Don't you think the flower design beautiful?
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I could not believe it when I saw it. I thought it was someone else’s paper. Never had I thought the Maths paper with 72 scrawled on it would be mine. 72. SEVENTY-TWO. I still can’t get over the shock. Most likely everyone scored higher than me. It is making my depressed. Devastated. Miserable. Despondent. Dejected. Wretched. Whatever you people call it these days. So far, only three people know of my state. 72. 72. 72. 72! I would have expected 88 and above. Never a horrendous 72. Everyone before me convinced me, I would probably get an A* and above, I had thought so too. But it turned out I was wrong, very wrong. Careless, stupid, an idiot. So true. Tears dripping slowly out of my eyes. The sadness overcame me. Only my “brother” could cheer me up. I helped him with his Maths worksheet, and it gave me intense satisfaction knowing that most of answers would be correct. It brings out a joy in you. I laugh. But inside, there’s always the moody, depressed me, all because of the number 72. What an idiot I am. Fool. I even expected to be around her standard. It will never happen. "Bitter laugh-. I thought I was smart. Ha! I am probably one of the least-achieving students in the class. I used to be quite proficient in Maths, but now- more like idiotic in Maths. 72. 72. 72. I am sick. I want to puke. 72. I want to puke until I get skinny again. At least I might be happy then, maybe even with the 72 looming over my head. Maybe. Depressed. A skeleton. A shadow of my past. What is there left to even bother with? |
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I suppose i should give you an outline of my life. I'm a girl, who currently seriously depressed. I wouldn't use the word "emo" though. So juvenile. I wouldn't like to consider myself juvenile. I am pretty much your average girl, just a little shorter, a little tinier and a little stupider. I hate myself. I hate myself for not scoring well. I hate myself for my life turning out to be so bad. Nobody can lift my spirits. Except maybe my "brother". His wit might. I feel repressed everyday, nobody is up to my intellect to an exchange of fluid conversation, everyday they are speaking in broken english, which really vexs me. I want an equal. Someone who can talk to me like i would talk to them, someone who i could divulge all my secrets to. Someone who would be my best friend for life. I have a best friend now, but she... i can't trust anyone with my secrets. I feel as if i can't trust anyone with my life. Only perhaps my imaginary characters, where i could drip it parts of my life into their own life. Feelings, emotions that i wish to have, but can't. I have a big imagination. I dream. I dream of many things. But sometimes, having a big imagination can kill you. It kills you slowly. You start getting distratced, you hope too much. You dream too much. You then get sucked back into reality. And you realise everything around you is changing. Rapidly. People are maturing, you aren't. You did so a long time ago. You now live the shallow life. Nothing matters anymore, except the basic of basic. Good results. What else matters? Personal pleasure gives you no gain. Emotions is just another word. And to think, all because of one Maths paper. |
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Don't you think the flower design beautiful? |