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everyone back home has this 'bright' idea of the ideal job. unfortunately, being half blind and 2 centimetres too short cut me out from the Police Force.
so screw the ideal job.
now i have an ideal goal. my perfect home. my sanctuary.
now, this means that i have to live in shitty conditions(slightly moldy bread, no water, icky conditions, been there, done that) and work crappy jobs and suffer fools in order to save up enough money for a home and furniture and my large amount of worldly possessions of books n anime n manga n the paraphenalia while praying that the gods of real estate will be kind to me and won't let the prices skyrocket...too much anyways....
one of the few things that make me happy is seeing a good amount of money in my bank account. i don't spend often but i do indulge once in a while. seeing the numbers decrease make me cringe.
right now though, i'm just drifting. from my rented room in perth, back to the home i grew up in KK. both places filled with memories both good and bad but i still don't feel like i truly belong. the house in KK has more memories there, simply because i spent more time there. the intensity is still the same. the confusion is still there.
although i am a hoarder, there is a reason why i have so much stuff. it's not just to fill a void or so says dr. phil. every single one of my possessions holds a valuable memory that i am soon forgetting. however, whenever i lay my eyes on each one, i remember.
this journal is to help me unravel and understand myself better. at first, it was only used as a place for me to bitch. now, it's also a place for me to vent and spill because in real life, i cannot do the same. i fear many things and pity is one of them. disgust and rejection is another. while simpering fools annoy me.
if anything, my mother won't get her hands on this one. it's too bad she found the diary slash exercise book that i had written in occasionally. or at least, i suspected she did, what with her not very subtle investigative means by interrogating my poor cousin who admittedly is the only relative i'm the closest to. there was a particular entry that hinted my hatred at her. my colourful vocabulary was then lacking, but the meaning was there. not to mention a drawing of my lying in bed with tears n a wall and my parents arguing on the otherside. no mistaking that one.
their arguing has always been a sore point with me. i picked up their emotions far too easily and it distresses me. worse is when they redirect their emotions at me and attack. well excuse me for not having enough experience. damn parents, so immature as to not realise that certain things should never mixed together.
so screw the ideal job.
now i have an ideal goal. my perfect home. my sanctuary.
now, this means that i have to live in shitty conditions(slightly moldy bread, no water, icky conditions, been there, done that) and work crappy jobs and suffer fools in order to save up enough money for a home and furniture and my large amount of worldly possessions of books n anime n manga n the paraphenalia while praying that the gods of real estate will be kind to me and won't let the prices skyrocket...too much anyways....
one of the few things that make me happy is seeing a good amount of money in my bank account. i don't spend often but i do indulge once in a while. seeing the numbers decrease make me cringe.
right now though, i'm just drifting. from my rented room in perth, back to the home i grew up in KK. both places filled with memories both good and bad but i still don't feel like i truly belong. the house in KK has more memories there, simply because i spent more time there. the intensity is still the same. the confusion is still there.
although i am a hoarder, there is a reason why i have so much stuff. it's not just to fill a void or so says dr. phil. every single one of my possessions holds a valuable memory that i am soon forgetting. however, whenever i lay my eyes on each one, i remember.
this journal is to help me unravel and understand myself better. at first, it was only used as a place for me to bitch. now, it's also a place for me to vent and spill because in real life, i cannot do the same. i fear many things and pity is one of them. disgust and rejection is another. while simpering fools annoy me.
if anything, my mother won't get her hands on this one. it's too bad she found the diary slash exercise book that i had written in occasionally. or at least, i suspected she did, what with her not very subtle investigative means by interrogating my poor cousin who admittedly is the only relative i'm the closest to. there was a particular entry that hinted my hatred at her. my colourful vocabulary was then lacking, but the meaning was there. not to mention a drawing of my lying in bed with tears n a wall and my parents arguing on the otherside. no mistaking that one.
their arguing has always been a sore point with me. i picked up their emotions far too easily and it distresses me. worse is when they redirect their emotions at me and attack. well excuse me for not having enough experience. damn parents, so immature as to not realise that certain things should never mixed together.
