Choices are mere illusions. A helpless hapless individual. Somehow everyone else decides the course of your life for you. You are unmanageable, they say. We cant trust you they say. You can't look after yourself. You're not responsible enough.
You need to make a career. You need to become someone.
Do all this but don't get out of the house. Don't meet people. Stay away from fun. We would like it best if we knew for sure your miserable. Don't even think of falling in love.
You are too opinionated. Difficult to handle. To control. You have too short a fuse. Do something about that temper of yours. You make it difficult for people to love you, to trust you, to be with you.
Never mind all this. Are you not aware of the fact I will see no logic? You will have to live according to our traditions.
If I am half as bad as you make me out to be then I am a hazard to myself. Get me away from me. Tear me apart. Make me your little prized possession. That mute, lifeless doll.
Finally when you think I am ripe and ready give me off to some inebriated, chauvinistic, desperate, well oiled, well lubricated, thriving on pornography, disgusting pervert. For the rest of my miserable life I will be miserable in his arms. Or at his feet.
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