Schoolgirl Read Online Free Page A

Schoolgirl
Book: Schoolgirl Read Online Free
Author: Osamu Dazai
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diffidence makes me want to throw up. I could barely stand it when he said, "You remind me of my younger sister who died." I suppose he is a nice enough person, but his gestures are too much.
    By gestures, I should say that I myself use quite a lot of them. What's more, I employ them slyly to my advantage. I can be so pretentious that it's hard to deal with sometimes. "I overcompensate, so that I become a monstrous little liar ruled by the conventions of poise," I might say, but then, this too is just another pose, so it's hopeless. As I stood there quietly modeling for Mr. Ito, I prayed intently, "Let me be natural, let me be genuine." I thought I would even give up reading books. I would scorn the pointless, haughty posturing, scorn its abstracted way of living. There I go again—pondering the purposelessness of my day-to-day life, wishing I had more ambition, and lamenting all the contradictions in myself—when I know it's just sentimental nonsense. All I'm doing is indulging myself, trying to console myself. I give myself too much credit—Mr. Ito's drawing of someone with a heart as impure as mine will surely be rejected. Why would that be beautiful? It's a terrible thing to say, but I guess it ends up making Mr. Ito look pretty stupid. He doesn't even know about the embroidered roses on my underclothes.
    Standing there silently, trying to keep still, I had a sudden and intense desire for money. All I needed was ten yen. The book I really wanted to read was Madame Curie. Then, unexpectedly, I wished for Mother to have a long life. Being Mr. Ito's model was strangely difficult. It was exhausting.
    After school, the temple priest's daughter Kinko and I snuck over to Hollywood and got our hair done. I was disappointed when I saw the finished product, since it wasn't what I had asked for. No matter how you looked at it, I didn't look cute at all. I felt wretched. Totally dejected. I had slipped over here just to have my hair done, and now to feel like such a scruffy hen made me deeply contrite. I felt scornful of myself for our having come here. Kinko, on the other hand, was gleeful.
    "I wonder if I should go to my omiai meetings like this," she suggested brusquely, apparently under the illusion that before long her own marriage was sure to be arranged.
    She went on, "What color flower should I wear with this hairstyle?" And then, "When I wear a kimono, which style of obi is best?" she asked in all seriousness.
    Kinko really is an adorable fool.
    When I asked her sweetly, "With whom is your omiai?" she answered straightforwardly, "Every man to his trade, or so they say." A little surprised, I asked, What does that mean? I was even more surprised when she replied, It's best for a temple daughter to become a temple bride. I'll never have to worry about where my next meal comes from. Kinko seems to lack any trace of a personality and, as a result, her femininity is at full tilt. I only know her because we sit next to each other at school, and I don't consider us particularly close, but Kinko tells everyone that I am her best friend. She's a lovely girl. She sends me letters every other day and is generally very nice to me, which I appreciate, but today she was a little too jolly which, not surprisingly, had put me off. I said goodbye to Kinko and got on the bus. For some reason, I felt kind of glum. There was a disgusting woman on the bus. The collar of her kimono was soiled, and her unkempt red hair was held up with a comb. Her hands and feet were dirty. And she wore a sullen look on her darkly ruddy androgynous face. Ugh, she made me sick. The woman had a large belly. From time to time, she smiled to herself. The hen. There was really no difference between this woman and me, having snuck off to Hollywood to have my hair done.
    I was reminded of the lady next to me on the train this morning with the heavy makeup. Ugh, so vile. Women are disgusting. Being female, I am all too familiar with the impurity found in women, it sets
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