Tomorrow is the Awards Luncheon for the HOLT Medallion. Here’s a little story that helped distract me a bit today.
It is fortunate that I was born handsome. I shudder sometimes, when the dark of frustration, late in the night, grips me. I remind myself what happens to the désagréable boys. They are sent to the country. They become laborers and their hands are studded with callouses and scars. Their faces are burned by the sun or the forge or ineptitude, their own or someone else’s. My hands are soft, my face unblemished. I am touched by tender hands that shackle me to the position I am desired. If my face was not handsome, I would not be displayed. I would be hidden from sight, free to live a life of obscurity.
C’est mon destin. It is my destiny. To be displayed, anonymously for others to view. They will see me as a modéle, a subject. We both know that I am his marionette. True freedom belongs to the one who pulls the strings. I will not be allowed to visit the places my image is displayed. It is his conception and he will call it what he desires. And I will be remembered for my beauty and he will be remembered for his skill.