It's just her fat(e)

This has been on my mind for quite some time now.. I guess I never actually got down to writing it because of the absurdity of the entire situation. However, I finally decided to write it down anyway. 

On the 6th of July 2013, Marion Bartoli beat Sabine Lisicki to win her first ever Wimbledon Grand Slam title, thus achieving her childhood dream. 

That's amazing right? She worked so hard and finally after all her hardwork, she got what she deserved and worked for, right? 

Apparently not. Half the world thinks it wasn't right that Bartoli won the title. And why?

Because she's 'fat'. Starting with a reporter. A news reporter! Like what the hell? John Inverdale, a BBC reporter stated that the Wimbledon winner was "never going to be a looker". Really John Inverdale? Well guess what? You're never going to be a Wimbledon winner. 

It's a game of tennis. Why are people obsessed with the way the players look? Is it the love for the game that drives people to watch the game? I'm seriously starting to doubt that. It looks like people want to watch the players, not the game. Their bodies, not their skill. Their beauty, not their goals. 

Twitter comments after the final match weren't about how exciting the final match had been. Nah-ah, they were about how Bartoli didn't deserve to win. Why? Because she's fat. So apparently, if you're 'fat', if you don't have those 'thin, shapely legs', the right 'hour glass figure', that 'beautiful blonde hair', you don't deserve to win  a tennis title.

That is probably the stupidest thing I have ever heard. 

Most of the times, stupid things make me laugh. But this, this just left me sad. 

And disgusted. 

The Bell Rings

22nd March 2013. That was the day I graduated along with the rest of my class. I should be over with the fact that I'm done with school. I should be excited with the prospect of a new place, new friends, new teachers; college. Weirdly enough, unlike many of my friends, I'm not so eager. A few days back schools reopened and it hit me again, that this year, and the years to follow, there will be no going back. Mixed feelings? Oh yes. 

Classes. Countless classes. Mundane routines that got to all of us, making all of us count down the seconds till that bell would ring, ending our boredom and in most cases waking us up. On lighter days, we'd pass notes, doodle in our books or literally just sit and dream, waiting for classes to end.

And then, all of a sudden, seemingly too soon, the final bell rang. I will never again sit in school, in class, waiting for a class to end. Will I do it again in my life? Oh sure. That depends on my teachers, my classes, my classmates. But the fact still remains that I will never actually wait, counting the seconds down for the school bell to ring and end a boring period. 

It's pretty odd that I thought of something as insignificant as the school bell when I thought of writing about school. Yet for some reason, it appealed to me the most to write about. We wait and wait for each bell to ring, for the tiring hours to come to an end, for the exams to finish. Many times we forget to notice small things about our classmates, about our class, about ourselves by waiting for time to run out. For instance, many people in our class don't even remember what colour the door of their class was. Not that knowing the colour of a door is going to help us in any humongous way, but it does add to the colour and excitement of memories right? 

This probably sounds extremely pointless and lame, but guess what? I'm not waiting for a bell to ring right now. I'm taking time out to collect my thoughts and to write. About a bell. Our school bell. 

It's almost impossible to try not waiting for the bell, but try. Sometimes. I did and I noticed so many things. Things that my classmates missed out. 

What's the point of always waiting for time to run out. It's literally living in the future.

The present. That's where we should be. And when the bell rings, it'll ring. We can't slow it down, we can't hurry it up. It'll happen when it should. 

*Trrriiiiing*