"We're expressive people and it's difficult for us because it goes against our culture." J.V.
It's frustrating but a blessing at the same time. I wish that I can be more expressive though. Not just speaking up when I really feel for something, but when it comes to specifics. I like questioning society and the norms, my heart can generate conclusions, but everything in between is still something I want to improve about myself. It's like writing an essay and the most difficult part to write are the supportive paragraphs.
I wish I can be as convincing as a lot of people who are good at stating their opinions. But I'm not. It's always been a challenge for me to give explanations, evidence or examples. I just know how I feel, I follow my gut feelings and I trust my heart. But in a world full of talkers, it's just hard to persuade anyone anything. "You can't trust your feelings. Feelings come and go."
If that's the case, it's probably wise I adapt to the majority of people in society by becoming a better talker or at least a decent debater.
For all I know, it might be fun. ... :]
...Anyway...
For some reason, I feel like I won't have to try too hard because...
something in me is telling me that I'm doing just fine.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Rock the Vote
Note: Some of you probably got in the e-mail that I was going to perform spoken word at the Rock the Vote Open Mic Night. So the night before, I spent three hours working on my piece. When my sister got home, I read it out loud to her. But when I finished, I realized I no longer wanted to read it. I felt like I was attacking my own ethnicity more than encouraging us to vote. But in case you were wondering what I could've read, here it is :] It's not finished, and I'll note the part where I stopped working on it.
You probably weren’t expecting an Asian to come up here, let alone a Filipino
As smart and as hard working we are stereotyped to be, we typically wouldn’t speak out for show
Maybe you’ve noticed how we can be passive or not so verbally expressive
Or maybe very opinionated by but not so outspoken
Ask most of us why we do what we do and most of us will tell you
“It’s for family”, “it’s a Filipino thing” or “I don’t know”
But in our defense, most of our parents were raised punished for speaking out
Hence, a small explanation that has influenced our lack of opinion
So as children most of our parents remained silent and obedient
Going with the flow, doing as told without any intentions of being different
Now those same mannerisms have trickled down on us - the children
And so most of us live with that same satisfaction of what we’re given
But ever since I’ve recognized this unspoken acceptance
My heart has grown anxious but at least it’s made all the difference
For a long time, I’ve been fighting against this silent conformity
I’ve been fighting with my mom and those who are a lot older than me
I’ve become everything but traditional, cordial or superstitious
Family-oriented, reserved or religious
When I really have a passion for something, I’ll definitely make it show
And if there’s an unsettling feeling in my heart, I’ll let everyone know
So now the time to vote is just around the corner
Now the time to speak up is more important than ever
I want to speak up and with those who share my ethnicity
But who keeps up with our nation’s issues or foreign policies?
Most Filipinos my age couldn’t care less
It’s hard to find people who’ll help me progress
In learning more about that’s going on
Who has the passion among my fellow Filipinos to express their opinion and help me generate my own when most of them would rather excel in academics and strive for stable lives?
It’s just hard to find people my age and my ethnicity that have enough opinion to help educate me
Obsessed in being studious or being too occupied with our own problems
most Filipinos are oblivious to what’s happening around us
Like how recently Supplement 6897 passed
Or the possibility that S1315 may rid the Filipino American war veteran’s amendment
But I know most people don’t understand
what those numbers stand for and how it affects some Filipino grandparents
Hell, I don’t even know that much.
It’s not just the passiveness that our parents have cast our generation
But how some of us are well off, supported and showered with materialism
Why develop a mind when everything you want is yours?
The thought of critical thinking already sounds like a chore.
It’s just too much thought for when we have better things to do like greed over our own problems.
[At this point, I asked my sister to listen to me read this aloud. When I finished I realized that I no longer wanted to read it. I didn’t finish it either, but here’s the rough draft of the ending.]
But my friends, this is college now
This is a time were we, as Filipino Americans, as the youth, as the second generation, have the opportunity to find or make something out of ourselves
This is our time, our freedom to attain what we really want in our lives
Unless we want to live in passiveness or conformity,
I believe the first step to finding or creating ourselves is to generate our own opinions
Think critically and not just settle for what we have
A good friend of mine told me that instead of making the excuse that we don’t know, we should really make the effort to know
Let’s go beyond our elements
Let’s open our minds
Let’s express ourselves
Let’s not continue to be the Filipinos afraid to raise our hands in class
Let’s speak up and out
Let’s vote
Even if we’re scared of expressing ourselves in front of many people
Voting is one of those few opportunities were we could state our opinions and no one else will know
I’m going to take advantage of this up coming elections
My upbringing, family, ethnicity and culture won’t define me or hold me back
I am more than this
I want to be more than this
I will be more than this
And it starts with my opinion, my voice, my vote
---
You probably weren’t expecting an Asian to come up here, let alone a Filipino
As smart and as hard working we are stereotyped to be, we typically wouldn’t speak out for show
Maybe you’ve noticed how we can be passive or not so verbally expressive
Or maybe very opinionated by but not so outspoken
Ask most of us why we do what we do and most of us will tell you
“It’s for family”, “it’s a Filipino thing” or “I don’t know”
But in our defense, most of our parents were raised punished for speaking out
Hence, a small explanation that has influenced our lack of opinion
So as children most of our parents remained silent and obedient
Going with the flow, doing as told without any intentions of being different
Now those same mannerisms have trickled down on us - the children
And so most of us live with that same satisfaction of what we’re given
But ever since I’ve recognized this unspoken acceptance
My heart has grown anxious but at least it’s made all the difference
For a long time, I’ve been fighting against this silent conformity
I’ve been fighting with my mom and those who are a lot older than me
I’ve become everything but traditional, cordial or superstitious
Family-oriented, reserved or religious
When I really have a passion for something, I’ll definitely make it show
And if there’s an unsettling feeling in my heart, I’ll let everyone know
So now the time to vote is just around the corner
Now the time to speak up is more important than ever
I want to speak up and with those who share my ethnicity
But who keeps up with our nation’s issues or foreign policies?
Most Filipinos my age couldn’t care less
It’s hard to find people who’ll help me progress
In learning more about that’s going on
Who has the passion among my fellow Filipinos to express their opinion and help me generate my own when most of them would rather excel in academics and strive for stable lives?
It’s just hard to find people my age and my ethnicity that have enough opinion to help educate me
Obsessed in being studious or being too occupied with our own problems
most Filipinos are oblivious to what’s happening around us
Like how recently Supplement 6897 passed
Or the possibility that S1315 may rid the Filipino American war veteran’s amendment
But I know most people don’t understand
what those numbers stand for and how it affects some Filipino grandparents
Hell, I don’t even know that much.
It’s not just the passiveness that our parents have cast our generation
But how some of us are well off, supported and showered with materialism
Why develop a mind when everything you want is yours?
The thought of critical thinking already sounds like a chore.
It’s just too much thought for when we have better things to do like greed over our own problems.
[At this point, I asked my sister to listen to me read this aloud. When I finished I realized that I no longer wanted to read it. I didn’t finish it either, but here’s the rough draft of the ending.]
But my friends, this is college now
This is a time were we, as Filipino Americans, as the youth, as the second generation, have the opportunity to find or make something out of ourselves
This is our time, our freedom to attain what we really want in our lives
Unless we want to live in passiveness or conformity,
I believe the first step to finding or creating ourselves is to generate our own opinions
Think critically and not just settle for what we have
A good friend of mine told me that instead of making the excuse that we don’t know, we should really make the effort to know
Let’s go beyond our elements
Let’s open our minds
Let’s express ourselves
Let’s not continue to be the Filipinos afraid to raise our hands in class
Let’s speak up and out
Let’s vote
Even if we’re scared of expressing ourselves in front of many people
Voting is one of those few opportunities were we could state our opinions and no one else will know
I’m going to take advantage of this up coming elections
My upbringing, family, ethnicity and culture won’t define me or hold me back
I am more than this
I want to be more than this
I will be more than this
And it starts with my opinion, my voice, my vote
Monday, September 22, 2008
Just Teasing ;]
Note: For the betterment of this week's AB Samahan meeting, I have decided to save my presentation for next week. I hope I don't discourage you. I only hope to encourage you by giving you a taste of my next cultural presentation.
Spoken word.
Free Verse.
It's meant to be read out loud and with speed.
It's still in the editing process & is only a fourth done.
Hope you enjoy the introduction! :D
Maybe you’ve been there just like me.
Asking yourself, “Give me one good reason why I should accept my ethnicity?
Because my friend, I can give you a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t.”
As a second generation Filipino, I have clashed with the typical first generation.
The very people who I should be learning the most about my identification.
The traditional, cordial and superstitious,
The family-oriented, reserved and religious
Passion is kept on the down low -
Like how an older Filipina won’t usually hold hands in public
Because a love is more beautiful when the fewer know.
Passive when they were younger
Raised disciplined and obedient like no other
But then age increased and the tables turned
They became adults and raised our generation with the same discern
On top of that, their status has rose their vanity and pride
Because now they have the power to lead us than walk by our side
Speaking of us, ever notice how much the first generation tends to underestimate the youth?
And they’ll ignore our opinions and growth because secretly, they can’t handle the truth
They can’t stand that fact that we may one day exceed their reasoning
So they try controlling our actions, our expressions or way of thinking
But truth be told, I will always be a child in my elders’ eyes.
And so my hatred grows the more they neglect my mind.
History doesn’t help me accept my ethnicity either.
For over 300 years the Spaniards took over
And right after came the United States
Who imposed on the citizens their ideal traits
Of a decent society.
And although the Philippines is now an independent country
Many of the citizens are accustomed with the colonial mentality
Many of us subconsciously feel inferior
Many of us spend too much time maintaining our exterior
By matching Mestizos or Americans
By whitening our skin or adjusting our mannerisms
The past and the present isn’t showing me that we’ll progress from a third world country anytime soon
The Philippines’ government and politics isn’t reassuring me that things will turn around, too.
The more I study the more I feel like I’m led on
I’ve grasped more deceit, ingenuity, double-standard respect and corruption.
Before the year even started, I almost wanted to quit my position.
The negativity has nearly caused my suffocation.
But I’m still gasping for breath
I’m still trying with much difficulty
I have hope there’s more to my ethnicity
and so I am holding onto my theory
I believe there is more to my culture, regardless of my perception,
I believe through the vast majority I can find the kind of Filipino beauty that’ll give me inspiration
I believe there is some good in everything.
And I know once I find it, it’ll be gratifying
I know I will find the beauty that will motivate me to learn more about my culture
And low and behold, I have found what I’ve been looking for.
Spoken word.
Free Verse.
It's meant to be read out loud and with speed.
It's still in the editing process & is only a fourth done.
Hope you enjoy the introduction! :D
---
Maybe you’ve been there just like me.
Asking yourself, “Give me one good reason why I should accept my ethnicity?
Because my friend, I can give you a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t.”
As a second generation Filipino, I have clashed with the typical first generation.
The very people who I should be learning the most about my identification.
The traditional, cordial and superstitious,
The family-oriented, reserved and religious
Passion is kept on the down low -
Like how an older Filipina won’t usually hold hands in public
Because a love is more beautiful when the fewer know.
Passive when they were younger
Raised disciplined and obedient like no other
But then age increased and the tables turned
They became adults and raised our generation with the same discern
On top of that, their status has rose their vanity and pride
Because now they have the power to lead us than walk by our side
Speaking of us, ever notice how much the first generation tends to underestimate the youth?
And they’ll ignore our opinions and growth because secretly, they can’t handle the truth
They can’t stand that fact that we may one day exceed their reasoning
So they try controlling our actions, our expressions or way of thinking
But truth be told, I will always be a child in my elders’ eyes.
And so my hatred grows the more they neglect my mind.
History doesn’t help me accept my ethnicity either.
For over 300 years the Spaniards took over
And right after came the United States
Who imposed on the citizens their ideal traits
Of a decent society.
And although the Philippines is now an independent country
Many of the citizens are accustomed with the colonial mentality
Many of us subconsciously feel inferior
Many of us spend too much time maintaining our exterior
By matching Mestizos or Americans
By whitening our skin or adjusting our mannerisms
The past and the present isn’t showing me that we’ll progress from a third world country anytime soon
The Philippines’ government and politics isn’t reassuring me that things will turn around, too.
The more I study the more I feel like I’m led on
I’ve grasped more deceit, ingenuity, double-standard respect and corruption.
Before the year even started, I almost wanted to quit my position.
The negativity has nearly caused my suffocation.
But I’m still gasping for breath
I’m still trying with much difficulty
I have hope there’s more to my ethnicity
and so I am holding onto my theory
I believe there is more to my culture, regardless of my perception,
I believe through the vast majority I can find the kind of Filipino beauty that’ll give me inspiration
I believe there is some good in everything.
And I know once I find it, it’ll be gratifying
I know I will find the beauty that will motivate me to learn more about my culture
And low and behold, I have found what I’ve been looking for.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Nervousness
Tomorrow will be my first cultural presentation for an AB Samahan meeting and...
I've been nervous all week.
I carried my nerves with me when I helped announced AB Samahan's first meeting at APSA's first meeting just two days ago. I was so nervous, I wrote a small script of what to say. It was just a two minute announcement and I already felt my face turning red :x
I couldn't believe it, but last night, I actually had a dream about the first meeting. For some reason, it was held in a big Roman-looking arena and it was my turn to give my presentation. I held the mic in my right hand and my script in my left. I started my presentation the way I intended. More people entered the arena. Everyone was looking at me. The beginning of my presentation made a lot of people laugh and I smiled as I continued to interact with my audience. The presentation was going well, people raised their hands when they related to the questions I asked. Then ...I paused.
I forgot what I wanted to say next.
Luckily, I had my script, so I quickly looked at it.
F*ck.
Wrong script.
I asked the audience to excuse me as I left the arena really quick. While some of the AB Samahan members were keeping the audience entertained, I somehow entered an office-looking room. All the officers' backpacks were there. I found mine then dug deep into my bag trying to find my script.
I couldn't find it. But I kept searching. Even to the point that I was crying.
I don't know how, but when I could no longer bear the emotions I felt, I was able to escape by waking myself up.
Yup.
I will be the last presentation for tomorrow's first meeting. It was intended that way so people can leave feeling... moved.
It's up to you, Jen!
Finish the meeting strong!
F*ck the last half of that dream.
I can do it.
& it will be a lot of fun. :]
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Deny My Father
Telemarketer: Hello, is Mr. Amos there?
Mom: No, he’s not available right now.
Brother: No, Mr. Amos isn’t here right now.
Telemarketer: Hello, is Mr. Amos there?
Me: No, he’s dead.
It’s been ten years. Get with the program people! What the heck are they giving telemarketers before calling residents, anyway? Obviously not an update on who’s still alive or not.
...
What an interesting time though, one decade ago...
We were still living in Yokosuka, Japan Naval base and I just started fourth grade. Took us about a year, but we were finally next in line to move off base and live on base in the towers (I always thought the towers were bigger than the townhouses). Two weeks into October 1998, my dad's carrier ship (the USS Midway - that's now a museum at Downtown San Diego) took off to sea. The next morning, they took attendance. And my dad was missing.
No where on the ship was he found.
I remember I was in the living room when one of the Chiefs on the USS Midway came to our house and told my mom our dad was missing. He said they sent a rescue crew out to sea to try and find him. My mom was devastated and immediately broke down. But I didn't. I sat next to her and faked two tears because I thought it was the right thing to do. It just didn't hit me at the time. It was all surreal.
October 19th, 1998, they officially announced that my dad's body was no where to be found.
After that, you can imagine how many prayer gatherings we had. Even then it didn't affect me. I remember being in church and just watching my mom cry.
But not even her grief affected me.
As selfish as I was, I actually became happier. The death of my dad went on the newspapers and before I knew it, I had groups of people I never really spoke to befriend me. I got pretty bitter when my mom said we could no longer be stationed in Japan. I told her I didn't want to go because I was finally making friends.
Took me a while, but three years later, I finally broke down. Especially when I realized how emotionless my mom had become. Hence, the reason why she's really good at being a provider for my siblings and I.
You know, up to this day, I still don't know what really happened to my dad.
But I do have an idea.
One night after the USS Midway sailed off to sea, there so happened to be a typhoon. Someone reported that the last time my dad was seen was on the upper deck about half an hour before midnight... You can imagine what happened from there.
By the way, I have never said to a telemarketer, "my dad’s dead" before. In fact, I rarely ever say anything to telemarketers. The moment I realize someone's advertising, I hang up. But a shocking attention getter though, huh?
Mom: No, he’s not available right now.
Brother: No, Mr. Amos isn’t here right now.
Telemarketer: Hello, is Mr. Amos there?
Me: No, he’s dead.
It’s been ten years. Get with the program people! What the heck are they giving telemarketers before calling residents, anyway? Obviously not an update on who’s still alive or not.
...
What an interesting time though, one decade ago...
We were still living in Yokosuka, Japan Naval base and I just started fourth grade. Took us about a year, but we were finally next in line to move off base and live on base in the towers (I always thought the towers were bigger than the townhouses). Two weeks into October 1998, my dad's carrier ship (the USS Midway - that's now a museum at Downtown San Diego) took off to sea. The next morning, they took attendance. And my dad was missing.
No where on the ship was he found.
I remember I was in the living room when one of the Chiefs on the USS Midway came to our house and told my mom our dad was missing. He said they sent a rescue crew out to sea to try and find him. My mom was devastated and immediately broke down. But I didn't. I sat next to her and faked two tears because I thought it was the right thing to do. It just didn't hit me at the time. It was all surreal.
October 19th, 1998, they officially announced that my dad's body was no where to be found.
After that, you can imagine how many prayer gatherings we had. Even then it didn't affect me. I remember being in church and just watching my mom cry.
But not even her grief affected me.
As selfish as I was, I actually became happier. The death of my dad went on the newspapers and before I knew it, I had groups of people I never really spoke to befriend me. I got pretty bitter when my mom said we could no longer be stationed in Japan. I told her I didn't want to go because I was finally making friends.
Took me a while, but three years later, I finally broke down. Especially when I realized how emotionless my mom had become. Hence, the reason why she's really good at being a provider for my siblings and I.
You know, up to this day, I still don't know what really happened to my dad.
But I do have an idea.
One night after the USS Midway sailed off to sea, there so happened to be a typhoon. Someone reported that the last time my dad was seen was on the upper deck about half an hour before midnight... You can imagine what happened from there.
By the way, I have never said to a telemarketer, "my dad’s dead" before. In fact, I rarely ever say anything to telemarketers. The moment I realize someone's advertising, I hang up. But a shocking attention getter though, huh?
For my daddy
Who taught me the multiplication table
before 1st grade.
People deserve to know you passed away.
I'll admit it
Even if sometimes mom prefers otherwise.
Who taught me the multiplication table
before 1st grade.
People deserve to know you passed away.
I'll admit it
Even if sometimes mom prefers otherwise.
Monday, September 1, 2008
And I Yelled At Her In Public
Yesterday while I was at H&M with my family, I found out my mom donated my light green flats that I have loved and worn since high school. (See my shoes?)
And I yelled at her in the store.
And a little later, I noticed two of my friends were working.
Wtf, Mom?! I told you I was going to pick out the shoes I wanted to donate later. You never f*cking listen to me. You and your siblings. You all just assume what I want and go on about your assumptions. It's not even just the shoes, mom, it's everything else. I didn't even want the car you gave me. I wanted a used car with a stick shift and without turbo. And you're complaining to me that I'm wasting gas. And going to the Philippines. Oh man, don't even get me started on the Philippines.
*sigh* My light-green-flats. I used to call them my dorothy shoes...
...
My
light
green
flats.
I had so much history with them. They were the first flats I bought. I used to be against flats - and the whole world but who's asking? - but when I decided to get over it, I chose my light green flats first. I still remember going to Payless and they were the first flats that stood out to me. I used to wear them around this guy that I had the biggest crush on. Oh the places I went with them... They were my flats. No one else had them but me. Payless even stopped holding them after a while... I'd wear them to match my whole green attire. Or I'd just wear them to clash. My light... green... flats...
They weren't the most comfortable things. I had to cut the back of the shoe to keep it from scraping the back of my heel (the unspoken pain every girl goes through wearing flats). *sigh*
Geez... I sound like such a girl complaining about my light... green... flats... I almost thought this blog can help me laugh and get over something that was so dear to me... But it's not working. Oh goodness, it's gonna be hard letting this go. I never realized how attached I was to those shoes...
It's okay mom, if I only took better care of them, maybe you would've thought that I still cared about them...
Or you would've just donated them anyway. F*ck.
Of all the shoes, Mom. Today, I was in the garage staring at all the other worn out shoes she could've taken. But she had to take the light green ones. And if there's anything my mom knows about me, it's my favorite color.
And before I even reach the garage, I find half the laundry room shelving shoes I've never seen you wear.
She caught me crying in the garage today and said, "They were already worn out."
They were worn out because I wore them out the most.
Doesn't that mean anything to you?!
Apparently not. You're more concerned about new things. You like to keep your possessions new and clean-looking, so you can give off that high maintenance impression to others.
You have no idea how much those flats meant to me. And you have no idea how I manage my possessions.
You know why most of my belongings look faded, used and worn out? You know why I don't care if I drop my cell phone or why I scribble out my mistakes when I'm writing instead of completely erasing them? Or why I haven't washed my car yet? Do you know why most of my clothes are wrinkled? Or why my books tend to look murdered with annotations? Or why I can give off this improper appearance? Because I don't give a f*ck, Mom. I use my sh*t, Mom. I love the memories each tear, scratch, mark or fade my possessions have. And I'm not ashamed of it. I don't care if I look messy. I don't want to hide or throw away the mistakes, revisions or even the past that all my possessions clearly show. What you try to represent is so idealistic, Mom. No one's perfect, Mom. Stop pretending. Even the upper-class have worn out belongings.
And stop thinking you know me, just listen to me. You'd have so many questions answered. I'm a very honest person, if you haven't noticed already. Secrets elude me.
Accept me for the imperfect and improper daughter that I am.
And listen to me when I say I'll pick out shoes to donate later.
Damnit, Mom.
And I yelled at her in the store.
And a little later, I noticed two of my friends were working.
Wtf, Mom?! I told you I was going to pick out the shoes I wanted to donate later. You never f*cking listen to me. You and your siblings. You all just assume what I want and go on about your assumptions. It's not even just the shoes, mom, it's everything else. I didn't even want the car you gave me. I wanted a used car with a stick shift and without turbo. And you're complaining to me that I'm wasting gas. And going to the Philippines. Oh man, don't even get me started on the Philippines.
*sigh* My light-green-flats. I used to call them my dorothy shoes...
...
My
light
green
flats.
I had so much history with them. They were the first flats I bought. I used to be against flats - and the whole world but who's asking? - but when I decided to get over it, I chose my light green flats first. I still remember going to Payless and they were the first flats that stood out to me. I used to wear them around this guy that I had the biggest crush on. Oh the places I went with them... They were my flats. No one else had them but me. Payless even stopped holding them after a while... I'd wear them to match my whole green attire. Or I'd just wear them to clash. My light... green... flats...
They weren't the most comfortable things. I had to cut the back of the shoe to keep it from scraping the back of my heel (the unspoken pain every girl goes through wearing flats). *sigh*
Geez... I sound like such a girl complaining about my light... green... flats... I almost thought this blog can help me laugh and get over something that was so dear to me... But it's not working. Oh goodness, it's gonna be hard letting this go. I never realized how attached I was to those shoes...
It's okay mom, if I only took better care of them, maybe you would've thought that I still cared about them...
Or you would've just donated them anyway. F*ck.
Of all the shoes, Mom. Today, I was in the garage staring at all the other worn out shoes she could've taken. But she had to take the light green ones. And if there's anything my mom knows about me, it's my favorite color.
And before I even reach the garage, I find half the laundry room shelving shoes I've never seen you wear.
She caught me crying in the garage today and said, "They were already worn out."
They were worn out because I wore them out the most.
Doesn't that mean anything to you?!
Apparently not. You're more concerned about new things. You like to keep your possessions new and clean-looking, so you can give off that high maintenance impression to others.
You have no idea how much those flats meant to me. And you have no idea how I manage my possessions.
You know why most of my belongings look faded, used and worn out? You know why I don't care if I drop my cell phone or why I scribble out my mistakes when I'm writing instead of completely erasing them? Or why I haven't washed my car yet? Do you know why most of my clothes are wrinkled? Or why my books tend to look murdered with annotations? Or why I can give off this improper appearance? Because I don't give a f*ck, Mom. I use my sh*t, Mom. I love the memories each tear, scratch, mark or fade my possessions have. And I'm not ashamed of it. I don't care if I look messy. I don't want to hide or throw away the mistakes, revisions or even the past that all my possessions clearly show. What you try to represent is so idealistic, Mom. No one's perfect, Mom. Stop pretending. Even the upper-class have worn out belongings.
And stop thinking you know me, just listen to me. You'd have so many questions answered. I'm a very honest person, if you haven't noticed already. Secrets elude me.
Accept me for the imperfect and improper daughter that I am.
And listen to me when I say I'll pick out shoes to donate later.
Damnit, Mom.
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