Mole burrito

My burrito was bursting at its seams. As rice and black beans dribbled down my hands, I looked up to see Tania scooping some of her dinner into that mouth with a fork. Oh, that dainty mouth. It was good to see you again.

As we talked about the latest happenings like not getting into the RA program, failing a statistics exam, Andrew getting some action (you know, the usual), an interesting topic came up.

It concerned my parents.

I know most kids lie to their parents about what they do. And most parents live in a different state, or a different continent for that matter. Who really tells her parents that she smoked weed on a Wednesday night, or went to a rave with her kandy bracelets, or hooked up with a guy at a party?

I do. Well, I did. I was trying to be open and honest with my parents this entire year because I felt like they didn't know who I really was. The first time I told them the truth about the past three years of my life, they took me out of university housing and forced me to live with them so they could "protect" me. Nonetheless, I felt that if I withheld information from them, information that explains my interests, my activities, who I truly and undeniably am, then they would not fully understand their daughter, their own flesh and blood. When I have beautiful half French, half Chinese babies, I would want to know everything about my child, and I'd want them to know everything about me. Maybe I'm being naive because most relationships aren't like that, but I'm all for going against the norm and living unconventionally. What I want more than anything is to have an open, honest relationship with someone. But I feel like I'm trained in such a way that I can't.

My parents' reaction to my recent escapades was one of horrifying shock. Not only are they trying to "correct" me by forcing me to quit my extracurricular activities, find a job, and stop partying (all terms which I agreed to, because I really don't need to model, get wasted, and I want to be productive and make some extra dough), they also told me I couldn't see Nico for spring break or I wouldn't be able to live at my dad's place anymore.

Restrictions, corrections, confinement, whatever you want to call it - I can handle them. I was under house arrest for most of my high school life (literally, a padlock on the inside of the house door with a key only my mom had), so I'm used to it. My parents want the best for me, they want me to have some sort of direction and focus for the future, and I'm all for it. What I can't deal with is their lack of understanding and attempts to fix me when all I am really doing is telling them the truth about my life and my desires. Kicking me out of the house if I see my boyfriend. That is real love.

Maybe I am naive, and maybe honesty doesn't work with parents. Maybe I should continue lying.



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