back in those days...
written: 11:05 p.m. on Wednesday, Jun. 11, 2003

Am quite excited about camp. Not so much as the activities, most likely crappy, that I'd be forced to go through, but rather, I'm excited about the thought of spending two nights away from home.

I seriously need the breather. More than ever I'm starting to resent being treated like a kid by not just my parents, but my entire goddamn extended family as well. They still think I'm the Primary One me, needing someone to hold my hand during my first day of school, crying when my mother left and feeling so left out because I was so shy and introverted.

And my dear father still thinks I'm in a girls' school. It doesn't matter who the guy is, but when a guy calls, he'd hand me the phone with this look on his face that basically spells disapproval.

What in the bleeding fuck. Most of the time they're just calling to hassle me about some school crap that I really, really did not even want to think about.

I can pinpoint the exact moment I knew for sure that I'm ready to fly. It was in January this year, when I was going through the crappy Year One camp. It was the first night. I was having a ball with my mates, slacking off like nobody's business, sitting at the stairs leading to the grandstand and gossiping away.

And then it hit me that I wasn't homesick. Not even slightly.

I used to get extremely homesick before... like when I was in Primary 4 and St. Nicks had this camp, and I missed my home so much that I couldn't even have a good time.

That is, obviously, history, buried and decomposing, or already decomposed.

Sometimes I truly think I need that sort of childish innocence back. Sometimes I truly fear for myself, for the direction I'm heading with my bitter cynicism and casual disregard for other peoples' feelings.

I'm thinking of that time I gave those guys the finger. Granted, I never liked being stared at; it has been happening to me since Secondary Two, or even earlier, I don't remember. And I thought I was this hard-ass bitch when I was 14, thought I was so cool, so different from everyone else because I didn't give a shit, because it was so punk rock, and the finger incident was something I thought I would do, back in the year 2000 when I was a 14-year-old poseur.

I would never have done it in a million years, no matter how I thought I was so tough.

I was actually pretty nice.

And I seriously think I should start being nicer to people... even though half of them probably wouldn't deserve it.

Oh I don't know. I need to sleep.

See you on Saturday.

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010