Her

Part 2

Aster
December 15, 1959
    I hate many things in life. I hate girls that wear too short of skirts, just so they can get a boy's attention. I hate when my parents throw big parties so they can ship me off to marry one of their rich friends' sons. I hate when I can hear my parents pray that someday I will finally be normal. I hate when people pretend to be something they aren't. But the one thing I hate more than anything is when people share their opinions when they aren't asked for.
       A good example is my mother. She always tries to input her opinions, especially on me. She believes that if you want a good husband I can't dress skimpy, speak improper, or go against male figures. In response to that I say in this world you have the whole world telling you what to do with your body. Your mom says that dress is either too short, too fast, too shiny. The teachers say cover your shoulders, cover your legs because they can't tell the boys to keep it in their pants. Boys, now boys are the worst. They tell you they'll only want you if you look impossible or unattainable.
      I guess maybe that's why I have trust issues and don't have any friends. Now by friends I mean true friends. Not fake ones that want to be your friend because they think you're so cool that you are above them. I like to be in the same field as my friends. No one above the other. I guess maybe that's why I don't have friends.
      My father on the other hand is the opposite of my mother. Sometimes I wish he would switch places with my mom. He doesn't talk to me unless it's to do something for him. It kills me that he doesn't talk to me anymore. We used to have a good relationship. My mother would nag at us both then we would just leave and go get ice cream. Those are my happiest memories with him. I guess that was before mother threatened to divorce him though. He changed after that... he wasn't the same. He was just quiet. Looking out the window like he wanted to escape but couldn't. A bird in a cage.
        No one's real in this town. I'm a realist. I'm realistic. Most people don't like that. I talk about deep stuff. Stuff that matters.
        I hate girls that talk about the boys they like and the cakes they baked that weekend. I hate boys that talk about girls and only see them as objects that they can throw aside at any moment. I wanna talk about what is happening with the world. What we want to do when we grow and get our shit together. The plans we have to run away from our crazy families and never come back. No one wants to talk about the stuff that's happening because it's depressing. They rather talk about petty things than how they feel because why do that.
      I have been judged my whole life on my appearance. From how I look, my actions, to even the people I date. People think that I'm easy. Meaning that I'll date anyone which is wrong. I like the person in the beginning, but as the relationship grows I find out there true intentions and just like that the relationship dies. I can't count how many times I've cried over these meaningless things. When I date people i fall in love easy. That's how I always end up broken hearted and alone.
      I believe fall in love with the people because I love with the idea of love. I want to know what love is like for myself. I don't think my parents love me. If they do, they don't act like it. I feel like everything I do triggers my mother to yell at me. I wish my dad would yell. At least he would be saying something. I guess that's why I act cool and mysterious at school. Close myself off from people and people can't hurt you at least was the plan, before I met her.