“Will the defendant please rise?”
You stand, heart pounding, as the judge addresses you by name.
“You have been found guilty of a multitude of crimes. We will now proceed with the sentencing. I see you do not have any legal representation. Would you like the court to appoint a lawyer for you?”
You shake your head. “No, I don’t need anyone else to fight my case for me.”
The judge nods solemnly. “Let’s proceed.”
He adjusts his glasses and begins.
“June 6th, 2014: You were tried by a jury consisting of your family and teachers for the crime of being socially inept—a seven-year-old child incapable of forming connections with children her own age. As a direct result of your actions, you begged your parents for a younger sibling—someone who would be forced to love you, no matter what. For this, the jury and judge have sentenced you to a lifetime of older sisterhood.”
The courtroom grows silent as the judge shuffles his papers.
“We will now review the evidence that led to this decision:
For being overly possessive of your things—both people and toys—it has been deemed only fair that you are sentenced to a lifetime of sharing everything you’ve ever owned, with no exceptions.
For the frustrations you caused your mother as she scrambled to find children willing to have playdates with you, it is only fitting that you endure the endless frustration of answering your little brother’s whysover and over again.
For the sleepless nights your mother spent worrying if you would make it through a school day without vomiting, crying, or getting hit, you must now endure your own sleepless nights. Nights spent soothing a hyperactive seven-year-old high on a sugar rush at 2 a.m. Or whipping up honey milk at midnight when his coughing wouldn’t let him sleep.
And lastly, for your habit of calling people unflattering names—like that time you punched a plus-sized hotel manager in the stomach and declared, ‘Jiggly, jiggly, jiggly!’—it is only appropriate that you are sentenced to coming home from school every day with the greeting of, you big mean thing!”
The judge leans forward. “Do you have any questions, defendant?”
You blink once. Trying to process everything that was said to determine if you do, in fact, have any questions. But before you are allowed to question the situation, the judge proceeds.
“March 2nd, 2015: You were tried by a jury consisting of your traditional Indian family for the crime of being a coconut—brown on the outside, white on the inside. As punishment, the jury has sentenced you to four grueling years of learning the ancient dance form, Bharatnatyam, in the hopes of instilling the cultural identity you so carelessly discarded.
We will now present the evidence that led to this sentence:
For straying away from your religion, you will be forced to memorize mantras and master mudras you don’t understand, widening the chasm of your disconnect. For wrinkling your nose at your grandmother’s cooking, it is only just that you endure your teacher wrinkling her nose every time she watches you stumble through a performance.
The constant discomfort and searing pain in your calves, core, and arms from pushing your body beyond its limits will serve as retribution for your refusal to wear itchy lehengas during Diwali. And for scrutinizing your Indian features in the mirror—your thick eyebrows, your dry skin, your dark lips—you will now be scrutinized by your dance teacher for every detail: your posture, your expressions, your body. Every flaw will be picked apart, piece by piece.
Yes, we promise this is a foolproof method to make you more Indian. Any questions?”
You open your mouth to protest, but before the words can escape, the sentencing for your next crime begins. You feel that sense of annoyance. The frustration that was with you throughout your time in Bharatnatyam as you are silenced once again. You feel the shaking rage. The mood. The anger.
“March 27th, 2018: You have been joyously celebrated by a jury of your parents and friends for your bold decision to embrace the spirit of adventure and become an archer—an homage to Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games. We’re thrilled to announce your sentence: six years, potentially even a lifetime, of archery furlough—a temporary burden from your frustration sentence. This will be filled with excitement, growth, and the thrill of the target. Let’s revisit the highlights that led to this outcome.
Your archery journey began with a determined campaign to persuade your mother to enroll you in archery lessons, inspired by the fierce Katniss Everdeen and her heroic feats. At the age of eleven, you stood firm in your desire to take on something challenging and unique. Your mother, seeing the fire in your eyes, agreed. Soon enough, you were in your first lesson, learning how to handle the bow that would become an extension of yourself. You eagerly took on the challenge, and your ambition soon made you a recognizable figure in your middle school archery group, even earning you the nickname “Katniss” from your friends.
While your arrows may not always fly as effortlessly as Katniss’s, each shot you take teaches you something new. The early days were difficult—your grip felt awkward, your aim shaky—but you kept going, each miss reminding you to keep your focus sharp. The satisfaction of hitting the target, however, was an unmatchable rush. From the first day you notched an arrow and let it fly, you understood that this wasn’t just about the thrill of shooting; it was about perseverance, learning, and growth. Over time, you not only improved your technique but gained a deep respect for the art of archery.
Your commitment didn’t come without sacrifice. Archery demanded time and focus, sometimes at the expense of other activities, like your earlier studies in Bharatnatyam, a classical dance form you had grown to love.
Finding the balance between dance rehearsals and archery practice was a struggle, but it taught you the importance of time management, discipline, and determination. Your dedication became evident as you persisted, juggling both passions, even when it meant sleepless nights and missing out on social events. But with each challenge, you gained confidence and resilience.
Archery also changed you physically. Strong forearms, calloused fingers, and a steady hand marking your dedication. The process of fletching your own arrows and tying nocking points, which once seemed like small tasks, became proof of your growing expertise. These small victories were crucial milestones on your way to becoming a skilled archer. You gained valuable lessons in precision, patience, and the power of focus—skills that extend far beyond the range.
As your skills grew, so did your success. With each tournament and competition, you earned medals and accolades, further fueling your passion and desire to continue. Your perseverance paid off as you gained the respect of your peers and mentors, and perhaps more importantly, you discovered a true sense of pride in yourself and your abilities. Whether it was hitting a perfect bullseye or overcoming an obstacle in your technique, the journey from struggling novice to accomplished archer has been nothing short of transformative.
So, congratulations! You’ve turned your youthful daydreams into a remarkable reality. You’ve become a force to be reckoned with on the archery range, and the lessons you’ve learned will stay with you for a lifetime. Now, you’re free to enjoy the thrill of archery, the pride of your accomplishments, and the satisfaction of knowing that your journey is just beginning.
Do you have any questions, defendant?”
You want to thank the judge. You want to process what happened. You think you’re finally free. Before you know it, you’re back in court.
“June 2023: You have been found guilty by a jury of your teammates and teachers for the crime of being an overly sensitive people-pleaser with mild anger issues and a relentless need for constant affirmation. You are further accused of failing to accept that not everyone shares your level of commitment to a project. For this, you are sentenced to one year as Spacelab Captain.
For your compulsive need to prove yourself to people who barely know you, you are sentenced to spend 6–20 hours a week nurturing uncooperative samples. You’ll spend endless nights trying to perfect the capsule, soldering wires just right, only for it to break down again. You’ll feel the weight of those hours, the loneliness of working on something no one else seems to care about. Your friends? They’re off living their lives while you’re stuck in this never-ending cycle, hoping that one day, all your hard work will finally pay off. But deep down, you know it won’t be them who will remember your sacrifices—it’ll just be you, alone in a room full of broken parts, clinging to the faint hope that it’ll work on the International Space Station. For your obsession with proving your doubters wrong, your archery privileges will be revoked so you can dedicate every waking hour to this experiment.
You know the drill. Every week, they tell you they’ll show up. Every week, you believe them. But they don’t. You’re left holding the pieces, fixing the problems no one else will touch. It’s always the same—promises made and broken. Trust crushed beneath the weight of their empty words. You believed in them, but they didn’t even bother to show up when it counted. The worst part? You keep going, because that’s what you’ve been trained to do. Pick up the slack. No one else will.
As a fitting addition to your sentence, you will endure built-up frustration and the slow erosion of your patience. For clinging to the past, you are doomed to reframe every good memory of camaraderie as falsehoods: false promises, false love, false friendship, false partnership, false hope.
How many times will you go through this cycle only to come to the realization that it’s just you? No one else is going to save you. Nobody else will help you. You have no Prince Charming. No fairy godmother. No happily ever. No sense of relief for you. You do realize that no one else is going to carry the weight? Every time you look around, hoping for someone to step up, all you see is silence. Stop asking for help. Nobody gives a shit about you, your time, your feelings. Nobody ever will. Don’t you remember the playgrounds all those years ago? Your mom had to beg people to play with you. Look at you thirteen years later. You have to beg people to work with you. Pathetic.
We trust you’ll carry these lessons for years to come. Do you have any final questions before your sentencing is carried out?”
You feel the anger exploding inside you, your body shaking with rage. You’ve had enough. You slam your fist on the table, your voice roaring,“THIS IS BS! I WORKED MY ASS OFF, AND THIS IS WHAT I GET? YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE. FIRST, YOU SHOVED ME INTO BHARATNATYAM WHEN I DIDN’T WANT IT. I WAS A KID, BUT NO—YOU FORCED ME INTO IT, MAKING ME PRETEND TO BE SOMETHING I WASN’T. THEN CAME ARCHERY, MY CHANCE TO BE FREE, TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME. AND WHAT HAPPENS? JUST AS I’M GETTING GOOD, YOU RIPPED IT AWAY FROM ME! I WAS FINALLY HITTING MY STRIDE, AND YOU CRUSHED IT! AND DON’T EVEN TALK ABOUT SPACELAB—I DID ALL THE WORK. ALL OF IT! YOU SLACKED OFF. YOU MADE ME DO ALL THE WORK. IS IT A WONDER I BROKE? YOU ALL TOOK CREDIT FOR MY HARD WORK, AND I’M DONE BEING IGNORED. DONE BEING TREATED LIKE I DON’T MATTER. DONE FEELING LIKE MY VOICE DOESN’T MATTER. DONE FEELING LIKE YOU GUYS DON’T SEE THAT I’M A PERSON TOO. A PERSON WITH FEELINGS, LOVE, PASSION, AND NO TIME TO WASTE. HOW DARE YOU TELL ME TO WASTE TIME ON SHIT I DON’T WANT TO. HOW DARE YOU TELL ME TO DO FAVOURS FOR YOU AGAIN AND AGAIN. I WILL NOT BE SERVING THIS TIME BECAUSE I DESERVE BETTER.”
You heave. You did it. You finally did it. You look around waiting for someone to clap.
But the judge just stares blankly at you.
“Nothing to say? Then move it, inmate. You’ve got time.”