It's me, Liting again. I haven't written to you in ages and you haven't replied to many of my previous letters either. It's okay - they might've gotten lost in the snow or a reindeer could've taken it as a snack.
I'm writing to you again, years later, for a wishlist. This time it isn't a Mattel Barbie doll, a magazine subscription or a million dollars. This time, it's probably going to be more surreal. However like I promised, (I considered this wisely) the list won't be of scroll length anymore.
All I want is
- Some confidence.
- Belief.
- A big dollop of faith.
- Some spoonfuls of focus and concentration.
- A sprig of joy
- And lastly, a squeeze of determination.
I know I haven't been a good girl lately and Christmas is months away and you're probably spending a long break (before a long hustle bustle on Christmas) with Mrs Claus... but. If tomorrow I wake up and taste all these wonders on my tongue and a warm feeling in my tummy, I know you came to me. I spent my last dollar of belief on you and invested my last drop of faith.
I am tired, Santa. I am tired of all the trying a teenager has to do. I do not understand why I can't do as good as others can, or nearly as close to par. Is it just my mentality or am I just lazy? I have hardly the willpower to do anything, Santa. I get so confused and I keep thinking, and one day I'm going to hurt myself, thinking so much. It is not as if I'm thinking of a physics or mathematical theorem that would help the world in the end. I'm talking about personal problems, and they herd and murk the clarity in me. It has been going on for months, Santa. Do you have an answer why this is happening?
Santa, I do not know if you have passed through the phase of being a teenager before. I have never fought with my family so terribly in this phase. I know it is meant to happen but every time a fight occurs at home, the murkiness inside me just thickens, and crying only makes it worse. It hurts to have a feeling like this, to be unloved at home, to hurt some one I love with my words that resemble blades. I can't keep anything inside, but I do not know where this things inside me can escape. Like I said, Santa. I'm tired. If I could end this all, I would. Why am I so pathetic Santa? I laugh at school all day, Santa. Why do these feelings still return? I am not suicidal or emotional Santa. I deny these insistences.
I am only a normal girl who is going to be fifteen in a few months. I have temptations, I have been jealous. But why Santa? How am I different? Sometimes I want to be the same. Sometimes I want to be outstanding. But these feelings that brew and boil inside me, will they erupt and release the pressure one day? How different is my life from others? I want to know, Santa.
I keep searching for personal answers to my life but they never come. If I don't retrieve an answer from you Santa, I'll know where to go on Sundays now.
Love
The Girl Who Stares At Stars"
An old dig-up. I edited it so it would be more updated. Still reeks of true feelings though.