LOFTER-网易轻博

I'm an extremely emotional person, seriously. If you were to ask me one of those cheesy "describe yourself using five words" question, I would reply: sensitive, self-conscious, passive-aggressive, secretively cynical, and a vulnerable narcissist. 

I woke up early this morning, by the sound of my dad shuffling to the bathroom, perfectly aware of the fact that in a few hours he is going back to China, that it would mean it's about half way into my winter break, that I have not accomplished anything so far, except making indulgent online purchases, and signing myself up for a upsettingly-hard j-term course. Today is January the 7th, a week into the year of 2018, not that the year itself means anything to me, but it's a new year. And a new year is, well, supposed to be aspiring and a so-called "fresh new start" that filled with resolutions and high hopes. Yet I have not perceieved any sign near telling me that the page has been turned. I always feel a force, by the name of time, is wheeling forward relentlessly, while I am standing still, stagnated, rooted on the spot where I remain endlessly. It seems like I have reached an end, but the time refuses to stop with me, so I have to flow along. Oh and time, you sneaky son of a bitch, you are so cruel and coldblooded, you know that? It's like I'm drowning, but not to the point that it's lethally suffocating, because a ring buoy is wrapped around my neck just to barely keep me floating. Even more than that, I am the life buoy. I am, or supposed to be, a lifeless object, that gets tossed onto the middle of nowhere, letting currents be my lead and drive me at their pleasure. 

Why not trying to keep track of your thoughts by writing diary entries, you might ask. Well, I always feel that my thoughts are complicated and all over the place, but when translated into words onto my laptop screen, they become so simple, if not reductive. At any rate, it's a poetic excuse for not being good at English enough to express my thoughts coherently (not even in my mother tongue Chinese I'm afraid), plus being too lazy to practice it, lol, which is why there has to be plenty metaphors to explain, though still inadquately, one flow of thought. And this just demonstrates how I always tell my parents that my ultimate dream is to live the life of a retired old man, at the age of 19---I would rather keep those mess all to myself and bask in the sun on my favorite rocking chair and staring into the blank forever. 

So, as I was lying on my bed this morning, with my parents' casual chatting in the background, the cold-hard fact has timely crept up on me as a reminder. Looking back to the past few weeks, I have contributed so little both as a student and a daughter. Wake up, and brace yourself for the semester to come. "Start with something doable, like sleeping early and we'll see from there." I always tell myself that, as if it is a facile task to get a good night sleep. I have to act, summon to mind some of the most obvious steps on how an excellent college student is supposed to bahave and force myself into them.

to be continued.