I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
Once again, this was how i used to feel in my late teens/ early 20s. I think this represents a very juvenile yet very genuine state that many young women feel like they are faced with. The older I get, the more I realize that this isn’t necessarily true, and the less it resonates. I still have a great appreciation for the writing nonetheless.
