“Women are much more like each other than man; they have in truth but two passions, vanity and love. These are their universal characteristics.”
When I first saw this quote by Lord Chesterfield from his famous book “Letters to His Son”, I thought: what the hell?
Sexist, he is. Women are far more self-content than men.
How could he parallel vanity with love?
I forgot-my English teachers could not have chosen such a quote for nothing.
Two years ago, all I believed was that true love must be selfless.
Vanity is selfish.
Sadly, or fortunately-now I can fully understand what this quotation really implicates.
Not women only, but mainly women.
Women like me have nothing but vanity and love.
I have just discovered. I am so vain.
I am still in love. Unilaterally. Unrequited.
Everything else I can rely on is vanity.
What is the purpose of this act? What is the hidden message behind that gesture?
It’s not as simple as paranoia.
I am doing all these things, because I am so vain.
Why do I have to change it? For other people? For “personal reasons”?
If I cannot become, I must seem to be, at least.
My persona was created four years ago by the most trivial event in the world.
My love was restricted to that place alone.
Therefore, I have to appear to be eligible.
I am doing everything that is legal and feasible, to protect this persona.
Now I shall change it again. It’s called amendment.
What’s the point of changing it? I am always ME, nobody else.
My identity is determined by my very own existence, not some red-covered booklets.
No, it is not true. Everybody’s identity is predestined by a single documentation. Nothing can change it.
Hypocritical, aren’t I? The author of “1984”, Mr Orwell, ought to be pleased.
I am so good at doublethink.
I cannot control myself, when my love is so ominously overwhelming.
“You have been planning everything out, haven’t you?”
That person was finally told about it indirectly-by accident.
Yes, yes. Of course I have been planning everything out. I have been concealing it for five months, on your behalf.
“Before everything is certain, I cannot inform anybody.”
This was my statement. Now, whatever happens, he hasn’t got a chance.
He CAN go there, thus he CANNOT go.
I am indeed very proud of what I have done.
I am the first person, they said. It is my duty to feel lucky.
He, as a threat, should not exist.
Why? What have I done?
See, I am always hypocritical. I am just so empty, so vain, so dark inside.
Because my love does not belong to me anymore.
All I have is vanity, the other characteristic.
I have nothing else. Lord Chesterfield was a horrible man.
How hopeless I am, I am the same as all the other women.
I only wish I could be useful.
I must change it, before anything changes.
Subjective, possessive. Positive.
I am going to the other place.
When I first saw this quote by Lord Chesterfield from his famous book “Letters to His Son”, I thought: what the hell?
Sexist, he is. Women are far more self-content than men.
How could he parallel vanity with love?
I forgot-my English teachers could not have chosen such a quote for nothing.
Two years ago, all I believed was that true love must be selfless.
Vanity is selfish.
Sadly, or fortunately-now I can fully understand what this quotation really implicates.
Not women only, but mainly women.
Women like me have nothing but vanity and love.
I have just discovered. I am so vain.
I am still in love. Unilaterally. Unrequited.
Everything else I can rely on is vanity.
What is the purpose of this act? What is the hidden message behind that gesture?
It’s not as simple as paranoia.
I am doing all these things, because I am so vain.
Why do I have to change it? For other people? For “personal reasons”?
If I cannot become, I must seem to be, at least.
My persona was created four years ago by the most trivial event in the world.
My love was restricted to that place alone.
Therefore, I have to appear to be eligible.
I am doing everything that is legal and feasible, to protect this persona.
Now I shall change it again. It’s called amendment.
What’s the point of changing it? I am always ME, nobody else.
My identity is determined by my very own existence, not some red-covered booklets.
No, it is not true. Everybody’s identity is predestined by a single documentation. Nothing can change it.
Hypocritical, aren’t I? The author of “1984”, Mr Orwell, ought to be pleased.
I am so good at doublethink.
I cannot control myself, when my love is so ominously overwhelming.
“You have been planning everything out, haven’t you?”
That person was finally told about it indirectly-by accident.
Yes, yes. Of course I have been planning everything out. I have been concealing it for five months, on your behalf.
“Before everything is certain, I cannot inform anybody.”
This was my statement. Now, whatever happens, he hasn’t got a chance.
He CAN go there, thus he CANNOT go.
I am indeed very proud of what I have done.
I am the first person, they said. It is my duty to feel lucky.
He, as a threat, should not exist.
Why? What have I done?
See, I am always hypocritical. I am just so empty, so vain, so dark inside.
Because my love does not belong to me anymore.
All I have is vanity, the other characteristic.
I have nothing else. Lord Chesterfield was a horrible man.
How hopeless I am, I am the same as all the other women.
I only wish I could be useful.
I must change it, before anything changes.
Subjective, possessive. Positive.
I am going to the other place.
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