That strange woman who I do not know

I can tell the sort of person I was supposed to have grown up to be, had my personality been quite different, and had I grown up in Zimbabwe. It's how my parents act towards me.

From their reactions to this image of a daughter that they superimpose upon me, I see that this kind of person might have been quite weak-willed, easily frayed at the edges and inclined to bend to a strong patriarchal will. I would have been excitable concerning simple things -- certainly nothing of an intellectual sort, but rather the prospect of travel, get-togethers of a conventional sort, and perhaps now and then (but hardly often) buying things of a conventional sort, which suit what is expected of me, and don't cause me to stand out more than a little.

The person my parents address as if it were me has to find her niche within a group that will work to make her feel comfortable. Since she has no intellect to speak of, just a few eccentric notions or pretensions, she should aim low in life, and accept whatever dominance comes to bare.

This strange, strange person is easily persuaded by a firm patriarchal line. The strength of the voice in its adamance persuades her, rather than the actual content of the speech. (When she pretends otherwise, it is because her negative emotions have simply run away with her, depriving her of rationality.)

This person is obviously very strange. She says things, but she really means something else. It's her way of wriggling out of what she really means: to say something that makes no sense whatsoever, until it is re-analysed in the cold, clear patriarchal light of day. Once under this light it then becomes apparent that whatever she meant, the deeper meaning was a fear of the degree of righteousness entailed in patriarchal formality, and a withdrawal from the firm hand of goodness and clear thinking.

Apart from these outright complexities, this person is quite simple -- liking the things she's always liked, (and on occasion disliking one or two things, too). She dislikes the things she's always disliked. Supposing she didn't like something when she was eight years old -- well, that is the thing she still doesn't like now. The simple things she used to like when she was seven are the things she likes today. Today, however, she confuses the matter by overlaying her simple likes and dislikes with a layer of complexity which means nothing but nonsense, and requires a patriarchal decoding device for it to make some sense. This is evidence of perversity, which destroys the innocence of who she really is.

In all things, this person is very strange and irritable -- but somehow exceedingly easy to read.

She is destined to fail, again and again, because she doesn't understand the parental benevolence that is directed towards the simple matter of helping her to succeed, despite herself.