Rubbish: A Letter Written for a Writer

I watched you look at me; watch me and my friends in our adventures. You watched me change as I learn about life, about friendship. Truly, it was a curious thing. You watched over me with your full attention I never thought I’d ever receive, and it was heart-warming. I couldn’t reach you of course. Unlike Princess Celestia, whom I can write to report every day, I couldn’t write my words and address it to you directly. But then, you were always watching, aren’t you? You saw what kind of a pony I was without friends, and I know deep inside, somewhere I struck a chord in your soul. You saw how I grow from that pony to the pony I now am. I do believe I grew. Even as I change, even though our world has fundamental differences, you and I are the same, not in every aspect of our lives, but enough to create a striking parallel for us to be bound together in understanding.

I did my best to learn something new in each and every day, so maybe somehow, with my actions, with my language, I could keep reaching out to you. I could keep our communication going. Somehow, I did.

That small spark I created in your soul has echoed into the depths of your imagination. You closed your eyes and imagined my colourful world and its little happenings. Words were strung into sentences, and before you and I knew it, you’ve created a world in your head very similar to my own.

And I existed.

I existed in your mind, and as curious as I was, I explored it. What I saw was an archive where my world is now located. To my glee, it can be likened to a giant library of different curious facts and I loved reading every bit of it. There were walls of different books written about several worlds. Your archive much larger than any library I could hope to have. I was most curious about your world and so, when you weren’t looking, I sneaked out to that place.

I learned more about the world you were living in through those small visits. I was fascinated with a lot of interesting facts you associated with your world, and how queer things could be there. Your world revolves around the sun. Heliocentricity is the term I believe. The sun rises without anyone’s will to raise it. It is as if your lives were bound to the sun and it has a profound effect on your lives. You wake up at sunrise and slept at sunset, very much like us. However, with no unicorn powers to control when it does, it is as though you were powerless against time.

I could not help but giggle at the sheer amount of knowledge that was there. There were a lot of complicated numbers and names. I cannot help but try to understand them all. I am sure, as you still kept me inside of that mind of yours, I’ll be able to understand them all in due time and then find another knowledge to wrestle with.

Also, I’ve read that Magic is seen as imaginary. It cannot exist, it does not exist. Magic practitioners are likened to a conman, which was defined as a person who tricks others into believing something that is non-existent. Of course, being a magic practitioner as I am, I would like to contest this. However, reminded of the fact that we were in different worlds, I couldn’t.

Despite the general disbelief in all things magical, I saw you longing for it.

Inside those libraries, I read about you.

You were bound by rules, as I understand it. You call these set of harsh rules reality. Because of certain inconsistencies between what reality expects from you and your actual self, you were labelled as someone different.

You were always someone who is laughed at. No matter what you do, you’ve had no luck. The rest of the world kept you at a distance

without a reason. For seeing the color in my world, and for understanding what we felt, you were laughed at. You cried those silent tears and even your gasps and pleas were shunned and shamed. They saw you as a laughable character and called you words you’d never even use on others. But I know first hoof, that you were kind. I saw kindness in your eyes, and in your soul. You only wish your world was colourful as mine and its inhabitants as kind too. I saw how you try to be kind to your aggressors, and that made me proud.

However, I wish you are not as unhappy as you were.

It might be because somehow your voice remained unheard.

Can you hear it, this voice of mine? I’ll drown out those hurtful words you heard.

In that case, you can use my voice!

Though it is not understood by some, though you might be judged for it, I can speak for you. I might be ridiculous, and rubbish, but I will speak for you alone, crossing over all boundaries, stomping over the rules called reality. Entrust your intentions to that silly voice of rubbish, and I’ll make sure your feelings will resound.

You can paint my world the colors of which you choose it to, I’ll accept it. I’ll act how you want me to. Put me in situations you imagined me to be in. So you can laugh, cry, and feel because it is alright to. Maybe the rest of your world would laugh, cry and feel with you.

So, try. Try and let me speak. Yes, let me speak your very own words. Write a word and another, compose and join them together.  Since I’ll cry out those words and feel those feelings, you can have no reservations. Describe your ideas, your dreams, your wishes, your nightmares. I have seen the colors you painted in your libraries. Truly a sight like that should not be kept inside that space. It was a beauty, much more than the view of that moment the sun rises upon our horizon, much more than Rarity’s new dresses or Princess Luna’s night… it was a sight to behold.

Paint it out for your world to see. Let them bask in the glory of the world which you let me and my friends live in.

I’ll make sure your feelings will resound.