I spent today at home watching Game of Thrones, going through pictures from England, and being driven to the doctor because I sprained my ankle on a jog yesterday. This morning, when I was still sleepy and not mentally ready for battle scenes just yet, I scanned through Twilight and Breaking Dawn (both parts), which I do from time to time to be entertained. However, on this specific morning the movies entertained me even more than usual with the false message they send to young women, therefore I decided to write a letter… to Isabella Swan.
Dear Isabella — Bella,
We’ve known each other for quite some time. We met when I was in 7th grade. First, we met in the library, then huddled up in my armchair, anxious in the movie theatre, shedding tears over your boyfriend at 2am, again in the movie theater after what had felt like forever — we had a short but intense relationship. By the time we met up in front of the big screen for the third time, I had already moved on.
There are a few things I want to say to you, things I wish you would have heard before you met that flawlessly handsome man, who is 120ish years old, supposedly still a virgin (I highly doubt that), a murderer, and who has waited for you for over a century but marries you after a year (because there haven’t been any other women around for a century, have there).
Let’s first address the elephant in the room: your very own Edward.
Repeat after me: A. Boy. Does. Not. Define. You. He does not own you. He is not your life. He is a part of it, a bigger part than other people, but he is and remains only a part. If he leaves you, you can scream and curse him and sob into your pillow, and then you can move on. He is not your other half; you are just as much without him as you are with him; He does not define you.
Don’t get married just to have sex. You don’t know him. You’ve never seen him deal with bad wifi connection (that brings out the worst in people). You haven’t travelled with him (except racing to Italy to stop him from committing suicide — lovely trip that was!). You haven’t even seen his awkward baby photos or talked with him about his first kiss (don’t be ridiculous: he is 120 years old, of course he has had other women.)
Forever is a long time, you know.
Let’s now talk about you.
You need to finally do something. Anything. Do some kind of sport, or if you are not into that, join a club. Pick up a hobby, learn another language, go out! Get drunk! Travel somewhere with someone. Get out of the U.S., go to Europe, and fall in love with our food. Take pictures, not lame ones to please your mother, but good ones to remind yourself of good times.
Make friends, for god’s sake. No offense, but you spent your bachelorette party alone in your bed dreaming of dead bodies. That is just sad.
There are so many things you don’t seem to be interested in, but which you are missing out on. (And honestly, I cannot understand how at least four guys are simultaneously in love with you — you are freaking boring.) And for heaven’s sake, relationships should not restrict you from doing anything but encourage you to do more, to feel more, to be more.
Your life is a cold bucket of suck. While there is your not very promising relationship with Edward and colorlessness, there is also the fact that you are as of book #4 and movie #5 (nobody needed that movie) forever eighteen. I am eighteen but I could also be fourteen or forty, it would make no difference: I would always want to move on, get older, wiser, and more badass. Truly, I feel sorry for you for being asked for your ID forever, not being allowed to drink in the USA ever, and for not being genuinely taken seriously by adults your whole ‘life.’
Why would anybody want that? Why wasn’t it enough to live in such a beautiful place as Washington State (the one thing I love about the movies)?
I am very glad I did not stay fourteen forever but moved on, got a tiny bit older, a tad wiser, and slightly more badass. I am glad because now I know what you did not know. And if another Edward comes around I won’t wait for him to tell me in a sensual voice how he likes to watch me sleep. That is just creepy. Come on, Isabella Swan, you know better, you beautiful little fool (because that seems to be the best thing a girl can be in your world: a beautiful little fool).
Thanks for reading.