03.11.08
1st Letter to a Future Daughter
(Books, Masks, Beauty)
Dear Daughter,
One day you shall learn of Venetian
masks from the books you read, for surely you will appreciate books because I will inculcate the fascination for literature in you. There is nothing significant about Venetian masks however and these are not among the most important things you shall come across in a book, but Shakespeare will mention it. Figuratively, I owned three of these masks. Yes, I used to wear masks Sweetie, genuine voltos, morettas, and bautas – keep in mind that none of these
were made of plastic. They were classy, enigmatic, intricate, but disguises nonetheless. They permitted me to roam around the world incognito and gave me license to do what a mask-less little girl could not… and that way, the Carnival of the World accepted me. Dreadful actions could be done without even a hint of a wince, and careless insincere words were all accomplished most horribly in the name of so-called love.
This letter is ante-You and ante-Daddy – not that I’d want you to call your father “daddy,” that only sounds nice in letters. There is currently no “daddy,”
and evidently no “you” as well, but at times when I don’t feel spinsterish –
which happens more frequently now after being admonished of having a mark of a cold egoist – I’d like to fancy that there will one day be a “you” as much as
there will one day be a “daddy,” and I just want to warn you in advance to keep
away from the mascherari.
The world is a carnival, Sweetie. It could look attractive sometimes, but then, every lure is. You must understand that
there are two kinds of beauty, one is real, and the other isn’t. Oh, to be able to teach you successfully the difference between the two is one of my greatest wishes. I don’t expect you to be a perfect daughter nor should you expect me to become a perfect mother, but in the end, please choose true beauty, Sweetie.
I shall be writing more to you, but for now, I must go back to my books for I know I won’t have time for them when you come into my life… and I wouldn’t even care much for books by then because I’ll be too engrossed with you – and your father, of course.
Tender kisses.
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