This post has got nothing to do with Gerard Darrel or Harvey Nichols

Remember those days where all we had to worry about was which pair of shoes should go with which pants or shirt so that we don't go to our tuition place looking like a fashion disaster who got kicked out of clown college?

Actually I never really had those days since I was the one who could stand going to extra classes with the same hoodie for 2 weeks in a row. I was one of those who didn't give nuts about what people saw me as. No, I wouldn't say that I was proud of those days, but at the same time I just couldn't care less to actually bother about it. Wait a minute. What was I suppose to write about? Why am I blabbering about my fashion disaster days? Perhaps one of the reason is that it's 1.15am and I'm still very much awake. Was it the excessively-sweetened kopi peng from downstairs? Or is it the fact that I'm very much in conflict with my own conscience and emotions at the current moment? I'm currently surrounded with crap coming from every possible direction. Maybe it's not actually THAT bad, but it sure feels that way right now. Good thing that I'm coping with it better than I expected. After what happened two weeks ago, I realized that there are a lot of things which I'm actually capable of dealing with on my own. So I guess that's pretty good.

For some reason, I can't seem to fill the pages with happy thoughts these days. Maybe I'm just another boring person who loses herself in her own thoughts most of the time. I just can't seem to kick of the mentality of taking my room as a permanent sanctuary; with my records and a pen and a book, that's all I really need to help me go through the days. It's bad for the soul, to contain myself in a glass jar and shut the whole world off, and depressing songs playing non-stop on the player isn't exactly helping either. But it's so addictive at the same time. It's a jar which I want to lock myself in for as long as I can. I don't really give a shit about what's happening on the outside. People sicken me a lot these days. Perhaps it's a two-way situation, whereby people around me find me sickening as well. Like I give nuts about what they think about me. I really have to pull myself out of this situation before I die from depression.

I've gone out of this comfort zone many a times, but after a couple of weeks or months even, I'll find myself going back into the jar. It's just like diving underwater for a period, then you start struggling and gather up all your strength to quickly swim back to the surface to catch a breath. It's that feeling of gasping for air; where it squeezes all the air out of your already infected lungs.

I just want to listen to all the songs on my music list till I fall asleep and wake up three days later. Now all I need is a pair of big ass earphones which blocks out every single sound from outside.