Yesterday, I woke up at 10.30am, rather later than I'd like. It means one and a half hour to noon, it means one and a half hour to saying goodbye to a whole morning gone wasted. I looked up, and written there on the ceiling is my goal. I want to get up, and try to make full use of the day. But it has always been difficult for me to get out of bed. Every morning I have to overcome this great inertia over me, thus the choice to remain in the comfort of my bed is far more tempting. I'm afraid to deal what the new day would mean; I'm afraid to accept another day of disappointment, of no accomplishment. I'm afraid to deal with the sad realities of the world. I seem to know that there is nothing to look forward to except failure. So I stayed in bed there, wanting to cry but there was no more tears to shed.
Mom, how are you? Mom, I miss you, I miss us one whole family together. I miss that... It's like the story of my life has just ended, and there is no reason to add new chapters.
As much as I miss her, I resist calling her, because I'm afraid to hear how tired she is. I just need to live my own life. I need to live in a world where I'm in the centre of the universe. I cannot live like I'm someone's sidekick, or someone's brother, or someone's servant. I need to live in a way that serves full affirmation of myself, and if you have a problem with that, then I think our friendship serves no purpose.
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