diary #1

I've always loved books. Who doesn't?

I've always dreamed of becoming an author someday, a prominent writer, a famous novelist.

But I'm almost 22.

You might say, "you're too young" or "you're too old". I don't know too.

20's and 30's are the peak of your career. Or is it?

It's a little heartbreaking how I thought that I will never be that 9-5 girl who would wake up in the morning; go to work; eat unhealthy, oily lunch and sweet desserts just to make myself alert all throughout a day. I swore to myself when I was younger to be responsible, capable, and rich. But look at me now. Just look.

You might have had seen me before walking on the dirty roads of the highway, waiting for a cab to come. Or sometimes I'd walk in the middle of the day, sun burning my skin even under an umbrella, sweat trickling down my clothes.

I don't use perfume. You could imagine how I smell.

Sometimes I would see my batch mates going in and out the bar with their hairs dyed and clothes ripped into much revealing pieces of fabric. Sometimes I would see their social media posts with their dinners and wines and cheese and early morning grind and late night lives. Sometimes I would envy their hourglass body, firm boobs, ironed hair, white sneakers and nail arts. Sometimes, I feel nothing at all.

No, that's not true. I FEEL TIRED. Who am I even kidding?

I'm so tired from the cycle of waking up in the morning, taking a bath and looking for clothes to wear but nothing befits me and pretty dresses look rugs on me; therefore I'd end up on a non-fashionable tops and bottoms pairing such with my still-wet-hair-from-shower tied on a small pony.

I'm almost 22. This sucks.

I should've enjoyed my youth now while I have the energy. But I don't even have an energy left to breathe.

Sometimes, I wish I was born in a different era, different class, different taste. Sometimes, I wish people would hear my voice and listen to my songs, and read the words I etch. Sometimes, I forget how life is already amazing on it's own way and that I don't have to be wealthy to feel alive. But who am I kidding though?

I feel so worthless and disgusting as my body presses against the hard wood of my bed. I wish I could just teleport to other universe.