Little fan-letter

Hey

It’s probably really creepy, this fan-letter coming from someone you barely know.

At least, we’ve talked and you know my name, so I hope you are slightly aware of my existence.

(Also, I’m positive that you’ve caught me staring at you many times. I’m also sure that you know my feelings for you, because my friends are never quiet with their teasings and I almost always blush like a tomato)

Maybe this is a crush? I’m not really sure. All I know is that seeing you makes me happy, and I find myself chasing you with my eyes till you disappear from sight. 

Remember the first time we talked? Your classmate introduced me as ‘possibly the craziest girl’ you’d ever meet, and you looked down, introduced yourself and called me cute.

The whole night I tossed and turned in my sleep, wondering if it was a ‘little-sister’ cute or a ‘little animal’ cute. Even when morning came I was still confused about why I cared. 

Hey, will it bother you if I say that I’ve seen you do things you thought no one would see? I’ve seen you feed scraps to the strays. I’ve seen you pick up papers for someone who dropped them. I’ve seen you see me trip and watch, concerned, till I got up and waved to tell you I’m okay. 

We haven’t really talked much, have we? 

My tongue turns against me when I’m in front of you, and I speak like a drunk buffoon. But you always wait patiently till I finish, and pat my head to encourage me through. 

Hey, I’m pretty sure you saw me as a little sister at the very most. 

And I’m actually quite fine with it for once 🙂 as long as I get to see your smile again. 

Open letter to my mother

Amma,

You’ve always been with me. A constant presence in my life that I could not do without. The one who I follow around at every party where I see strangers I am related to but I don’t know. The person who gives me delicious food everyday, even though I may not fully appreciate the greens. You called me your sweetie, your smart princess. The one jewel you loved over all other.

But amma, when did I stop being that to you?

I used to love dressing up and showing you just so I could hear “pretty” from your lips. But now everything I wear is either slutty or old-fashioned. Suddenly my dresses make me look young, some make me look old and others make me look oddly thin. Some are too boyish, others are just ‘wrong’. Amma, why do I now have that one moment of fear before I show you the clothes I like? And even when I succumb to your wishes and wear something I hate to see myself in, why do you not call me “pretty” anymore?

Amma, it means more to me from you than from anyone else.