June 18, 2014

I’ve always felt different from everyone else: An outcast; someone who couldn’t quite fit in. I often feel like I don’t exist; like my existence doesn’t matter, like I’m not real.
Sometimes I feel like I could disappear.

When I think of my parents, I think of them as two stubborn control freaks. I’ve graduated from high school a month ago, and I still haven’t made a decision regarding what my major is going to be once college starts. Photography is my main interest, but not my dad’s. He wants me to follow in my sister’s footsteps. Mom does too, although she hasn’t said anything to me, but that’s because she knows he’d take the initiative of deciding where my life would go. I already know how great Rosamunde is, but when my dad finally had the urge to say that he wished she was the boy in the family, I almost lost it. I have a lot of tolerance when it comes to being disrespected, but when he said that, I felt more degraded than ever. The wound that statement caused is so deep that I’ll always remember him saying it. It still echoes in my head.

At dinner time, I broke out the news of my plan to move to the States and enroll in the Photography program at The University of Iowa; that came as a huge shock to both of my parents since I’ve never mentioned it to them prior to this; they thought I was going to pick the Berlin University of Arts. My mom was against the idea as soon as I proposed it while my dad stayed more quiet, but I knew that was only because he didn’t believe I was serious. I told them that it was my definitive plan and they kept on rejecting it. I called Frieda and asked her to come over and talk some sense into them after I’ve complained to her about how much of my life they’re trying to take control of, and her words surprisingly seemed to go through. I’m going to go ahead and submit my application online.

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