Cry Baby? Cry.

Age Five:
She hates school. No friends, nobody to play with, her first experiences with being bullied, teased, ridiculed, misunderstood. She cries.

Age Ten:
She has gotten used to it all, being a recluse, an outcast, but is looking forward to seventh grade. She will be going to a new school, and is happy: new people; perhaps she'll find a friend at last. But there is trouble; all the 'good schools' won't accept her. She is different, a slow learner, how will she keep up with their intensive curricula? There is discord at home; her parents are worried - what will she do in life? She cries.

Age Thirteen:
She is doing fine - she managed to find her way into a decent school after all. Still no friends as such, but her classmates have accepted her - for they are teenagers, a little more mature than the kids who had bullied her. But alas, growing up is awkward - she is the tallest girl in the class, with the most prominent chest - as if she didn't already stand out enough. And she is spotty. Ugly, the boys in her class call her. She cries.

Age Fifteen:
The other girls have caught up with her growth spurt; the pimples are under control; the teasing has ceased. But she falls in love, for the very first time. He is the coolest, most popular boy in class, and treats her like a friend. She can't help but blush around him. The pretty girls spread the rumor, about her crushing on him; the teasing starts again. He takes to ignoring her, embarrassed by it all. She is heartbroken. She cries.

Age Seventeen:
She has long gotten over him - he is stupid and immature, and she marvels over how she could have liked him and labeled it as love. She is raring to go - preparing for the medical entrance exam - she is going to be a doctor, and show the world she can do anything she wants to. Ha, bet it would shut up all those schools who labeled her 'different' and rejected her all those years ago.
But alas, she is the only one left speechless: she fails. She cries.

Age Nineteen:
She is confused in life, studying English Literature at the local Arts college. After her childhood dream of being a doctor had shattered, she'd wanted to go abroad, to study music. The piano is the only thing she is good at apart from biology. But there had been no money, and she isn't talented enough for a scholarship. Besides, whoever blew thousands of dollars on studying MUSIC out of all things? 'You're out of your mind,' she is told, time and again, whenever she says she can't study English. It is something to be learnt, not studied, there is a big difference between the two, but only she seems to understand it. She feels so alone, even though she has a few friends now. She can't really talk to them. But she does not cry. Instead she immerses herself in the works of Shakespeare and Austen and Dickens and Twain. They make a lot of sense, so unlike all the living people she is surrounded by.

Age Twenty:
She falls in love again. He is older than her - by two years - and smarter - an engineer - and handsome - tall, athletic, fair, dark-haired - just like the guy of her dreams. But he is out of reach, going around with a much sought-after girl. They are the 'it' couple, the 'hit' couple, the 'fit' couple.
Memories of her first crush, five years ago, bring a smile to her face now. She often wonders about him, checks out his online profile from time to time, and it makes her feel strange, how he was once so important to her. What she'd felt for him was nothing compared to what she is going through now - the stomach-churning, heart-flipping, brain-freezing, emotion she feels is so much more intense than what she'd imagined love to be. It is maddenning. And shocking. She doesn't feel like herself anymore, especially when she takes the first step to be friends with him. He reciprocates and soon, he is a part of her world. It is an achievement of sorts for her - having a best friend. A boy best friend. A boy she loves, to top it all off. It is frustrating, but she does not cry. She is beginning to appreciate the irony in her life.

Age Twenty-two:
She graduates and lands a job with the local newspaper. It does not pay well. She is single, living with her parents, religiosly depositing her paychecks at the bank - saving up for the 'future'. She is not sure what this 'future' exactly is - she would much rather use the money to buy pretty clothes and go to the movies like other girls her age -but her parents won't let her. She is still teased, for listening to her parents so much, especially by him, her best friend, her love.
She tells him one day, how she feels. He gapes at her and tells her to quit being emotional. She decides she may never have friends who will understand her; so decides to do an Anne Frank. She turns to the written word, recording her life's disappointments, her absurd thoughts and absurder feelings; the weird tendency she has developed to laugh at sad occasions because she always spots something ironic about them, and cry at happy ones because they overwhelm her so. She is told off, for living in her own world, always stuck to her books or her diary. She does not cry; only smiles warily. And writes some more.

Age Twenty-five:
She is an author. A New York Times bestselling one at that. Who knew her personal scribblings in a paltry journal would excite the publishing world so much? She'd sent off the manuscript on impulse; fully prepared to encounter some more rejection and laugh sardonically in its face, but instead she'd received a call from the very excited editor.
She is in London, at Guildhall, to collect her Man Booker. The idea of giving a speech terrifies her; what if everyone laughs? She can feel all the eyeballs on her as she makes her way up to the stage. She is resplendent; dressed in a sleek designer gown, with hair and make-up that costs more than her entire year's salary had been not so long ago. She feels a thrill as she reaches the podium and sees everyone waiting to hear her speak. She has arrived, at last. And how. She is not only successful, but rich too. And beautiful. She had always been beautiful; but had been too afraid to show it, to embrace it. She had refused to see it in herself, so how would anyone else have seen it in her? They saw it now though - clearly - it is evident in the awe that they ogle at her with. Her parents are proud.
He had gotten back in touch; her 'first love'; sent an online message. She'd ignored him, just like he'd ignored her years ago. Her second love, her best friend had pulled her into a hug and gushed about how happy he was now that she was famous. She'd gently pushed him away, told him to quit being emotional.
'Destiny'. The word resounds in her head.
She isn't going to take anymore nonsense in life, from anyone. And it makes her happy. So happy that she cries, as she receives her award. Tears of joy; of triumph; of perseverance. She cries, for she has every right to.