Dear Diary,
I don’t hate him as much as I appear to. Yes, I sport a vivid shade of crimson when I am smacked upside the head with a snowball, or a pinecone, or anything he may have in his hand at the time. Yes, I am annoyed at his sexist comments, and yes, I do disagree with just about everything he says about me.
But there is a quality to him, a cynical, sarcastic wisdom that many fail to see. I see it; I simply fail to acknowledge it. Why? Because if I did he would think even higher of himself than he already does, and I feel that it is my duty to watch over him, to see his true, kind nature and guide him toward the light buried in his soul.
Now about the tiger: I have no fondness for the stuffed toy, though I think that if I had such an imagination as he possesses, I would think on its restuffed fur, its burst seams, its ragged appearance as having great sentimental quality. But the tiger is simply my link to the boy; the thing that keeps us from tearing each other’s throats out. If I feel the same way about the stuffed animal as he does, then we share something. It may be one puny thing, but at least it is something.
All of those times, that hatemail, those pranks, and all the angry words exchanged, are symbols. They are symbols of the fact that people like us, unwilling to speak our feelings aloud, have resorted to mutual hatred, and in a horrible, twisted way, I am glad that our rivalry stands.
Most Sincerely,
Susanna Derkins
I don’t hate him as much as I appear to. Yes, I sport a vivid shade of crimson when I am smacked upside the head with a snowball, or a pinecone, or anything he may have in his hand at the time. Yes, I am annoyed at his sexist comments, and yes, I do disagree with just about everything he says about me.
But there is a quality to him, a cynical, sarcastic wisdom that many fail to see. I see it; I simply fail to acknowledge it. Why? Because if I did he would think even higher of himself than he already does, and I feel that it is my duty to watch over him, to see his true, kind nature and guide him toward the light buried in his soul.
Now about the tiger: I have no fondness for the stuffed toy, though I think that if I had such an imagination as he possesses, I would think on its restuffed fur, its burst seams, its ragged appearance as having great sentimental quality. But the tiger is simply my link to the boy; the thing that keeps us from tearing each other’s throats out. If I feel the same way about the stuffed animal as he does, then we share something. It may be one puny thing, but at least it is something.
All of those times, that hatemail, those pranks, and all the angry words exchanged, are symbols. They are symbols of the fact that people like us, unwilling to speak our feelings aloud, have resorted to mutual hatred, and in a horrible, twisted way, I am glad that our rivalry stands.
Most Sincerely,
Susanna Derkins
Zozey
kmeep
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