I was going through my old high school stuff, when I came across my old journal.
I thought I'd give you a look at my old angst-ridden adolecent self:
The woman is a lunatic. The last time I tried to have an intelligent conversation with her, I wound up laughing my head off.
I hate people who get angry an shout alot. I find loud voices seriously disturbing.
That's why I did not attend Q's* class today. I just cannot handle her insisting on being unreasonable and uncivilized. She's a sweet old lady, but sometimes I do question her mental stability, like I do many others'.
I just wish I could leave here. I am tired of living in this bubble.
This life-like dream
Ain't for me
There is nothing to do here in this hell-hole. Maniacs randomly roam the streets, the heat is unbearable (as is the stench), everything is always dirty and dusty and it is quite normal to find twelve to forty year olds suffering from an unexplainable depression that just knaws at your heart.
The British Council is having a creative writing contest. Contestans are asked to write a story. The theme is 'I Belong', which makes me laugh, because that is the only topic I cannot wirte a single word on. Because I quite simply don't belong.
Aww! Wasn't I a precious-widdle angst-widden tween!?
*Q taught me Tawheed (I think), in high school.