Now she didn’t just hate Borås, she hated the whole world, she hated this beach, she hated her classmates, she hated zucchini, she hated her teachers, her friends, she hated that stupid curse, she hated the false hope that she was something other than her past, she hated that this text became nothing but a long list of things she hates, and she desperately wanted it to be something else, something with a beginning, a middle and an end, she hated phone plans and cats, fashion and theater, herself, her body, her hate, her rage, her impatience, her inability to finish things, her fear of connecting with the world, her feeling of constant emptiness, her fake self, her inability to live close to other people, she hated her voice, her knees, her shoulders, but most of all she hated her smile, that fake ingratiated grin that had given her so many advantages in life, the impulse to face the world with a polished exterior, her fucking face that she had dragged around for so many years and that never seemed to want to…