I admit it, I’m so corny its uncool. I’m a cornflake. Calling my deep desire to go to Nepal a deep desire AND a cause is corny. The words I use to concoct myself are corny- ‘to dream’, ‘to live’, ‘to be a desperate graduate’, to think twice about my choice of words now- corny.
Do you know what corny is? Corny is contrary to popular belief, nothing to do with corn, or lame humor. Corny is to be so excessively romantic you grow bunions in your heart, your words- spoken and written- are if you could paint them- no, picture them- exactly like one of those kawaii japanese schoolgirls cos-playing some strawberry pantied sailor moon dolly. No, not one. Busloads of them posing around.
Corny is in search of happily-ever-after. Corny is having a moral after every story, having a last line to cap it all when the story ends.
Something like this.
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Corny are my handmade birthday cards with tacky poems and rhyming well-wishes. Saying things like, ’someone of your wisdom and character is the lighthouse of my life’. Corny are my ideas of love, corny is wanting to match and pair, corny drips after every footstep I take, corny is wanting to make this a lists of three all the time.
But do you know what is the baddest of it all?
Corny is about the future. They are rose-tinted lenses, they seep into what you envision for tomorrow, they don’t grow old and die- they flourish wantonly. Grow and grow until you explode from corniness. Then you become what corny calls ‘disillusioned’, but really, its only realism.
Corny is writing down my corniness and documenting it for tomorrow.
In a bid to end corny.
