There are times, when I’m on my own or when I am moved by something, that I think about how normal my life is and how normal a person I am that when someone talks about me, there really is nothing to be moved about. It makes me put myself in the shoes of a movie’s character for instance, and imagine how my life would have been like. Would I have been someone else if that had happened? Would I have been a more grounded person than I am now? Would I have been happier? But no matter how I force myself to pretend that my life is indeed unlike the normal, it gets more normal. What is normal anyway? Is it a boring routined life? I wake up at six thirty in the morning, stay in bed for thirty minutes, reflect or just stare at the ceiling, move around the room, take a bath, go to school, listen in class, pretend to be listening in class, yawn, scribble, dream, eat brunch, take a break, laugh, tease, laugh, frown, complain, sigh, drag myself to another class, nod, be amazed, eat, walk, sleep, eat, study, read, sleep. Routine. Is it boring? Yes, at times it is. Is it difficult? Yes, especially since I feel that being around people is such hard work. Why? You have to laugh at their jokes, put up with their unending teases, read their minds and somehow predict what their next move is. When someone suddenly does something new, you stop and think about why it came to that, and so you shield yourself, just to be safe, to not get hurt again. When an old flame suddenly contacts you and tells you that he prefers to not smile anymore, you worry for a while but get back at him and tell him that you’re relieved he isn’t smiling like he used to, even though his smile was what brightened your day then. You pretend. I pretend. And it’s difficult. It’s hard. To have to smile even when you aren’t in the best shape sucks out all the energy in your body. It makes your stomach yearn for food, for comfort, for reassurance that they can see through your pretense and despite that, they will still be there for you no matter what. It’s tiring. My life is tiring. Though this is how I want it to be. I complain nonetheless. Why again? That’s easy, because I want fate to go against me. I want to fight for something, work hard to reach a dream written in the sky. I want something more out of my current life. I want something new to come along. It’s boring-what I’m doing.