The letter

Ahem Ahem.

I would like to discuss two very important things today.

Something I read this morning that has knocked my socks off. Yesterday’s expose on men was on some blogging forum called DesiPundit. I had never heard of this forum before. (partly, because I have an acute allergy to the word “blogosphere”)
Please excuse Drops of Jupiter as she faints, falls off her chair and proceeds to revive herself using her smelling salts. Whew!

They say there is no such thing as bad press, so bring it on, I say! More tequila please!

Judging by what my article was put across as and from the hailstorm of comments, I must clarify:-
1. Most of these men are REAL, they are a part of my life. I do not expect that all women/men to relate to this. Hell no! “a la moi” is French for “OPEN YOUR EYES AND READ PROPERLY”
2. Therefore, if the men are indeed prompted to make their own list, they should (I believe) make it their own personal list. And by that I mean, not replacing father, brother,son and husband with mother, sister, daughter and wife. That is NOT creative.
3. Drops of J is not a preacher, and the lessons she learns are her own. She does not generalise or extrapolate her lessons to the universe.
4. Drops of J is not a bitter scorned woman, she intended the article as a tribute to the men in her life. It was by no means derogatory or scornful. Humourous, yes, but not derogatory. Drops of J LOVES her men. And she might do a similar list of women too.
5. To prove the point, she is forced to publish this letter, which she wrote BEFORE making the list. This is from her private unpublished collection, but she does not want to be looked upon as a Man-hater. Hence, so.

Dear Men,

You are the most fascinating creatures of all. What can I say? I love you all, because what would my life be if not a lesson learnt or a lesson taught from one man to another.
As a dad, you love me eternally, even if you just want to get rid of me by marrying me off. As a brother, you want to love me by beating me up and ripping me off. As the first crush, you’re here to teach me how heartbreak feels. As a first boyfriend, you tell me that not of all your kind can be trusted. And by slashing your wrist, you taught how to be passionate.

But the one thing you’re so good at it is being my friend, and I love you so much for that. Remember how you bought me dinner when I was sick? or chocolates during surgery? or told me to keep loving till I was numb? Remember how we spent Valentine’s day, two dateless souls? And how you got beaten up by those thugs for me?

I still hate the fact that to you, I’ll always be three kilos too heavy to be a sex-bomb. I love how you don’t deny you’re attracted to me, but you’ll never act on it. And how you tell me I’m too precious to lose. Maybe I am, or maybe you just love me that much.

And just when I hate you so much, when I feel I couldn’t trust your lame perverted ass, you do something to give me faith again. I know you’ll always ignore me for that chick you’re trying to hitch. And how you’ll come (crying) back to me when she asks you to go to hell.

I’ll always hate you for pushing me off the bus and breaking my leg, and how you came home to visit me after, and how you loved the sandwiches I made for you. I’ll always hate you for telling all my crushes that I lusted for them, and how they avoided me like the plague thereafter. But I know you did that because they weren’t good enough for me. Maybe I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time.

I love how you think I am stupid, even if I always have and always will get better grades than you. I love how I did better than you only because your blind confidence scared the hell out of me. And I love how honestly thrilled you were the first (and last) time you ever outperformed me in primary school. I am still happy to be called a bimbo.

I love how our friendships have turned into romances, how our romances have turned into friendships and enmities to compromise.

So thank you for remembering my birthday no matter what time zone you’re in, thank you for asking me whether I am happy, thank you for looking out for me and thank you for understanding why I love someone else. Thank you for introducing me to swearing, alcohol, my first dance and my first kiss.

And thank you for telling me you miss me. I miss you too.



19 thoughts on “The letter

  1. good stuff. A bit of second in there, and yet the first always. Seriously, intelligence is mere computation, may be nerves play a role too, may be maturity and may be prioritising…? . got to be, because even with all these numbing endless thoughts, you still beat the crap out of us in academics. It’s about men you wrote, and so the compliment… or about your men… anyways.

  2. we are having a “cute” discussion on Casa’s blog. See what i mean!!! that pic is nothin but cute. more cheeky that anything else!im thinkin all the time, i get paid to do that, just think. which part of my thought process are you curious about?

  3. voila…a swipe at my poor ass…well if it was indeed then Rise up and smell the coffee…the equation for the Parent figure..holds true in the women category as Mother et. al are def the imp women in ur life…with regards to the letter…heartfelt and at the same time funny…u have the je ne sais quoi…and i will let it stand at that….

  4. That was one of the nicest posts ive read fave part was***thank you for asking me whether I am happy=thank you for understanding why I love someone else***haye now i miss my friends back home…

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