The Pressure, The Pen, The Music, The Cane
Not much's been going on in my life since I stopped writing. I am pressured to study, to succeed, and to think about my future. It's not something I like to do. I have to face the fact that I have to sacrifise stuff to enter a proper university for a "proper" future. What is a proper way of living, I don't know. For some reason, for the last two decades or so, you either work your ass off or you starve. Why is that so, I don't know. It was not like this before. You could pursue alternative lifestyles and live perfectly well, if not luxurious or extremely comfortable, but you lived nonetheless.
I don't want to do this. Times like these, my feeling of being born in the wrong country gets stronger. I know it's not a particularly nationalist thought and many people would be ashamed of it, but I'm not. I won't be tired of my country the day they start running it properly. The day they fix the university system. The day they stop this religious path they are going in to.
The pen, well, I write. I like writing. But nobody reads. I am quite serious about it. Hardly two people have ever seen anything I wrote. It's not that I don't try. But it's just not very well-liked. I entered a short-story competition, and asked my Literature teacher about how he liked my piece. He said it seemed more like a memoir, and he had to teach me more about the "rules" of stories. Screw him. Any so-called memoir, which is fictional, is a story. There are whole novels written as diaries, for goodness' sake. What are they doing, pushing everything into rules and obligations? CREATIVITY IS DYING. Give it twenty more years, and there will be nothing but calculations, numbers, metalic voices and computerised sounds.
Music serves an an escape route. It is easy to get into, hard to leave. Not complaining here. Mom's reopening the custody case. There's a hearing scheduled for March 6th. My dad says there's nothing to be afraid of, but I am...Oh God...
The cane... Well, that's obvious, isn't it? Nothing has ever helped me feel better so much.
I don't want to do this. Times like these, my feeling of being born in the wrong country gets stronger. I know it's not a particularly nationalist thought and many people would be ashamed of it, but I'm not. I won't be tired of my country the day they start running it properly. The day they fix the university system. The day they stop this religious path they are going in to.
The pen, well, I write. I like writing. But nobody reads. I am quite serious about it. Hardly two people have ever seen anything I wrote. It's not that I don't try. But it's just not very well-liked. I entered a short-story competition, and asked my Literature teacher about how he liked my piece. He said it seemed more like a memoir, and he had to teach me more about the "rules" of stories. Screw him. Any so-called memoir, which is fictional, is a story. There are whole novels written as diaries, for goodness' sake. What are they doing, pushing everything into rules and obligations? CREATIVITY IS DYING. Give it twenty more years, and there will be nothing but calculations, numbers, metalic voices and computerised sounds.
Music serves an an escape route. It is easy to get into, hard to leave. Not complaining here. Mom's reopening the custody case. There's a hearing scheduled for March 6th. My dad says there's nothing to be afraid of, but I am...Oh God...
The cane... Well, that's obvious, isn't it? Nothing has ever helped me feel better so much.