one year: an old diary note

How bizarre is it that one year can change so much about your existence, inside-out. Well, technically not much on the outside, I've unfortunately been 5'3 since the seventh grade. Incredulity at its finest. You find new friends, some just for homework answers and some you hope to carry in your little pockets forevermore, some you call to blow some steam off with an average-at-best badminton game, and some you grow to have deep three a.m conversations with about life. You realise that you actually like some of your teachers at school and you don't mind having a chat on the phone with some of them occasionally. You reach the life-transforming conclusion that Salsa is in fact the single best dip of all time. All this has only further affirmed my belief that we're all just collecting experiences like polaroids inside our own heads hoping that they'd drown us in nostalgia when we're eighty years old with arthritis and a bad back-ache. Not that I need to wait till I grow old for that, my posture treats me with just as much bodily redundancy. Moving on from the prattle, I really did spend most of my teenage constructing a steel fort against any form of vulnerability. Well, it did break and it did maim, I did bleed and I did grow and I'd like to think that I learned a thing or two- that my head isn't sculpted and my blood is not a shield. It's okay to confide in someone or just simply sit with a friend and draw silly art with sidewalk chalk and revel on how lucky you've gotten as you blur out the noise in your head.

love,

A