Kathy to Hilary, August 8, 1971, Tehran, Iran August 8, 1971
Dear Hilary,
I hope you don’t mind this letter, but as you say, you’re the only person I can tell it to. Why females have to tell things to other people, I don’t know. But I want your advice, and if you can’t offer that, you can give me some reassuring words. I have 1 1/2 hours to write, at 4:30 Farzad is coming and is whisking Steve and I off to horseback riding.
Farzad is the problem--half-British, he says, 17, rich, etc. etc. And I don’t know why I feel so depressed about him. If I were half-way sane I suppose I would be very happy. He is in our riding group and drives Steve and me to our horseback riding, and out of politeness, I think, he asked me out on Friday before last. We hit it off ok, he’s interested in history and is generally as anti-social as I am, or have become. He’s impressed that my birthday is the same as Hitler’s. So this Friday we went out again and sitting in his room he comes out with “Kahee” (that’s the endearing form of my name apparently--Leslie used it too) “I think I love you.” The line from the Troggs song ran through my head, “Wild Thing, I think I love you, but I want to know for sure.” Eh? Anyway, I didn’t say anything, but I thought this might be coming. I decided I liked him, and when mom wouldn’t let me go out the next day, I even sniffled.
So, he came over yesterday, and I was feeling really great, thought maybe I might be able to like him a little more. Mom and dad went to a party and Steve was staked out as watch dog, I swear, following us around everywhere and just wouldn’t leave. That annoyed me and I felt very frustrated.
That’s it. The whole problem is me, really. He says he loves me, but I can’t see anyone loving me, and I think he’s bullshitting. I’ve been looking for someone for such a long time: “I’m looking for someone to change my life / I’m looking for a miracle in my life.” But I’m afraid, of being ridiculous, and of being hurt--we’re both impatient, can’t last long. How could he love me, fat and skinny in all the wrong places, ugly and an American besides, not really a cool thing to be.
The thing I really dislike about Farzad is his chauvanism--I told him about my former habit (thank God). He said, “you are never to do that again.” That bothered me. I don’t like being told what to do. As if I would question his mighty word. I wanted to know why, but it was just “because....” When we didn’t know each other all that well, he treated me like an equal, but now I’m just a female, an object. And what do you do when you’ve taken everything there is to take--how do you get any closer?
Oh, Hil, I know these are common anguishes, maybe they don’t even seem that to you. Anguishes, I mean. Because I worry so--I think I like him, but HELL, if this is what love is like, then I’d rather live in solitude forever. I’m stopping now, mainly because it’s 4:00 and any remaining thing left to be said would be depressing. FORGIVE.
Love, Kathy
WRITE! SOON!
7:46:25 PM 
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