free box was a good girl, a very dogmatic person who never had a fight with anybody. So what am I doing here in my bedroom? Why am I under these winter sheets when the sun’s rays are scorching the leaves into dust outside? Why are my clothes scattered across the floor in a messy bundle of sweat and dirt? Is it true that I cannot hear my parents shout outside my wooden door? Or is everything else some sort of a Final Fantasy game? I’ve done some pretty horrible things lately, I admit. But even a girl like me deserves the so-called, overrated “second chances.” Nobody gives me any. I think about the way I flunked yesterday’s exams.
I know I flunked them because I slept throughout the tormenting exam time. I want to argue the stupidity and uselessness of History and Social Studies but probably a smarter person will come and tell me off. I wonder what will happen if my strict parents finally get my report card? I can imagine the whole situation, surreal and hazy as it may seem. I enter the front door with my green report card in my left hand, which is shaking. I hand it to my waiting parents; my head is held up in the air. When they receive it, my mom shrieks and my dad swears.
I look at them in the eye, keeping no secrets from them, no hidden messages. My dad stands up and asks for an explanation. I tell them I have none but even if I did, they wouldn’t accept it. I give them a spectacular speech and stare at them after I say it. They are speechless because they can’t admit that I am cleverer than them, that I can actually live without their guidance and counsel. But even as I imagine this situation, I know that I could never talk like that to them, no matter what condition I get myself into.
The Term Paper on Parenting Styles 3
... to be understood with regards to the concept of parenting. Firstly, a parenting style may have variations that would create a ... In terms of comparing the predominant feature in permissive parenting, the parents are described to be more interactive and responsive, than ... more of a friend than a strict parent. The uninvolved style of parenting. The uninvolved parent is often associated with having only ...
I am dependent on them and that makes it so difficult. My best friend is not my best friend anymore. She said I had no heart and even if I had it, I didn’t use it all. I want to ring her up and tell her that she is totally wrong. I am a good person and I care about people’s feelings. I know how to love and feel loved.
I will tell her that she’s the one who has no heart at all. She ignored the work I did, the things I achieved. But then I mull over the entire scene again, and I laugh out loud. Who am I to tell people that I have a heart as big as Titanic? I know myself so well I can narrate my whole story while sleeping.
There are no surprises anymore. I found myself when I was born. I knew what I was when I took my first step. I understood my personality the moment I said my first word. Unlike teenagers who torture themselves because they do not know their stories, I torture myself for knowing mine so well. There is no hole or gap in my heart, everything is in place but I am hurt because I have no surprises.
I am boring and I bore people to death with my stories and my poems. In fact, I don’t think I exist at all. But oh how I wish to see what’s in store for me. And how I wish I could make all these vain desires to vanish so I can be pink and colourless and soft.
