Went to the city... Saw coursemate, let's just call her Cy. I saw her hugging a blonde guy and I guess she was dating him. At that instant, I got transported back straight to the awkward encounter with the guy from SA.
Ugh. Never again.
I also see people of all walks of life around in the city, each with someone special close to savour the moment with.
And then it hit me. That feeling of being lonely. Alone.
Maybe it's Nottingham city. I didn't feel so in London at all.
Ugh.
No more trips to the city anymore for me.
Another iota to my writing
And so it begins. Again. Back in campus before term officially starts and instantly the pool of emotions are brought back to life. Well, not really but memory has its power kick sometimes.
Perhaps you would wonder why would I bother writing on and then off again every now and then. Like some kind of cockroach which just wouldn't give that one last breath after being squashed, drowned, humiliated, hated, ridiculed and die. Or quit. Or give up.
Truth is (brace yourselves, people)....I don't know.
What I do know is I love writing, translating emotions into words with a dash of humour. What? Life can't afford to be that serious, you know? Also what I do know is that my vocabulary and writing capability is also very much limited which explains why am I not writing on an editor's desk instead. So what do you do when you got ample time and lots of ideas running around in your head? A blog, why of course! Genius.
Right.
2 hits per month. Or year? Not to mention I contribute to the hit count too. Can't afford to look bad, you know.
Oops cat out of the bag. And nothing feels any worse than the wave of shame crashing down after admitting to your dirtiest, darkest secret ever.
I'm just gonna bury my head down in the soil like an ostrich now. Forever.
Perhaps you would wonder why would I bother writing on and then off again every now and then. Like some kind of cockroach which just wouldn't give that one last breath after being squashed, drowned, humiliated, hated, ridiculed and die. Or quit. Or give up.
Truth is (brace yourselves, people)....I don't know.
What I do know is I love writing, translating emotions into words with a dash of humour. What? Life can't afford to be that serious, you know? Also what I do know is that my vocabulary and writing capability is also very much limited which explains why am I not writing on an editor's desk instead. So what do you do when you got ample time and lots of ideas running around in your head? A blog, why of course! Genius.
Right.
2 hits per month. Or year? Not to mention I contribute to the hit count too. Can't afford to look bad, you know.
Oops cat out of the bag. And nothing feels any worse than the wave of shame crashing down after admitting to your dirtiest, darkest secret ever.
I'm just gonna bury my head down in the soil like an ostrich now. Forever.
