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Little Girl, in your pretty polka-dot red and white sundress,
Sitting Indian-style before your perfect, plastic, summer villa
located in Madrid.
I stare as you live out your parents' fantasies with your
sun-kissed hero,
adorned by his heroine, you
lovingly hold them up for me.
"See, Anya. See my best-est Barbie and Ken?"
Yes, Barbie and Ken. Who, unlike parents,
are too perfect to ever
think about fighting over the insurance payment,
due last week, on their perfect plastic dream sports car.
Little Girl, you look up at me with that eager little smile,
You proudly show me the
bride and the groom dressed in their perfect 'apricot-bonnet'
wedding attire.
I am amazed at how happy it makes you to prepare them for their
'big day,'
You hum as you brush out
Barbie's long blonde hair.
You have the bridegroom stashed under your bed, conveniently away.
Everything is perfect I must agree, save one thing,
Dear Little Girl, you forgot about the signing of the prenuptial
contract.
You forgot to specify who gets to keep the perfect miniature
dream house when you are no longer there to intervene.
How ignorant Barbie and Ken are of throbbing, stressful
headaches,
Of lying in bed alone, scared and wondering what the hell they
are supposed to grow up and be.
I want so much to join you and play those mindless perfect games
again.
How I want my Babies back,
so I could truly believe in Barbie when she says to Ken,
"This is true love, Baby. As long as we are together, I'll
love only you till the very end."
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My
first life-long inspiration was born of a childhood
collection of unicorns. The simplicity of this myth (if
you don't know) is pure and true love.
The creator of this beautiful, idyllic myth was actually
a wise and realistic man. He knew that in nature, there
can be no good without evil, so, he was forced to embed
a gut-wrenching curse in the symbol. His last project,
his soul at peace, he died before he could forewarn
anyone of the bitter seed he planted.
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Daily,
I stared tirelessly at my unicorns. Overtime, I came to know
their secret.
Unicorns are disappearing, and as they disappear, the concept of
true love, pure love in society is exterminated. And here's the
worker... when they are gone, true and pure love will no longer
exist.
In my short life, I have seen them disappear from toy catalogs,
movies, children's tales and even low-budget fantasy stickers. I
myself, in a fit of rage egged on by the pain of love destroyed
all but one. She, like the movie, was The Last Unicorn. She is
my totem. I am now her protector. I reason compelling enough for
me to continue to live was to know that during my lifetime, I
will make sure she is not lost.
And
despite my poetic and frequently pessimistic
observations of the ridiculous expectations of love
programmed into young girls' heads...
I have never stopped believing that if I remained pure of heart,
I would one day fall
head-over-heels in true love.
So I
learned to love patiently, passionately and
platonically the artists that inspired me and the few people who
were brave enough to be my friends. The intensity of my
affection, not only sexually-confused some of them, but drove
the most important person to me at the time, away forever. The
departure exposed a vital weakness of character. My love was
true, but too selfish to be pure.
However,
by the time my true suitors started to arrive, I had learned to
love with such unselfish glory, that my affections could shatter
the ego of the vainest man - who would flee in horror when (by dating
me) they discovered just how ugly and undeserving of true love they really
are.
But I knew there would be one out there whose life would be
begin, not end, when he heard the beacon of my siren's call.
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