Dear John Break- Up Letter: To the One Who Could Have Made Me Better <3

Dear John,

The truth is its really not you, its me. Well it’s not really me – it’s more like us. Have I literally cheated? No. But I do a little every day in every little way. I lied to you when I gave you the impression that it was just the two of us in this relationships – it’s not!

I must confess that my girlfriends are in this relationship too! I love you. I love you until we have a girls’ night out and they attempt to pawn me off to the businessman celebrating happy hour in an Armani suit and Gucci loafers. I love you, until they begin to water the seeds of doubt about how I should be with someone whose taller, shorter, better looking, less attractive, with a more similar background, with more prospects, whose less in the spotlight, more ambitious, someone with straighter teeth, a smaller nose, a stronger chin, not so sweet, someone less rough around the edges – let me catch my breath. (Inhale. Exhale). Someone whose more self-motivated, someone whose moving up the corporate ladder, an entrepreneur, a… The list goes on. Every different day it’s one thing or another. And you my love never seem to measure up. I do not know what the ever shifting yardstick is though, because you come out a head above their present or absent men, yet they are convinced that convincing me out of love with you is the best option. So – it’s not you, it’s us (me + my gfs).

And dear John, the truth is it’s not just you and I, and my girlfriends; but there is society as well. The way they gawk at us when we are out and about. The disapproving looks we get from various faced races as our skin tones are laid bare and exposed for comparison as we hold hands down the paved streets. Its history that haunts us saying once this was not allowed, and now it is barely permissible. It’s the present as it exists full of people who are contradictions onto themselves. It’s society that screams to me that something isn’t right. Our compatibility isn’t evident, and so they say we must separate.

And dear John, the truth is my dearest it’s not you, but the media. The media that tells me someone who’s a 10 should not be with a mere 6.5. And so I attempt to do the math. Adding and averaging but there simply aren’t enough numbers, and so the probability of our success is skewed on a left-tail test. Some days you take the top score, and other times the scale tips my way. It depends on our Fall wardrobes and our fitness regiment, our regular spa treatments and the size of our 401Ks. It’s the trending topic on Twitter that tells me the next “it couple” has already split. And then my sense of security shatters for they are prettier, richer, and afforded more opportunities, how dare I believe I deserve to keep my man when she can’t keep hers, after all I can barely afford to walk a mile in her Manolos.*

And then it’s my parents, and the rest of my family. Their mixed messages of wait, pause, stop, reboot, play. Everyone wants of me something different. The clarity to make conscious decisions. The freedom to further my career. The maneuverability to make the best of my youth. They think someone younger would be better for me. Someone more mature. Someone with a broader background. Someone less secure. Someone who doesn’t need to tan to attain our complexion. Someone who has already vacationed where we are. Someone with a less controversial family. Someone pre-approved by them. Someone they can take credit for.

So my darling sweet John, it’s not you – it’s us. The girlfriends, the society, the media, la familia, and my own self doubt that lets them occupy a space in my head rent free. That’s really what it is. My self doubt. I doubt what good you can see in myself when I can stoop so low to have thoughts such as these. And after they’ve ripped you apart with their words and punctuations, I pause hand poised above the paper, wondering what to write to you. Wondering what credible reason I can give that is multi-explanatory. Something that will let both of us live with these decisions in a sensible fashion. I wonder where you will wander to next. Beneath my girlfriends’ criticism and constant critique I see signs of attraction, and I hope and pray that you will never succumb to their passion. For then I shall lose not only you my love, but those I sacrificed you for because I was too weak to want what I want and not allow anyone to water down my once concentrated commitment to it. To you.

Society speaks and I am pressured to listen.

Because I believe in Chanel quilted bags and Gucci glasses,
Louboutin pumps and yoga classes,
Smoothies for breakfast, crackers for brunch,
And Evian and cocktail olives for dinner and lunch.

And there’s nothing wrong with these being a few of my favourite things, but somewhere in between, I started to buy into what they really mean. An expensive uniform that inducts one into conformity, and somewhere along the line I lost my uniqueness. My strong mind whittled away by the who’s who and what’s acceptable in the upper tiers. And here I am up here, face awash with tears. For I must give you up, because you don’t quite make the cut. New money, smells funny – they don’t respect ambition. They search for that distinction that comes from a hierarchy, a family tree that you do not have my love, and now that I’ve fallen I must get up. Now that I have you, I must give you up.

Dear John. It’s not you, but all that you are on paper and in print, and all that I’m not in spirit and in strength. My French and Italian paintings will be the only ones to see me cry, as I walk barefoot and downtrodden along the marble floors onto plush Persian rugs in my Penthouse apartment. And every little thing will remind me of what we were, and what we both are not. You are not qualified, and I’m in the deepest sense shallow. After you read this letter I’ll be all alone. For when you read the truths between the lines you’ll realize what I’ve become, and you won’t love me anymore, but I’ll love you always. They’ll say I finally grew up and let the loser go, but I know I’m the one who’s losing out on you. And this regret will make me bitter, and while I’ll call myself a “go getter,” I’ll just be a digger. Digging for someone better by mine and media and society and sorority and family standards. But his better will be worse, for like me he’ll be put together. And the paparazzi will love it, and so will the public, but at home we’ll both loathe it for our expensive mirrors have reflections – and those we’ll abhor. We look stunning together, yet in spirit we are both dirt poor. And I’ll regret this decision, but as far as my brand goes – it’ll be adored.

And so my dearest, we must break up. And the truth is, it’s really not you – it is in fact me. I’m sorry!

Love, Barbie.

Picture Source: http://www.stain-removal-101.com/how-to-remove-lipstick-stains-from-clothes.html

This IS Not An Ugly Girl Rant

Let me re-iterate: This Is Not An Ugly Girl Rant. This is not one of those “those who cannot do, teach” scenarios either. I simply comment because I feel it is a comment worthy topic. Today on Twitter I was asked if I sing or dance. Similar questions have been asked before. Do I? No. Should you? Probably not. Why? Because these things are not realistic. 

There are two levels of quasi celebrities in existence, both would be better off extinct.

There are those who think by simply existing they are stars and should be treated as such, and there are those who make limp attempts at being yet never quite make it anywhere. Both the former and the latter’s progress is stunted and they never reach their peak as a result. For in order to reach one’s peak, one must first identify and then strive for it; this leaves a lot less time for silly things. Therefore, these two levels of quasi celebrities would be better off extinct. Not so much the individuals, but absolutely their mindsets and motivations.

These quasi celebrities in question are everyday individuals that spend more time on their weaves, funny coloured contacts and nails, enhanced by gallons of make-up and ankle-breaking heels than they do not receiving an education. If you want your fifteen minutes of fame and want to be front-and-center when it comes to the entertainment industry, please realize it takes more than a few bucks worth of fake to achieve that status, and even then it’s a little less than feasible.

We were taught many things in highschool such as Advanced Math and Algebra 2. We were also taught that Chemistry is not for everybody, the fame of scoring goals hardly lasts past the season, girls should wear shapeless clothing always at all times, and the diploma you received does not matter – at all, go and get another one!

And so here we are – a few years down the line – University.

And here, there, and everywhere else individuals venture forth acting like the University Center is a hall of fame in which they are to be recognized and respected. Where they should be worshipped and wanted. It’s not! We don’t come here everyday to see you. No. Not at all. Go to class! Quasi celebrities need keep in mind that there will always be somebody prettier, with a better voice, a smaller waist, a better boob job, and more followers backing her. A man with bigger biceps, a better background, etc. The list goes on.

I’m not saying you are all not gorgeous in your own right or you will not be successful, I just warn that looks are hardly ever enough. Do not bank on what you did not create and can hardly positively enhance. I know and respect individuals in the entertainment industry, some more than others, this memo is not for them.

This memo is for the girls who lurk on the corners of classrooms strutting their stuff, some wearing too much, some barely enough; all with ambitions and dreams bigger and smaller than what they should hope to achieve. Do not drop out of school to become a super model. The girl who sits in front of you is probably thinner. Do not spend your days playing basketball on the streets, dunking into garbage cans, the NBA does not recruit there.

An education is the surest way to ensure success. Even if you do not do anything with your direct degree, you make connections, you sharpen your mind, you keep your repuation safely tucked away in the concrete creation that is higher learning if nothing more. Do not sell yourself short by attempting to sell your physical self. The price of the highest bidder will be too low, and most times your self esteem and self worth will be the first to go.

A pretty face is not a prize, its a cherry on the cake, and we can all do without the cherry. What matters is the content, not the case in which it comes. Models grow fat or die of anorexia, sportsmen get injured or cheat on their wives with 18 other holes – or both, actresses are traded in for younger versions, and everyone is recycled and attacked and stalked and over – and under – appreciated and all of these things probably will be you – if you ever become quite so important in the industry as to experience these “triumphs.”

There are billions of individuals who reside on this planet, too many believing stardom is the easy way out. I’m all for talented individuals joining the rat race and blowing up, I know those who have done so, and those who are attempting to, and I respect that effort in all stages of existence. Keyword: talented.

The defiiniton of a quasi celebrity would be one who is not famous in their own right. Isn’t really much of anything to be honest. More like a local champion. An average sized fish in a small pond such as a university or college whose presence is magnified by the trumpet they blow and by the fact that their “competitors” are too busy competing for valedictorian status and a graudation with honors to pay them any mind.

You are paying, or loaning, or scholarship’ing (probably not if you’re a quasi celebrity) this education, so the least you can do is receive it. Take notes instead of checking your hair every 5 minutes, study instead of sash-aying through the hallways, learn instead of lurking around the basketball court hoping to get scouted and signed.

We also learned in highschool that little miss popular is bottom of the food chain in the big bad world, and therefore I ask that we not rely on the word of our highschool music teacher who said we could sing, our ex boyfriend who said we could dance, or our friends who said we’d look good on tv. Let’s rely on our intellect, our intelligence, our potential that can definitely be honed and enhanced as we further our education.

A higher education is not for everyone, but a degree must be to a degree for you if you are already heel’ing through the halls, so its time to put the brush down and pick up a pen: take some notes, learn something, and chances are your parents and your bank account will thank you for it!

This is not an ugly girl rant. This is the rant of a girl who realizes that :

  • Beauty is fleeting, its definition every changing,
  • There are inherent trade-offs to being “famous,”
  • In order to be wanted you must give much more of yourself than E! shows,
  • Most of us will never make it to that status and futile attempts are a waste of time and reputation
  • You as an individual and the world as a whole will benefit from the realization that serious minded professions can and should be pursued and respected, are more stable, benefit society, and save everybody the time, gag-effect, and eye rolling that occurs when talentless people exude naseauting confidence in areas that do not concern them.

This is the rant of one who realizes that being the half-naked girl on the fraternity’s party flyer does not make you a model, and the heights you will acheive at the rate you are going will be more pornographic than prominent and no one wants that. We did not arrive at our respective institutions to live out loud and gain the love of the crowd, we the fish are at school to learn to swim. So test the waters of various organizations and the depths of your passions, but focus on the primary goal and elevate your mind and its potential above that of your body and your beauty.

This is not an ugly girl rant. Its just the perspective of one girl, all looks aside.

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