An "obsession," dear Mr. Allan called it. Obsession with failure and obsession with destroying his name. If any obsession were to be found out of me through his misguided assumption that I would do nothing and let myself be broken by his ideas of a "good lad", it would be my obsession with being my own man.

Yes, that's right, faux-father. As you tease with your charming neighbors in your gentlemanly ways, "I went there." If there's one thing I received from you, it would be your blatant elitism. My ideals, I've decided with quite a large amount of firmness, are set a considerable deal higher than yours. I feel, and I can say this with nothing less than frank honesty, that I am the better man -- nay, the stronger man. Your obsession with your own failures and shortcomings and your obsession with destroying my own individuality and will has only strengthened me, and it is my own victory that has led you to deport me, banish me, ship me off, however you choose to describe it. It is the consequence of my victories over you that I now attend a school that suits my ideals: Eupheme.

Perhaps the irony is that you drive for me to be succesful, and success is something I drive for in myself. Would this victory on my part truly result in your defeat?

There is too much depth in this tale. I am getting a headache. My newest obsession, gin.

Eupheme, I am proud to be a part of you.

Current Mood: accomplished