it as if I were every possible person that is or could be affected by the decision I may make. I feel that this open minded nature allows me to make more educated decisions. It allows me, again, to be me. My free will, stubborn nature, and spirit got me into a considerable amount of trouble with my parents throughout my childhood.
When I was ten years old, although we were not C atholic, to teach me discipline, my parents sent me to catholic school. I spent the majority of my spare time after school lying in my room crying. As all children do at some point in time, I wanted to run away or commit suicide. The logical side of my thinking prevented me from doing either. That year was the only year I was required to attend the Catholic school, and one year was certainly enough.
I am close to very few kids in my school. The kids I am close to, I am extremely close to. The ones that I am not close to, are either kids that I do not know, or kids that I do know, and choose not to be friends with. The kids in school that do not know me very well often describe me as a bitch, and I like that. Their thoughts of me being a bitch generally means that if they do finally approach me, they have already decided that I am not as the other kids may think that I am. Some of the kids may describe me as being conceited or uppity, but nothing could be further from the truth.
I like to think that I have attractive qualities, my most attractive being my inner self. My mind, spirit, soul, beliefs, principles, opinions, and general manner of living life. The outside of me is, in my own opinion, ge nerally drab. Average at best, nothing to neither balk at, nor praise. People that described me, however, often described me as beautiful. When girls described me as beautiful, I am appreciative, and take their remarks into account. When boys say that I am beautiful, I generally set the remark aside. Boys cannot be trusted. Boys have motives.
I vary from my Egyptian elders in many respects. All of the values that my parents and relatives try to adhere to aren’t necessarily shared by me. Tattoos are one, but very important example. When I see a person who has a tattoo, I am often fascinated by it. I wonder what it means to them, the significance. Often, I find the tattoo to be beautiful, or an enhancement of the person ’s beauty. I am not so simple and shallow that I believe that all tattoos on all people are beautiful, or that they always provide some form of enhancement to beauty. I have dreamed of the day that I turn eighteen, being free to decide, and I had made an appointment at a local tattoo parlor for my first tattoo to be obtained on that day. It was a means of expression, and, in my opinion, enhancing my beauty. It would allow me to be, in all respects, me.
On a typical evening in my typical Egyptian home, with my typical Egyptian parents, and my typical Egyptian brother, we had a typical Egyptian meal. The typical Egyptian discussion that followed was not, in a ny regard, what I anticipated.
The discussion started about tattoos, and all was going fairly well. Tattoos are becoming mainstream. Tattoos are more prevalent on people in college and in professional sports. Tattoos are more frequently seen on professionals, and in professional atmospheres and careers. Tattoos are a great form of individual expression. Unless. Unless your Egyptian daughter wants to receive one. When your Egyptian daughter wants to receive one, tattoos become trash. They become a permanent means of not only being trash, but of turning you into trash . Tattoos are not, according to my parents, for Egyptian girls, regardless of their age.
End of story.
Tattoo trash attached to my body. In my opinion, it was a means of expression, and confirmation that I was an adult, and capable of making decisions on my own. I was fascinated by tattoos, and spent countless hours, sometimes nightly, on Tumblr looking at tattoo photographs of both men and women. I had planned on
When I was ten years old, although we were not C atholic, to teach me discipline, my parents sent me to catholic school. I spent the majority of my spare time after school lying in my room crying. As all children do at some point in time, I wanted to run away or commit suicide. The logical side of my thinking prevented me from doing either. That year was the only year I was required to attend the Catholic school, and one year was certainly enough.
I am close to very few kids in my school. The kids I am close to, I am extremely close to. The ones that I am not close to, are either kids that I do not know, or kids that I do know, and choose not to be friends with. The kids in school that do not know me very well often describe me as a bitch, and I like that. Their thoughts of me being a bitch generally means that if they do finally approach me, they have already decided that I am not as the other kids may think that I am. Some of the kids may describe me as being conceited or uppity, but nothing could be further from the truth.
I like to think that I have attractive qualities, my most attractive being my inner self. My mind, spirit, soul, beliefs, principles, opinions, and general manner of living life. The outside of me is, in my own opinion, ge nerally drab. Average at best, nothing to neither balk at, nor praise. People that described me, however, often described me as beautiful. When girls described me as beautiful, I am appreciative, and take their remarks into account. When boys say that I am beautiful, I generally set the remark aside. Boys cannot be trusted. Boys have motives.
I vary from my Egyptian elders in many respects. All of the values that my parents and relatives try to adhere to aren’t necessarily shared by me. Tattoos are one, but very important example. When I see a person who has a tattoo, I am often fascinated by it. I wonder what it means to them, the significance. Often, I find the tattoo to be beautiful, or an enhancement of the person ’s beauty. I am not so simple and shallow that I believe that all tattoos on all people are beautiful, or that they always provide some form of enhancement to beauty. I have dreamed of the day that I turn eighteen, being free to decide, and I had made an appointment at a local tattoo parlor for my first tattoo to be obtained on that day. It was a means of expression, and, in my opinion, enhancing my beauty. It would allow me to be, in all respects, me.
On a typical evening in my typical Egyptian home, with my typical Egyptian parents, and my typical Egyptian brother, we had a typical Egyptian meal. The typical Egyptian discussion that followed was not, in a ny regard, what I anticipated.
The discussion started about tattoos, and all was going fairly well. Tattoos are becoming mainstream. Tattoos are more prevalent on people in college and in professional sports. Tattoos are more frequently seen on professionals, and in professional atmospheres and careers. Tattoos are a great form of individual expression. Unless. Unless your Egyptian daughter wants to receive one. When your Egyptian daughter wants to receive one, tattoos become trash. They become a permanent means of not only being trash, but of turning you into trash . Tattoos are not, according to my parents, for Egyptian girls, regardless of their age.
End of story.
Tattoo trash attached to my body. In my opinion, it was a means of expression, and confirmation that I was an adult, and capable of making decisions on my own. I was fascinated by tattoos, and spent countless hours, sometimes nightly, on Tumblr looking at tattoo photographs of both men and women. I had planned on
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