To A Girl Who Reads

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Aren’t you tired of all these written pieces that advise people to date you or to avoid dating you? You became an obsession, a motif, the center of the attention for all the wrong reasons. They write about you either in a degrading or an enchanted manner. They mystify you or oversimplify you. They write of all the things you supposedly want and need and can offer. I haven’t read anything written to you, because I am the girl who reads and I am done reading about myself. Write something to me.

So, to all of you who feel the same, here it is.

They wrote so much about you. They assumed you’re too much or too little. They wrote about how you complicate their lives. They wrote about how confused and intimidated they are by all the big secretes of life you possess. All those secrets glorious works of literature taught you. They stayed away or came too close. They observed you and complimented you. In all these scenarios, you were narrowed down to “a girl who reads”- nothing more and nothing less.

In their minds and all the metaphors and allegories written about you, you think the same way as that girl in a small café down the street reading her daily dose of Nabokov.

;you, who never cared much about reading Nabokov and found his style too pretentious and full of chess games.

You, the girl who reads all that there is about human mind, diving into the essays on mental illnesses every day, studying to become a psychologist, a psychiatrist, a doctor,

You were put in the same category as that girl with long curly hair rushing to the library, excited about her book club meeting where they will discuss poetry and talk about the meaning of love and the meaning of life.

All of us were just lumped together, described as “girls who read” by those who assume that literature is a cake to be eaten, and there is only one recipe to make that cake, and it tastes the same for all of us. Little did they know that the cake is too big and that we struggle with all the pieces and all end up feeling different at the end of the day.

I am writing to you, because they chose not to. They chose to observe you through that small window in a cute café where your silhouette appears charming and your face is still and serious.

They said you fall in love with so many book characters and you set your expectations too high but they never attempted to ask you what are your expectations. If they wrote to you and not about you they would know that the latest book you read has no characters one can fall in love with. It dissects our reality in easily digested pieces and makes you think- not hopelessly fall in love.

They said literature taught you so much but they never cared to ask what exactly have you learned along the way, they just assumed they knew.

If they wrote to you and not about you, there would never be a piece titled “date a girl who reads.” That piece would have your name on it and writing about you would be completely different than writing about me.

I know you’re a girl who reads, but those who wrote of how that relates to them are selfish and can’t possibly grasp on the depths of your wonderful persona hiding behind that silhouette with a paperback edition of Dostoyevsky’s Dvoynik.

So, tell me, other than being a girl everyone feels so entitled to write about, what are you?

Photo Credits: David Giral

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