I should have been writing down my thoughts on the globalization of world literature because I’ve got no time (seems like time is as essential as water) left to worry about it further. but tonight is my night, a temporary halt to the academic insanity, so I cuddled deeper into my pillows and watched buried.
sheila and I were trudging along the avenue, past the hurrying suvs and limitless buses. we were recounting the day’s events, like how unfair the exam in ES13 was and what these people seemed like but fortunately so… she’s been telling me about her fears and I have also been sharing mine. death cab’s most profound words reverberated inside my head: fear is the heart of love. I’m scared of failing my subjects because I’m scared of not meeting my expectations (never put expectations on yourself never never never). I’m too much of a perfectionist and I love this part of me that I end up getting frustrated with it all. I’m scared of finally meeting that safe place that I can always land to because I don’t want to get hurt and wait it out to revert to normalcy. so basically it all boils down to me, me, me, me. but aren’t we all are? we’re selfish that we prioritize our own welfare above others. when given a class picture, don’t we all search for ourselves and see if we look weird/odd/not appropriate relevant to other? don’t you think it’s too much for self-love?
sigh. when will it finally sink in that procrastinating is as hell [even more so] as doing it now. I need to find that special book. good morning.
