the threads in her head

Suddenly all seems to be running out of control again. All. Things piling up one on another, news revealed, tasks after tasks. Of, if only this could be some highly lethal potent intoxicating illusion that one could still actually wake up from. But, it isn't. In a society that actually still focuses on grades, it's hard not to get a little influenced. Especially in a prestigious elite class of talents and high capabilities. It may possibly be quite a shallow way of thinking, but that's the world we're thurst into. Not that I'm very concerned about grades myself - no one in the class really talks about it too anyway, only beholding those with good grades with some esteem. Life goes beyond that. But the nagging sense of inferiority, the conscious thought of being one of the lower spectrum, there's something about the awareness that throws you a bit off-balanced, leave you tottering unsteadily between the brink of depression and sanity.

Times like this I feel as though this world really isn't for me, that I am a little kid trying to act like an adult, wearing too big stilettos when I supposed to be shod in sensible playing shoes...

When school ended I walked out. I walked with steps quick. I ignored the guy who directed the f-word to me. But it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. I guess in some way, I had been prepared for it, I had been desensitised when another first used it to me, and actually saying it once, be it not purposefully.

Funny that it took me so long to get used to it, but I guessed it only really meant it's going to be harder to keep to not using it. Control, I told myself. Control.

I had duck noodles when I got back home, the noodles springy and slightly spicy, the duck meat a nice change of taste, and warm soup. A good meal.

I came back home and changed, then went to my mother's room and took her bottle of perfume. I bring it back to my room, and sprayed a little of the fragrance on the inside of my wrist. It is a fresh and light floral, a scent that I like. I go to sleep with my wrist up, smelling the fragrance from time to time before I drift off to sleep.

I indulged myself, and surrounded myself in things I love. A good meal. A nice fragrance. A cup of orange juice. A cold drink.

And then I woke up, and I took a shower, and I sat down to type, and then, and then,

I yelled at my sister.

Sometimes, this seems as though it's all going nowhere.