Opposition. Disloyalty. Rebelliousness. These thoughts echo through my conscious mind, rattling away at my being, stripping me of my self-belief. I have never argued with the old man before. Before now. Until this girl, from the Eastern Suburbs, a place built on suburban wealth and snobbery, got inside my head. Played on my very insecurities and forced me to consider my background. Who am I to question the worthiness of ANZAC Day? I am qualified, according to Jan, to question everything I have been brought up to believe about this day of days, this one day of the year. I am trying to salvage my opinion on the topic, but all that I find is hers. Am I becoming one with her opinion? Is this all her and her manipulative voice of reason, taking over what little self-control I have left over? Are my feelings towards her enough to mask the stain of the game she has played on my mind? To think, what will my dad do if he finds out I’m doing this or what will become of me if he was to read it? If I was to quit now would my pursuit of an escape of …show more content…
Oh, the words that I could speak of her right now. That incompetent, whiny, insulting little so and so. I’m starting to wonder if it ever was us or more of all her or all me. This girl and how she plays me like a harp. I cannot perceive what the problem is? We agree on everything. Except oh that’s right my dad is the only boulder left to move and I am the only one capable of such a thing. Can it be done? Can I bend my dad’s view enough for him to see past the article, and except my views? Acceptation. All that I wish for. Acceptation is my key to freedom and my dad holds the key. How can this girl complain about her parents, when they have given all she could ever want or need? She does not know of the struggles to have parents likewise to mine. All, be like this and believe this. Do they think that they can just write me like a book? How can such a thing be done to someone, even someone like