𝙻𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝙳𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚢 𝙹𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜

𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖: 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚊

1𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝙱. 𝙰(𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚜.) 𝙴𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜

Design and edited by: Ragini

𝙳𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚢,

𝚃𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎—𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜?

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚍𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚢-𝚜𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚖. 𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝?

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 ‘70𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛; 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎—𝚛𝚊𝚠, 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐—𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝. 𝚆𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝙸𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚙 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚍, 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚑𝚞𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚗’𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚜. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝙳𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚢 𝙹𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝—𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚗, 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎.

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝙳𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚢, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍, 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝? 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍’𝚜 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝? 𝙾𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

𝙰𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐,

𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚊 ♡