Where You End and I Begin
For much of my life, I have been tied down religiously by my family. From the moment my skin had been exposed to the world, I could pretty much assume my father had covered it to abide by the law of tzniut: modesty for women. At the age of eight was when my mother and I snuck buying me my first pair of pants, a secret we kept from my father. I remember we walked around town in West Hampton Beach (aka -the “Jewish” Hamptons) and there was the ‘end of summer sale’ in main street. I stroked my finger tips through all the velveteen overalls and corduroy pants, watching all the girls try on clothes and show them off their fathers and mothers who smiled approvingly. I had fallen in love with the idea of being able to express yourself through fashion for a long time, and my eyes were glued onto the pair of Juicy Couture jeans that would do that exact thing for me. They were 60 …show more content…
For one thing, there is no doubt I have been forced into “understanding” the basis of my religion yet is is doubting how every time I ask my parents why “it” all truly matters I get cut off and told not to doubt God. These moments are captured almost too often at our dining room table when I am surrounded by nothing but the silence of my father’s reactions and the screams of my own conscious. I look through my glass cup which shines bright through the image of my two siblings who sit across from me: the prime models of pure honor. It has never been more evident in those moments that I am separate. I refocus my peripheral vision and a reflection of myself now mirrors back into my direction. “Just look at you,” my eyes speak to me. I’m not fit to be the perfect child my dad had hoped for when he covered me on March 2, 2000, worthy of his validation. I can’t play the parts my siblings do in the theatre of our family. I’m just a joker who wears one mask at dinner time, then goes to her friends and puts on
For much of my life, I have been tied down religiously by my family. From the moment my skin had been exposed to the world, I could pretty much assume my father had covered it to abide by the law of tzniut: modesty for women. At the age of eight was when my mother and I snuck buying me my first pair of pants, a secret we kept from my father. I remember we walked around town in West Hampton Beach (aka -the “Jewish” Hamptons) and there was the ‘end of summer sale’ in main street. I stroked my finger tips through all the velveteen overalls and corduroy pants, watching all the girls try on clothes and show them off their fathers and mothers who smiled approvingly. I had fallen in love with the idea of being able to express yourself through fashion for a long time, and my eyes were glued onto the pair of Juicy Couture jeans that would do that exact thing for me. They were 60 …show more content…
For one thing, there is no doubt I have been forced into “understanding” the basis of my religion yet is is doubting how every time I ask my parents why “it” all truly matters I get cut off and told not to doubt God. These moments are captured almost too often at our dining room table when I am surrounded by nothing but the silence of my father’s reactions and the screams of my own conscious. I look through my glass cup which shines bright through the image of my two siblings who sit across from me: the prime models of pure honor. It has never been more evident in those moments that I am separate. I refocus my peripheral vision and a reflection of myself now mirrors back into my direction. “Just look at you,” my eyes speak to me. I’m not fit to be the perfect child my dad had hoped for when he covered me on March 2, 2000, worthy of his validation. I can’t play the parts my siblings do in the theatre of our family. I’m just a joker who wears one mask at dinner time, then goes to her friends and puts on