I aspire to have girls on Tumblr reblog photographs of myself, with hash tags about my impeccable taste, and how flawless I will have been.
Really, I imagine the picture on my Wikipedia page will be black and white (because I will be remembered as a sensitive, feminist philosopher). And I will be wearing a striped, boat neck top, and my legs will look delicately thin, because of that high-waisted pair of black skinnies I own. And in the photograph, I’m going to be casual as fuck, because the photo is going to be candid as fuck (by the fifth or sixth time, when I feel the photographer has really captured my essence, it will be candid as fuck). And I will either be mid-laugh, or mid-contemplation, in my cozy living room, next to an intimidating bookshelf. And people will Google me, so they can peruse the catalog of my various publications, and that one or two Woody Allen movies, I co-starred in.
There will be a section on my love affair, with a totally hot, older man. That’ll be my first husband. A particular paragraph in the section about my personal life will refer to the “public’s” reaction, to our age discrepancy, and feature a quote by me, where I say something like, “Fuck you, Kierkegaard.” This will then be something arty teenagers will then print on their t-shirts, in such mass, that only about 5% of the people wearing the goddamn things will be able to pretentiously say, “It’s a Sruti, quote, duh. God, aren’t you cultured?”
After my first marriage, I will have begun an illicit love affair with a very young man, (but by then I will be a little older). This young man will have been an actor. We will have had children together, and he will have (very oddly), become best friends with my ex, the older man. And this relationship will be hyperlinked to another sub-topic, about their friendship, and the ways in which the public responded to it. Because the public only responds to things they don’t get, and little old me, in my gray scale photo, was just inscrutable. A tour de force, a complicated mind, and a total sex bomb – they’ll say.
Many will disapprove of my relationship choices, and for a while, a lot of sexual theory, will end with the phrase, “I mean just look at Sruti and her young lover.”
Near the end of the page, the text will refer to my private journals, that will have been published about three years post my death. These journals will reveal that I was a strong, independent, woman, with the heart and sensibility of a little girl. A brilliant mind, though. There will be a whole section on my brilliant mind.
This is what boat neck striped t-shirts, skinny black pants, and black and white photos say! So I strut this metropolitan city, with my purse, and ideas, blood red lips, and skinny black legs, in preparation for my online memorial page.
There will be no sub-sections on my comedy career. – Sruti Islam