Ch. 1 Azura

I searched high and low for my hair dryer, rifling through drawers, and peeking behind furniture, but I gave up when I ran out of places to search and just braided my hair. As I fastened the strands together, I caught sight of the dainty pearl earrings that my mother insisted were the perfect complement to any outfit, I put them on and proceeded to do my make-up.

Luckily, the school didn't require uniforms on a daily basis, which was a small comfort on mornings like these. Besides, not having to wear polyester shirts and those horrible skirts was a huge bonus. Honestly, I hated getting ready for school; it made me feel so incredibly boring, always wearing those preppy clothes my mum kept buying for me, keeping my hair neat and all.

I wish I could just ditch and go walk around the city all day, but then I would get in trouble, so it wasn't worth it.

My heart raced as I dashed up the stairs, juggling my textbook in one hand while clutching the railing with the other to steady myself. The laces of my shoes flapped untied against the floor, threatening to trip me up at any moment. It wasn't that I lacked the skill to tie them; rather, it seemed those particular ones were just untiable.

The class was rather boring, or it was my absolute apathy to anything that was happening before at least eight thirty. You can guess I wasn't exactly the morning type, though I think this depends on the habits you adopt and not so much on your personality.

I devoted my attention instead to completing the homework for another class, deeming it a more pressing priority, or perhaps it was the fact that the teacher was insanely strict, especially when it came to those handouts he gave us. The lecturer in this class couldn't care less, because she looked as if she had spent the night working at a local bar, with her hair all messy and her make-up smudged. I often wonder how teachers manage to keep up with such a lifestyle; surely, meeting so many faces on a daily basis is so mentally draining. I myself struggle to be constantly around so many people, even though I speak to none of them, except when asked something, or when I need to participate in class.

The bell rang, and I walked out quickly, heading to my locker to pick up my maths homework, which I had left there since I did it yesterday while still at school and didn't even bother taking it home with me. While unlocking it, I noticed the principal coming out of his office and greeting what I suppose were some parents, waiting in front of the office. Someone must've got into a fight or something, since they only call parents at the school when there's bad news for their child, which I find kind of absurd. Why can't they at least once per year say something actually nice about the students, rather than calling a random 8th grader's abusive father when the kid has got an F on a stupid geography quiz. But this school was so fucked up, so cases like this are no surprise. I find it funny, in fact, how they have created this illusion that our high school is some sort of super prestige place where teens will be prepared for life and university and will all become successful people when the truth is, nobody gives a flying fuck about what goes on with the students, all that's important are the grades and the image of the school. Last year they caught some people with drugs, and of course, instead of getting them the help they needed they just expelled them. I suppose life is like this, they capture you, chew you up real good, and when you are no longer to their taste, they spit you out.

The remainder of the day slipped away in a haze, the minutes, and hours melting into one another until the clock displayed a startling 11 pm. and I was laying in bed, scrolling on Pinterest and just saving image after image in the many boards I had created.

I swear it was so addictive, and was undoubtedly my form of escapism, just clicking on all those images, things I couldn't have, outfits that wouldn't look good on me or things I couldn't draw.

I noticed one of my nails was chipped, so I rolled out of bed and grabbed my light pink nail polish to fix it. I hated how my nails always broke just before I could get them to the length I wanted, forcing me to cut them all and keep them short and keep it simple. It was the same with my hair; the ends always split too fast, never giving it a chance to grow long and healthy. Honestly, I miss my long hair. I miss the way it hugged me and made me feel protected, like a comforting shield against the world. There was something about the way it framed my face and draped over my shoulders that made me feel more confident, more complete. Such imperfections feel like a reflection of the larger battles I face, the sense of never quite measuring up, never quite reaching where I want to be.

Just like this, another day ended as it started—with me lying in bed, trying to distract myself from the overwhelming sense of emptiness and the gnawing feeling that life might be pointless, which might as well be the death of me one day.