C L A R I T Y
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Female. 17. Someone who needs this blog because - I don't always say what I mean and I don't always mean what I say. And here I let it all out. Living life and loving it. <3
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Hm. It looks like I'm quite the queen of bullshit. So much that I can't even remember that I ever wrote that. I mean, I'm occasionally sappy but : "I love you more than all the pages in the world could describe" is a little over the top. Before anyone misunderstands, said letter was to my father. Well. Now it sounds really warped.
I really should stop writing stories in which characters have a father/ grandfather complex. It's giving people some strange ideas.
Something strange. I just realized I haven't talked to anyone honestly about how I feel about everything for a very long time. It's sad, really. I know I should stop feeling absorbed in other things and start focusing on people, but it feels so hard. Inanimate objects don't hurt you, storybooks can't cut you into pieces, pictures can't shatter your heart. People do.
It's all my fault, I guess. I'm the one who holes herself up, expecting people to treat me differently when I don't take the first step myself.
It's not like I'm emo-ing or anything. It's more like a pity party going on. And the pity is all directed at me.
I blame all of this emo-ness on Miss Kathy, who adores emo essays and continuously encourages us to write them so as to "tug our examiner's heartstrings' and be awarded A1s by Cambridge examiners. I've written so many emo pieces I'm actually contemplating writing one about a girl on the brink of suicide. Or drug addiction. Who knows, I might even throw in some child prostitutes to make it even morbid. Nothing explicit of course, just the protagonist moaning on and on about how unfair her/his life is.
For the past few days that I've gone back to SMK Kepong Baru, I've been collecting quite a lot of stares accompanied with yells on why I'm skipping school. Just because I'm walking to school in my old sports assemble, (which is very, very normal!) people seem to look at me weirdly, as if I'm missing school on purpose; conveniently missing the fact that I would always be walking TOWARDS school. I guess I can't pass for a 13 or 14 year old anymore. I wonder if that's a good thing or a bad thing. As long as I'm not arrested, I guess I can put up with it for a few more days.
By the way, I just skimmed through Charles Dicken's A Christmas Carol; the ORIGINAL, UNABRIDGED version and it's really quite a fun read. I thought it'd be boring with lots and lots of complex words and archaic stuff. Turns out that it's more like Roald Dahl than like Shakespeare. Not that Shakespeare is bad, of ourse. I just don't get how some lines mean completely different from what they are.
4:23 AM
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Hm. It looks like I'm quite the queen of bullshit. So much that I can't even remember that I ever wrote that. I mean, I'm occasionally sappy but : "I love you more than all the pages in the world could describe" is a little over the top. Before anyone misunderstands, said letter was to my father. Well. Now it sounds really warped.
I really should stop writing stories in which characters have a father/ grandfather complex. It's giving people some strange ideas.
Something strange. I just realized I haven't talked to anyone honestly about how I feel about everything for a very long time. It's sad, really. I know I should stop feeling absorbed in other things and start focusing on people, but it feels so hard. Inanimate objects don't hurt you, storybooks can't cut you into pieces, pictures can't shatter your heart. People do.
It's all my fault, I guess. I'm the one who holes herself up, expecting people to treat me differently when I don't take the first step myself.
It's not like I'm emo-ing or anything. It's more like a pity party going on. And the pity is all directed at me.
I blame all of this emo-ness on Miss Kathy, who adores emo essays and continuously encourages us to write them so as to "tug our examiner's heartstrings' and be awarded A1s by Cambridge examiners. I've written so many emo pieces I'm actually contemplating writing one about a girl on the brink of suicide. Or drug addiction. Who knows, I might even throw in some child prostitutes to make it even morbid. Nothing explicit of course, just the protagonist moaning on and on about how unfair her/his life is.
For the past few days that I've gone back to SMK Kepong Baru, I've been collecting quite a lot of stares accompanied with yells on why I'm skipping school. Just because I'm walking to school in my old sports assemble, (which is very, very normal!) people seem to look at me weirdly, as if I'm missing school on purpose; conveniently missing the fact that I would always be walking TOWARDS school. I guess I can't pass for a 13 or 14 year old anymore. I wonder if that's a good thing or a bad thing. As long as I'm not arrested, I guess I can put up with it for a few more days.
By the way, I just skimmed through Charles Dicken's A Christmas Carol; the ORIGINAL, UNABRIDGED version and it's really quite a fun read. I thought it'd be boring with lots and lots of complex words and archaic stuff. Turns out that it's more like Roald Dahl than like Shakespeare. Not that Shakespeare is bad, of ourse. I just don't get how some lines mean completely different from what they are.
