A Letter to the Woman Who Stares

Dear Woman Who Stares,

I want to personally congratulate you for your dedication to serving the occipital lobe of your brain. I can only imagine how much strain it must take to focus on one person with such perseverance, as you have exhibited. The unblinking, unwavering, relentless stare that pierces souls. The basilisk eyes that, if met, will immediately strike the challenger dead, leaving no trace of evidence for the autopsy.

That having been said, another quality I must commend, the most important, is the sheer boldness it must take to stare with such intent. In hospitals, people generally avert their eyes from instances that make them uncomfortable, be it for their own benefit or for the benefit of the patient’s dignity. Who are these people? What are they? COWARDS. You are brave enough to make a true statement! You find me to be interesting–perhaps the most interesting person ever to exist–and you want me to know it.

My mom used to stroke my hair and assure me that I was not a bore when the neighborhood kids wouldn’t play with me, and, 16 years later, you have finally given me reason to believe her. I cannot adequately express to you how much I appreciate your interest in me, which is utterly flattering and changes my life forever.

To thank you, I am going to list possible interesting details about my day that may have translated across to you through cosmic waves, catching your attention and earning your gaze forever.

  1. The lukewarm apple juice I had with breakfast sloshing around in my stomach.
  2. The floss I used to clean out the leftover bits of banana in my teeth.
  3. The imaginary baby pygmy hippopotamus on my left shoulder that I take everywhere with me (except to the shower–that’s just gross).
  4. My left index fingernail is chipped.
  5. One of the Twilight movies is on TV. I skipped past the channel for fear of brain degeneration.
  6. The smudge on my eyeglasses that I’m too lazy to clean.
  7. The time I spent brushing my teeth this morning was neither above nor below average.
  8. The dream I had about molecular biology.
  9. I only had to use one Q-tip today.

Thank you again for making me feel interesting as a person, and less self-conscious about having to be in a wheelchair with a machine attached to me. I know that the machine in my lap was not the reason you were staring because, in fact, it is so unbelievably uninteresting that it’s below the purpose of your focus.

Please continue to stare at whomever you find interesting, and never look away, because you are making a difference. It is your gift, and it must be practiced. True gratification is not far; you will soon receive your reward for the selfless work you have done.

Sincerely,

Pooja Parikh

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4 Responses to A Letter to the Woman Who Stares

  1. Alex says:

    aaaaaannnnndddd the first comment goes to me..yep..me..I don’t know what I get for this but I presume it will be something in the after life? A place analogous to the counter where you can trade your worthless game tickets into REAL pencils and erasers and if you parents had given you 30$ to play games perhaps a stuffed animal (if you didn’t suck at video games), so yes..that is where I will take my prize. As for this blog, I like it, I want it, and I want to read more. So jump on it, make me proud, be my light in this unfamiliar territory and show me how you got to be so lustrous. Oh and if you don’t mind, come home soon 🙂

    • Pooja Parikh says:

      Let me just say…whatever you get for giving the first comment better pale in comparison to what I get for putting up with you for so long. Juuuuuust kidding. I’ll do my best to be your experienced tour guide through this unknown land, but I cannot promise that we won’t get lost…

  2. Molly says:

    I love this.. Very real, reminds me of me.

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