I wish my mother would instill some faith in me. Why does she still treat me as if I am still an infant? I know when and how to wash and dry my clothes. I know how to cook. I know how to sew. Why does she insist on reminding me of these things? It’s not fair that she looks down upon me. Most importantly, she constantly reminds me of things that are clearly common sense. Of course I am not suppose to look like a swine while I eat my meal or look like a damn prostitute in public. Who do you think I am mother and why would you say such thing about your own daughter? I am conscious of what I wear and I know how to conceal myself. You can’t tell me who I can talk to and who I can’t. I’ve done everything by your book throughout my whole life. I’ve ironed father’s pants and I’ve swept the house thousands of times. If I’m doing all these chores, what exactly do you do around this house, mother? You’ve dictated my whole life and made it miserable. You tell me I am not suppose to play with marbles because I’m not a boy, but I wish I was. Then you can stop calling me a slut and maybe you would treat me differently. Perhaps you would love me more and actually consider me as your child. Unfortunately, I am not a boy. So mother, “this is how your daughter feels like when you constantly treat her like crap.”