If all were fair, I shouldn’t have been let live another day past 30. Or past 20. Or past 8. Or another day past whatever age I started turning into a menacing human being who degraded people who were too cheerful. And people who honestly thought their English was perfect while actually saying “its mean” when what they really meant was “it means.” And people who talk too much and smile too much baring their decaying teeth. God have mercy on me.
But all weren’t fair, like everything in the world, so here I am, fully exist past 30, a menacing human being still, degrading people with fake smiles and bad English and dirty teeth still.
If all were fair, I would have gotten a daughter for my birthday, a menacing tiny feminist with a flair for calculus, straight teeth unlike her mother’s, perfect English, and a deep passion for writing and fighting with her mother.
But all weren’t fair, so I got books, earrings, and chocolates instead. “You like my presents?” was what N asked, and I tearfully said, “You always know what I want.” Of course I know that he didn’t know what I wanted. All weren’t fair: that loving patriarch always thought I wanted a son.
If all were fair, I would have slept through that morning and the morning after and the morning after, I would’ve slept all through eternity; therefore preventing more people getting hurt by my menacing words and judgments.
But all weren’t fair, like everything else in this world. Yours truly is still alive.
So here’s a warning to everybody who crosses my path: please save yourself from degradation. Do not display to my face your bad English, your dirty and/or protruding teeth, your too-cheerful disgusting smile, and your inability to stop yourself from talking about such a pathetically unimportant thing as your life story.
This year, I will forgive you for all your goblokness as long as you don’t be too goblok to display it to my face. And you should forgive me for – yes, for having lived past another year.
