What is love? What does it mean to love? Why is some love smiled upon and others frowned upon when its really all the same? These are questions I've hoped to learn through my mothers' story, but, it has yet to been answered.
୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ 🖊️ ⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨
August 5th, 1956
Los Angles, Ca
Today is my first day in California. My parents and I had just arrived from Manhattan, thanks to a business deal my father struck here in LA. The trip was long, but honestly, it wasn't that hard of a move. I'm not leaving much behind but ghastly memories from my old school. I suppose none of it really matter tho; I have Dolly, my cat.
I'm not too anxious for school tomorrow. The only thing bothering me is mother and father's constant naggin'... "Victoria, you're already 17; Isn't it time you find a nice young guy who can court you?" ...What a pain in the ass. Who said I wanna be some guy's housewife? Oh, well. I don't have much of a say in the matter, do I?
My family is from New York and we have a decent amount of money to live comfortably. We're not super religious, but we do attend church on Sundays. My grandma often scolds my mom for about it, but whatever. As for me...I really like cats, I guess? Dolly, my cat, is my best friend, which mother says is "queer." But what does she know about whats weird or not? I don't think theres anything particularly special about me. Everyone at my old school referred to me as a "cabbage." Am I really that dull? Well, I guess I haven't had the best reputation, anyway. Maybe this new school will be different.
Its already late...I should get ready for school tomorrow. Maybe I'll meet someone tolerable to be friends with?