Huehue

Can this afternoon be more cliché? The rain is pouring, my heart is breaking, I’m all alone in the house, and I can’t decipher my own thoughts. I’ve been emotionally constipated for I no longer remember, and I don’t know if there’s something wrong with that, neither do I know if it’s in any chances right. I don’t feel anything at all and I have no idea how to feel and what to feel on certain circumstances anymore. It’s like my emotional switch has been turned off. I feel like I’m stuck and I feel the need for a long walk to somewhere or a bus ride to only-god-knows-where. I used to be so jolly and talkative, and in an I-don’t-know-how trick, I became the complete opposite of the person I was once. I don’t feel like going out with my friends, don’t like talking to others about how I feel (because none of them do really listen and they would just rather tell me to shrug it off and tell me to start to visit places outside my cave), don’t feel like catching up with what’s going on with their lives (because I don’t want them to catch up with mine). I just want to travel alone. Try to figure out things in life, try to you know, see better with all these clouds above my head. I want to be in a different place, with a different culture, to be surrounded by different people who have no single idea who I am, and just be a different person. I want to be in a place where I can run naked on the street and no one will give a damn, a place where I can lie down beneath the stars and no one will think that I’m just wasting my time, a place where there’s winter and fall and spring, a place where I can ink my skin of Bieber’s face, a Japanese translation of Harlem Shake, and no one will tell me I’m gross, judge me that I’m a drug addict, a whore or a herpes carrier and no one will have an estimation of my IQ Level based on my physique. Not that I really care of whatever people say, just for once, I just wanted to be myself, without any norms checking out on me every fucking time. I know life is no chick flick, it goes from horror to comedy to musical and you just can’t pick for yourself and I know going to different places will not suddenly bring me to realization of whatever I’m trying to unravel, but I know it’s a good start, and I want it more than anything to start now. 

Fuck.

I'm not much of a talker, I rant but only inside my head for reasons that 1) I don't like people misunderstanding my thoughts 2) I don't like talking 3) misunderstanding would be followed by explaining that involves a lot of talking 4) I kind of hate everyone 5) no one really understand most of my rants. I'm not an escapist, a hipster or whatsoever, I just like my preferences and I enjoy doing things without any attachment from no one. I'm not trying to be deep or to be flowery or to be mysterious as what people often regard about my ways. I am what i'm comfortable to be, it doesn't involve warm hi's and hello's, it doesn't have a sneak peek of an impending friendship yet to come, I am harsh and cold and i'm not going to follow it with buts because i'm harsh and cold with no buts. I became this person with no stimulus from the past and this is not a phase, this is me and i am not a phase. 

This is me breathing, doing stuffs i like, writing for things i adore, reading books I want, living life my way. This is too long for a fuck i know, but i'm giving them once and for all. This is me giving a fuck, a one paragraph of a fuck i don't give a fuck giving. Take this in, throw it out, have this thing in any ways you want. Question me about my distance, question me about my coldness, question me about the doors and windows i shut down, question me about my meekness, question me about every weirdness you found in me because i'm abnormal and you're average, question me about everything and brace yourself for fucks i wont give. Dear, i already did, and i will do it only once.