Dear Humans, Truth be told, I have had an awful past couple of days: I failed an examination, which has never happened over the course of my life (actually I have always been a nerd), the boyfriend and I are on the verge of breaking up, my phone broke, I am also broke, my parents
I bought a typewriter because I do not want to hit backspace. I do not want to hit backspace on any of my life. I have an uncanny ability to hide away moments that have passed to a point where they becomes blurry and I am unsure as to whether they actually did happen or
I want to live with the Bedouins in the desert. Or with the Monks in the mountains. Maybe the only vice I’ll keep is smoking.
It’s funny how the people you’re closest to can hurt you the most. I thought family was supposed to support you. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they’re meant to put you down. Bring you down to earth. Make you afraid to dream. Then tell you you’re not good enough when you haven’t achieved something great.
Dear Daddy, You will always be the most important person in my life along with mommy (and my sister… I have to say that or she’ll be jealous… haha jk I love you Ni). But you made us who we are. We are fighting at the moment. We are not talking. We have said the
Sorry guys. I’m drunk and fucked, I just came back from a Benny Benassi concert in Toronto. So much fucking drama happened. This girl complained that her boyfriend wasn’t paying attention to her. Now my boyfriend is complaining that my sister and I are a waste of space because we did now show any monetary
At times I feel happy, and at times I feel sad. The problem is that these emotions tend to occur in quick succession making others (and even myself) feel like I am crazy. I believe it is just a result of my mind running too quickly to a fault. I don’t have a diagnosis in
The thought that frightens most people is that of being forgotten, whether in their lifetime or after their physical deaths. The disenfranchised, the runaways, and all those living on the fringe of society are our constant reminder of that fear. For that reason, we think we need to feel important, or to feel needed so
Hell is cold. I am sure of it. It is like a snowstorm on the coldest winter day, where humans’ efforts toward shielding themselves against an angry flurry of white snowflakes are futile. A place of loneliness and selfishness, where care is directed only toward the survival of the self, so no one notices or
It is not that I am devoid of passion. Nor that I am filled with it. I try to be stoically happy and not let the little things bother me. I think complaining is an exercise in what is asked of us when situations are not up to par in terms of decorum or proper