Although we live in a very mixed and open society, our families haven't communicated for many years; since before I was born. Attempts to communicate have become strained, difficult and fraught with misunderstandings, misinterpretation and jealousies.
I have heard talk of an arranged marriage. This has been the topic of discussion for the community for several months, but I've known of little open communication between ourselves. Like Romeo and Juliet, the vendetta that has covertly existed for many years will be forced into the open, destroying our best characteristics, possibly forever. The rivalry that forced a race for perfection will be dimmed and our separate identities lost.
Our communication problems are exacerbated by the different ways in which we see the world and communicate with it. I speak in images: my ideas flow freely and remain vividly in the minds of those I know and love. I am able to meet new people and tasks in a friendly and open way, and am envied by you with the ease with which I make new friends. I have quickly learned to take parts and ideas from one task and to apply it to others.
You speak a formal language. It's very exactitude limits it's ease of use and the cordiality with which you are received. Your specificity is not open to misinterpretation and reflects the perfection to which you aim.
My family is small but well respected. It consists only of my sisters, two older half brothers and our parents. We have earned our position and recognition in society and are quietly but confidently expanding our position with a reputation for satisfying the needs of our friends.
Your family is large and you live in many houses. You have many cousins, and family interactions are often loud and vigorous. There is much competition between members of your family; each vying to be the best, the most popular or the richest.
You had a friend trying to show you the path to open communication, but it became too difficult. You have been deserted by the one who sees herself as the leader in her field. There are now many aspirants to her hand. But they have never seen that she was an impostor; her hands tied and gagged by her restrictive vocabulary and rigid grammar.
My name is Macintosh; you are known as IBM.
You have gone down one path and I another, in search of our elusive goals. You want my ideas and flair for communication; I want to share the public acceptance you have gained. Is our marriage possible?