The glorious and triumphant return of now-19 year old Blogger, the revival of a once-grand and dare I say influential webspace that produced daily content, and the crippling anxiety of a young woman who no longer has any time or motivation to write, and feels like any ability she had acquired in the past through repetition and sheer will alone is now slowly slipping out of her grasp. Brief history of the Blog and Blogger can be found here.

Here be personal journal entries, observations, slices of life, questions and conclusions, as well as exploration of social and political topics seen through the lens of a Malaysian Muslim, feminist, lesbian, Marxist, and horse enthusiast.

Sunday, June 3, 2012

We Can Never Get Away from the Sprawl

Disclaimer: I have a lot of things to settle in real time, in real life, so until then, untill the dust has fully cleared and I see no foreseeable roadblocks in my future, this is blog remains as a sort of secret. I don't think I ever could see myself in the future without a blog. It's sort of ridiculous to think of it. So I'll start over. Re-introduce myself. A fresh, clean, totally brand new slate with a me that's open to suggestions regarding being a 'better' person, and if that doesn't work, then fuck that, being a 'better' me. I think there comes a moment in which I'll realize that I have changed for the better, but that moment has yet to come and, as I said, until then, nobody will know of this blog unless they have weird and intense mad stalking skills.

We're already piling on the changes so I suppose another won't hurt. I'll only post once a week from now, with exceptions made in special circumstances. I think this way, I'll have more to write about, a longer post to shape, and hopefully, that'll allow less room for me to mouth off on other people. Hopefully. We can only plan, and God will execute.

Here's to hope, and the hope that this will not spiral into another catastrophe and that I will not drag down my readers, as I have done with all of my friends, in my sociopathic downward spiral.

Week 1

We'll start with Friday because even though that is not exactly a week to this date, I feel as if all of my adventures have since been spurred by the one incident on Friday. Of course, we could travel further back, look at the instance of a few Sundays past as to the horrible, messy, headache-inducing fight I had with Adam, and how it led to my not being graced the privilege of calling him anything but his true name. Or we could go to a few Wednesdays since, when I took part in a major sleepover with about a quarter of the class and almost reconciled with him, but then he threw the unfortunate news of his departure in my face. Or last Wednesday even, when I went to Hanna's under the pretense of getting some of stuff back for Friday night, with the full intent of confrontation instead. I slaved my brain over the question of whether there could be a drop of Gryffindor blood in me instead of cowardly, run-to-fight-another-day Slytherin, but this question remains to be answered. It still resides in my mind though and is, I believe, of some importance and might be brought back later. [1]

It is impossible, I've concluded, to write anything free from prejudice or bias, so with the mere mention of a person's name, even though my voice is not present to give upon the word an inflection, you can still tell whether I place the blame on my shoulders or on theirs. But I've decided, after much thinking, that blame is for those who don't believe in God, and that reiterating all the wrongs that I have done and have been done unto me at this present moment would be redundant. Because it's all been said before, of course. So back to Friday. Things have spiralled the wrong way ever since Wednesday, so Thursday was a pain and Friday was boring to me in terms of how monotonous it was. It was the same feeling of discontent and contempt at the stupidity of people, the human race, the others, that caused me to have a near breakdown after the initial ceremony of Teacher's Day celebrations. Prefect-work, I've realized, aside from filling me with hate at the imbecility of the other students (and I shall stop, not because I am trying to calm myself down, but because I'm afraid that after all I've written, I've run out of synonyms for morons), gives me a certain purpose and distracts me from feeling sad. It is, sadly, the politics of the prefectorial board that arouses my anger and displeasure.

The rest of the day, and the rest of the things I did that day, passed by in a blur of nothing-happened. It's true that there were times I felt okay, like the load was bearable, even worth it, like that time this one student was jamming so hard to What Makes You Beautiful and I along with a few other prefects sitting at the sidelines laughed at her. My viewing of the Teacher's Concert was interrupted twice or so because I had to get up and conduct the rounding sessions, but other than that, there was nothing particularly not enjoyable about the concert. Maybe it was because it was dark, but I honestly didn't mind the amount of people breathing down my neck and, well, being alive behind my back. Nisa and I sat pretty up front, so we got a closeup view of the teachers at their weirdest. Nisa told me, in a not altogether kind way, that all the teachers and students at this school was crazy. Is crazy. And they are, you know, but I've lived with crazier. Like my mother, for instance.

I'm sure it was a rude awakening for all of my other friends, with their set of perfectly level-headed parents to discover my decidedly not level-headed relationship with my mother (although assumptions are deadly and I am in no position to be making any). My mother and directions are two things that really shouldn't mix. What I wanted to say was that normal parents would care enough to check first, normal parents would care to, I don't know, look up the route on Google maps or something because if I was a parent, heck yeah that is what I would've done. And, pure speculation on my part here, normal parents would not have blown up at a sixteen year old who can't drive for giving the wrong (right) set of directions to a grown adult. But alas, if my mother were a normal parent, we probably wouldn't be on this track. Yet here we are, of course, for what happened had happened and I wasn't even embarrassed. I was angry that she had the gall to treat my friends like that and talk to them in that tone, even though she must think she has all the rights given her position of authority. But positions of authority don't work that way. I was sad, because was this honestly my life? But I wasn't embarrassed, because this has happened so many times that there's no longer a line between forgiveness and pent up frustrations, because the pent up frustrations aren't so much pent up as they are a part of me, a part of every single cell in me.

Arriving at Sports Barn all teary eyed and snot-nosed was not ideal. I wasn't altogether that nervous for the futsal match, because I had a belief (and a correct one at that) that however terrible I was at this alien game, there would be someone else out there much worse than I would be. It's not nice being comforted by people. Sometimes when you're sad, you think that you'd like nothing better than to be surrounded by people telling you that it's all going to be okay and willing to listen to your troubles, but that was evidently not the way forward for me. It was stifling. In the past few weeks, I haven't gone a day without people asking me if I was okay and while the answer to that might be a) trying to make myself okay again, or b) changing my face into something that won't compel people to ask that question, I don't have the energy for either of that. Divyia, Xueh Wei, Santralega, those in the car, they kept their respectful distance after their respectful share of consolation and somehow, that was more than okay for me, and almost more appreciated than other peoples' concerns, because they proved my theories correct in every aspect. People will insist on space when you are hurting. No one will ask to be closer. Futsal itself was fun. Of course, I could have predicted that. Iman and I agreed on a pact earlier on that we were both going to suck at it, but I believe that Iman and I kicked ass. You literally cannot argue with that belief.

We didn't win however but I don't think it was my fault at all (and really, that's all that matters). Khairina told me she was quitting and I had a list of reasons why one shouldn't quit the prefects board so late in the season (we will be revisiting this list later on). They announced the upcoming Top 5 who will be running in the student elections. I was mildly surprised but mostly relieved that I wasn't on the list. I felt better afterwards when a few people told me that they had honestly expected my name to crop up. The thing is, of course I would have rejected the thing without a second thought, but the fact still remains that I sort of expected it. I have been lackluster in my duties as of late and only I should carry the blame for that, so I guess that it wasn't a hundred percent surprising. A name or two on the list were surprising, and of course, it's obvious who's who here, but I felt it would be hurtful to and unwarranted to air out those names, because of course everyone in the Prefect Board have been nothing short of kind towards me, if not all that accommodating (and that, too, will be something I have only myself to blame for). Khairina, Lissa and Santra ended up going with me, and we went home fairly earlier than a ton of people and I did not speak to my mother throughout the day.

I called my sister later on that night and for the first time in ever, I unburdened all of my problems unto someone that wasn't a cat. It was the first time I've said those things out loud, other than perhaps during my convoluted conversation with Hanna, in which almost all of the things I said were lies in order to appease her and to cover up the hurt I was feeling. I told her (my sister) about my hate for anything that was human, about the fact that I would rather hang out with cats and read fanfiction all day, and about how despondent life has been since Glee Wednesday, and how I could never get back anything that was as good for my soul as Harry Potter was, and how all of the friends I've made through Harry Potter were nothing more than stories now. It was not a load off my chest, it was a nuisance, but it was something which I couldn't take back, because I was in such low spirits that day. My parents, they believe that every problem one has has to go back to religion, that religion has the power to heal just about anything, and of course I am in no position to dispute that, but I also cannot channel that sort of belief into my life. I have no doubt, none whatsoever, that God holds all the answers to everything that ever was, ever is and ever will be, but to communicate it into my life, to integrate it and that belief so completely, that is lost to me, and I am unable to at my current hour of misanthropy. It is not that I don't believe, I just can't translate. And I can't translate any of this to my parents either.

My Dad believes (and we are jumping a little ahead of ourselves here) that I am sad because people have hurt me but that's not quite the entire picture painted. It's true that I don't go a day without having someone say something hurtful to me but I am not quite as affected by it as other sensitive souls seem to be. I am merely upset that I seem to have upset so many people in my lifetime, and I am only sixteen, and before I die, there is no doubt about the fact that I will continue to use people and discard them as I see fit, not unlike my playing God, but never will I think of it that way, of course. Saturday and Sunday was a jumble of things. I was supposed to go out to Petaling Street with Violet, Sau Mun, Jen Li, Damia and Nisa, but Nisa was so hard to get in contact with that I was starting to despair and just as I was about to go to sleep, I got a message from her via Tumblr that she couldn't make it because she had gotten into a fight with her mother. I wasn't angry, not really, just tired, so I gave up on that and curled to sleep, texting Damia that I couldn't make it and neither could Nisa.
Selected text messages from May 27:

Hey hafizah, this is mas. Happy birthday to chris colfer. Enjoy your day :)

Okay, prayer circle alert! GOD BLESS CHRIS COLFER AND HIS CUTE ARMS! (Y) - Divya

.........that's creepy hafizah bt alright happy birthday chris colfer! God bless you always :) - Kayna

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRIS COLFER! I hope you go on to do even more wonderful things that Effie can use as pictures on future birthday cakes! - Ellie

Your text had me in giggles, thank you for [the] text and sharing your joy Effie :-* - Mei

Xueh Wei and her Tweet.
(There are about 64 of these messages altogether.)

So Saturday was not a day. Sunday, however was a different story. I woke up with an effervescence that hadn't existed within me in a long time (and has yet to this day to make a reappearance). I sent out text messages to all of my friends to tell them what day it was. Mas surprised me however with a text sent to me early in the morning, wishing me a good day and a happy birthday for Chris. I'm not going to cry, so of course, I'm not going to write anything in honor of him, and besides, it's already a week too late. But he seemed to have had a lot of fun on his birthday and I couldn't ask for a more deserving celebrity to be utterly in awe of. Now that I don't have anyone in particular in real life to fawn over (and I fully realize how ridiculously pathetic this sounds, but it's never as bad as words paint it out to be), I can say with the utmost confidence that Chris deserves every happiness that comes his way. And to all of my friends who responded to my text, you guys deserve the world (but only for that one day). And to those who didn't, well, you do not deserve this!

Me: They got him llamas!
Nisa: Couldn't he buy his own llamas?
Me: They're birthday presents!
[Edit by me, pictures off Twitter.]
Laziness, thou art a sin. I didn't make this, I pilfered it from Juliet.
Unfortunately, my Dad forced me to go out in the afternoon, and it was a bad time for me, all right, so suffice it to say - and I am not going to defend myself at all because I was total bitch that afternoon - it culminated in  me crying my eyes out and for the first time in my life, voicing out my problems to a parent, and telling him that I need to see a therapist, and that I need to stop going to that school. I'll revisit this later on in the post because now is the time for moving forward and not standing stationary at one spot in time. [2] Looking back seems like such an awful waste of time and yet here I am writing down all of this just so I can maybe look at it in the future and laugh at how childish I was being. Such a teenager. Such a special little snowflake who thought the world would bend to her every whim.

Not that creepy.
Monday and Tuesday were stationary days. I worked on a few things here and there, continued on in my state of  perpetual and static unhappiness. I honestly can't remember what happened on any of these days, most probably because of the fact that nothing happened. I kept myself busy with work. Calling on people and checking up on things are activities that keep my tumultuous thoughts at bay. What I was feeling wasn't a maelstrom of emotions, it wasn't the lack of emotions, it was just as it is. Useless depression pressing in on all sides and just waiting for me to take charge and start the arduous process of pretending to be okay again and again and again. But you know what? I had nobody to please at that point, and I was never one for making my parents proud, ever, so I was just as I was. Wednesday was the first day with a little bit of feeling for me. I went to school before heading out, met Khairina there to get a video for some prefect stuff rolling. I saw Xueh Wei, who was among the kindest to me on Chris' birthday. I had written on my Tumblr, nonchalantly, that I wasn't going back to Sri Aman come hell or high water, and I was under the assumption that Xueh Wei knew of it at the time. Khairina didn't, obviously, and other people were kept in the dark as well, but I decided, since it was a good a moment as any, to tell her (Kayna). It was mean of me to tack it on behind a, "I'm leaving the prefect board, too" because I think that might have made her happy, but it couldn't be helped. I don't think about the way I phrase things before I say it and that is a fault, a weakness, I know, and I'll fix it sooner or later.

After going to school and shooting the video, I went out with my mother, which, under normal circumstances, would be hellish, but I've gotten used to my parents' presence after discussing a lot of things out with them over the last few days. I'm not going to throw caution to the wind and say something like I've now grown closer to them because of this insane episode or anything, but I am less uneasy about being out and about with either of them, I think. I let my mouth run wherever it wants to take me and it's dangerous and stupid and foolhardy, but I've never been more (not pleasantly, not any particular adjacent adjective, really) surprised at the results. It wasn't all present because of course she said some words that displeased me, but give and take is what they say, and it's not something I'm all that keen on to master, but I'll... well, try isn't the right word here. No words exist for this. I bought some things and made a new pair of glasses. That was not the worst day I've had.

Before I went to sleep that day, Violet texted me to tell me that I was head of invitations for Install this year and I didn't feel a thing about denying her my involvement. I told her I wasn't coming back. Not even a slight twinge of sorrow for the fact that I'm going to be missing out on juniors, a once in a lifetime opportunity, and, well, the perks of being a senior, but while I didn't understand or fathom why anyone would willingly miss out on these things on Friday, as I was trying to get Kayna to listen to the voice of reason, I definitely do not feel anything for it, not a care, anymore. Maybe (and I am theorizing here) it has something to do with me thinking back on myself in the past, in all my naivete, thinking that as I sit here today, I would still be in a position to trade nametags with Pri, or later on, after that whole debacle, to trade nametags with Hanna. Maybe it was me, thinking of all the mes in the past and all of her discussions with Hanna regarding juniors and conducting orientation sessions, and I can't get Hanna's ringing words out of my head, that she didn't even understand some of the things we laugh about. And I know how silly, how stupid, how so up-myself I may seem, to hinge this all on one person, and I'll get back to this, later, because at this point? I honestly am not making major, life-changing decisions solely and purely based on Hanna. [3] So Violet knows (and whichever Head Girl candidate she chose to divulge the information to). Khairina, and anyone who reads her blog or Twitter. Zaza, and anyone who reads her blog or Twitter. And Nisa.


The end of May and the beginning of June and the inescapable fact that my calendar is more awesome than yours (not the activities, just the... calendar).

Thursday was a somewhat taxing day, but I don't believe anything else is to be said about it. My parents I went to check out on a private school I might be enrolled in in the future (not if I have my way, of course) but the office was closed because their staff were off on a course. We had lunch at a horrible restaurant instead and later on was my final (let me put it this way to make it seem more ominous, for in reality, I still have to go regularly) orthodontist appointment. I am no longer a member of the brace-face clan! Although, it's food for thought (not really), that after all of these hard months of pining for it to just be off my face and out of my life, I would anything to have it back, because now my teeth feel too much like plastic and entirely foreign and they hurt and they seem to be constantly moving all the time if I don't have my retainers in. I am no big fan of authority, but some invisible force always pushes me in the direction of the right thing and therefore I can't bear to waste all the money my parents have spent and the eighteen months of pain and suffering I have had to endure by having my teeth go crooked again. So I wear the retainers diligently. Talking is a bitch, people stare in confusion and don't even get me started on talking on the phone. But because I have waited so long for it and ignoring the fact that I feel slightly cheated out of normalcy for now (because it's just half a year of wearing this day and night, right?), I shall metaphorically scream my happiness at the sky and thank God that I am no longer wearing braces!

Hey, how come Betty Suarez didn't have to wear retainers?


Nisa wasn't too happy with life either, it seems, although for entirely different reasons. So I offered to take her out for lunch on Friday (as in, have my mother drive us, not, you know, pay for her lunch, although that too would have been a nice gesture) and I could pick up my glasses at the same time. So it was an eventful two days for my face, because for one thing, no more braces, and for another, kick-ass new glasses which aren't my favorite pair ever (that accolade belongs to my previous pair, the black one which was white on the inside and they could be bent in a way that made peoples' jaws drop) but they will have to do. Out with Nisa was nice, because yes I know that even though we aren't each other's favorite people by far, she's my truest, most loyal friend, and those are hard to come by and so much harder to keep. Like Hel, for instance. So of course now it seems apparent that the moral of the story is a sturdy friendship begins with enmity and hate.

I told her and as I expected, she already knew. We watched Snow White and the Huntsman because we couldn't get into Dark Shadows. Nisa said it was because of me and my height and the fact that I look too young. What a curse, I tell you. And I don't blame Nisa, of course, and I am not mad or anything, but it really is annoying to never be able to pass as anything older than thirteen. I mean, que sera, sera and all, but I really would like to be acknowledged for the fact that I am, in fact, older than most of my friends and only a two months older than my cousins and Adam. I can't believe I paid eleven bucks for Snow White because, okay, Kristen Stewart is hot and all, and I love how all of her interactions with guys are like GPOYs of my life, but that was not worth eleven bucks.

After, I went to Nisa's house for a while where she painted like the loon that she was while I minded my own business on Tumblr, all to the soundtrack of 30 Rock playing on the television. We played one game of Life which I won by fifteen hundred bucks even though I was a gay athlete living in a trailer with two kids, earning $30,000 less than Nisa. I went home shortly after that. We had confimed our zoo volunteering plans that and on Saturday, we were official volunteers at the National Zoo! We could enter certain restricted areas and got a cool sticker and got to do things that staff did!

Which is, of course, clean poop. For the purposes of the following passage or passages, I would like to admit to not knowing how to spell one of our "colleague's" name. Is it Nadirah? Nadhirah? Without the h at the end? To make things easier for me, though, I'll use the first one. Seems the most common and least offesive (somehow). Nisa's parents drove us. We were there early. Shockingly early. I didn't know Nisa had it in her to be that early. But there we were, one of the first few there, and we got to enter through a side entrance for staff and sign a book speciall for volunteers. Since we were so early, Nisa and her parents had breakfast at the staff canteen first and I did not because I had already eaten at home. Nisa's mother joked about us cleaning elephant poop.

Izzat said that some days, when the volunteers aren't as plentiful, you get to choose where you want to be stationed at and he once polished turtles' shells. Turtles are apparently wild for a good shell-polish. I'll keep that in mind.
We did not. We cleaned giraffe poop instead. There was an Interact Club from some school present to do the volunteering. Some other stragglers of individual volunteers were there as well and we were sort of randomly separated into groups of four. We were with two other individuals, both of them friends, Nadirah and Izzat (one z? Double z? My memory is a fickle thing) and we went all the way to where they kept some of the savannah animals. Like I said, we cleaned poop. And after that, we had about half an hour's break before hosing down the leftover poop. We were supposed to be doing all of this on our own, but the guy supervising us was super nice so he helped us out a lot and let us out for break at 11.30, when actual lunch hour was one until two. So we had two hours plus to wonder around. Nadirah and Izzat were nice. They've been volunteering a lot of times, five and ten times respectively, and they're both eighteen and, Nisa and I assume from overheard conversations, both medic student

So three or so hours to ourselves to wonder around. Keep in mind we did not pay for entrance and we just did a service to the zoo by hosing down poop. It was definitely good. After lunch break, we got to feed the animals! All throughout the day, Nisa was enthralled with zebras because she said, and I quote, that they were the "closest thing to a unicorn" and apparently, horses are just not. She got to feed a real live zebra! It stuck its head out and everything. I got to feed about three of those two, and also one animal which I think might have been an antelope. Those things are actually shit scary because they are huge and they stare at you and they have horns. During the washing of the buckets, Izzat said that it was interesting to hear me attempt to talk. Har har. I am trying my best by reading one case off The Return of Sherlock Holmes to my cats out loud everyday to better my speech. After that we fed the giraffes. It involved big piles of leaves being tied up in rope and pulled up in a pretty simple, flag-like system of pulleys. The leaves came from pretty itchy plants with teeny tiny hairs that stick onto your flesh and cause infuriatingly painful itches. It subsided slightly after washing, and besides, you just sort of forget about it after a while, but it was painful nonetheless. We worked with a different group of people for the giraffe-feeding and this one guy was super hilarious and borderline creepy because he said I had a (translated from Malay) pretty face and I looked around in bewilderment to Nadirah and Nisa sniggering. Sweeping up more poop in the back alley (which was actually the back part of the giraffe exhibition - we could see people from where we were hidden behind a bunch of trees) was the last thing on the agenda of the day, and afterwards we could skedaddle. The guys who supervised us told us to come again next time and that was when the pain kicked in.

Nisa and I had worn socks prior to hosing down the giraffe pen but they got wet from the holes that were in our gumboots (maybe bring your own boots and gloves next time?) so we had to take them off and put them in plastic bags we got from food stalls. So after that, it was no more socks and also sadly, no more gumboots so naturally we developed blisters. After all was said and done and we said our goodbyes to the other two, Nisa and I walked the dreadful trek to find slippers at the gift shop. I had already bought mine and gloriously freed my aching toes, but Nisa was still deciding whether she should buy hers when her parents called to tell us that they've arrived. So she didn't buy a pair and thank God for that. Eight bucks for the lousiest and crappiest quality slippers I've ever put on my feet in my life.

We were sweaty (Nisa more so than I), stinky, dirty (I more so than Nisa because she had accidentally rubbed some dirt from her rake or whatever onto my neck which I rubbed onto my shirt), and achy, but it was the first thing all week to raise my spirits. I wouldn't do it everyday continuously, but once a week or so, it seems like a nice thing to do. Not so much the helping part as the doing stuff part. And that got me to thinking: I like being busy. I love it, crave it maybe. I enjoyed myself during futsal because I was doing something. I looked at the list of things I had to do as head of invitations and got kind of sad because I wouldn't have to do them. I loved volunteering at the zoo. It's the people I can't stand (although new acquaintances somehow don't add into the equation, maybe because I don't feel as comfortable judging them as I do the people of my school). It's the rules, the structure, the politics. If I could become a double agent in the political agenda of the prefectorial board, I would, but alas, there's nothing to be done there. If you're so inclined to hop on board the volunteer wagon, here's what you need to check out.

So that was my week. Sunday was a do-nothing day because I had originally planned to attend some air-force thing my Dad's working at but I was too tired so I did some printing and planning.

I read wordplay's Not the Boy Next Door for the ReverseBang today. (Don't rat me out but nothing will ever top The Luckiest). Gorgeous art by pencilpushingenthusiast at Tumblr. Anyways, NtBND has sort of become a thing for me now. Like, I really get the lyrics and have sort of been... listening to it on a loop for an embarrassing number of days.
+ + +

1. I don't think there's an ounce of Gryffindor in me. I used to think that maybe that was where I could go, because I have no trouble approaching people and telling them what I think of them, but I have trouble approaching people and asking for their hand in friendship. So it's no use having courage to talk in a crowd if you don't have the courage to get close to another human being. On one hand, it's not liking them. On another, it's knowing that I will disappoint them eventually. I was thinking about this last Wednesday: Friendship is getting close to someone and disappointing them to the point of no return. The Sorting Hat probably made a mistake putting me in Ravenclaw. I am not smart enough to alienate my emotions from my intellect. I get them mumbled and jumbled and all tangled up in a mess. I should have been a Slytherin. Ambitious, willing to step on anyone and anything to get my way, manipulative and people-using, and runs away from a good battle, knowing that it can be resolved in a less confrontational way another day. I am the worst form of confrontational. The courage that I used to have, the courage that really counts, I lost it somehow, and now all that's left of my bravery is the bravery to do cruel things and not think of the consequences.

2. My Dad thinks that it's not a psychological problem, as much as it is conditioning. I have apparently been conditioned to be sad and I don't see how this is not at all relative to trouble in one's psyche. I can't see the way he sees the world, neither can he see the way I see things, because we are separated by too much. My mother, don't even get me started, but my Dad is trying another approach than to simply tell me to 'Go with God' and it's appreciated, sure, but it's difficult. They don't want me to go overseas for my studies because they're afraid that it will affect me as it has affected my sister. Changed and skewed our perspective of the world so that we no longer view it in a fundamentally Islamic sense. I mean, what to say to this? 'If only you knew...' seems ominous and cruel. Sadness and misanthropy aren't two things that I can simply write off as caused by my lack of devotion to God, although you can certainly spin the story that way, and you have all the rights to, of course. But times have changed and while I am in no position to say that God's will has changed, because of course it hasn't, I simply can't look at the world the way my parents want me to, because I have seen enough of it to know that I am not all that pleased, nor am I all that concerned in trying to fix it.

3. I am not. At first, I think, yeah. I mean, I know that if I left, I will regret this, just like I've regretted so many things in my past. But knowing that I'm going to regret it, I still don't terribly mind. Regret is basically a hangover. It'll go away. Undoubtedly it will. Now, I can't find pleasure, or passion, or whatever, out of being a prefect because there is no use. I liken it to a man standing on top of a mountain everyday before sunrise and shouting at the sun to not come up. The sun will come up no matter what the man does or says. That's being a prefect. People will do whatever the ever fuck they want to do and that is their prerogative. Trying to discipline them at this stage is nothing short of insanity. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results. And maybe that's life. Maybe life is telling the sun to not come up. But I'll accept life as a given. School isn't. Being a prefect definitely isn't. Is it some obligation for me to go to school and mix around? No. I believe it is a responsibility to learn, to gain knowledge, but not to go to school.


So this is my life. And I bet you thought you knew what was going to come after that, but I am not an ardent worshiper of The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and I am not at all happy. Other than that one day at the zoo. Ah, c'est la vie, we'll always have the zoo!

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