Let's see. Where should we start first.

It took me a lot of guts, as well as courage to hoise up my bravery. I gritted my teeth and came as a 'new' student.

But still clear a head enough do I know how I feel about my status.
Disappointment, anguish.

I don't quite think it's despising the standard, just when it's reduced to such a manner, I cannot yet accept.

I will accept I've lost something.
But not only to gain this in return.

Today, solitary pricks at the tip of my fingers.
I don't want to be stared at. Mocked, teased, nor anything like these.

I'd rather be in the semi shadows.

Maybe it's because I feel embarrassed of my own condition.
What exactly I wonder. Because I was above this? Or because I downgraded myself? Or the fact that I got left behind?

What would've happened if I went back to another level lower that I wanted to?

It's kind of sad to be in this plight.

Due to what I'm doing emotionally, I seem to be hurting myself unnecessarily.

I can't help but feel that way.


Today, I sat alone; across on a different bench. Enjoying the zephyr. Not as gentle though, and actually the east winds.

I sat up, then an attempt to lay for the dull gray yet still blithely fluffy.

By then, the girls were already laughing madly.
Then when a couple of boys joined in. I couldn't relax but sit right up.

Feeling awkward yet provoked. I started looking upwards to the third floor.

Why third? Towards those who were once sitting in the very same room with me. I took it for granted. Truly, I felt more comfortable with them. I speak with no restrict. Even the ones whom I don't speak too, enquired out of curiosity.

Acknowledged, smiling.

I thought I didn't care.

Remember how much I couldn't be bothered being serious in class. Now when the teacher doesn't have the characteristic to be more specific or definite, I felt insulted. Additionally insecure.

However, I kept silence.

I knew the moment my ink sunk into the paper so thin, I regretted ever writing what I wrote.

As I hand in my school work, gazing directly into the Teacher's eyes. Instantly the picture of ripping it and disposing of it came to mind. I couldn't refuse. I wanted to let it out.

The Teacher looked as if he sensed something, turned my picture into an emphasis.

Still, knowing it'll hurt and offend others. I disgust myself.
The selfishness. Acting on my own. I have regretted only realizing now how much I wasted my precious time, even the people's company which I used to disregard.

I felt relieved when I met them again, but not without embarrassment.

The feeling of knives stabbing into me each time I saw those familiar faces discreetly.

Some rather indifferent to the years ago. Still recognizable. Others not much of a difference.

As much as I wanted to be in deference, every other thing fell into places of contradiction.

Why? Why am I dreadfully being distinctive when it comes to distinguishing a differential?

I deceive and deny myself. That is being stupid. Yet it persists to happen.

Am I developing an obstinate characteristic?

No matter how much I detest or loathe, still and all I should be lenient.

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