreats, and camouflage, and no more subterfuge.
If the leaf is there to be eaten, I will eat it.
And maybe, just maybe, I will be a social butterfly some day.
utekkare,
Pranay
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