bowl of misua

untitled #1

rawr the sacrificial lamb, josefa de óbidos

july is here.

half the year has come and gone.

my mom recently told me about how her banker had a client whose son was looking for a girlfriend. she offered me up without asking me about it.

i wonder if it’ll result in anything.

the days are still warm—but when is it not, when you live in southeast asia, where the word “cold” is barely used to describe the weather?

i am still lonely.

i turn 24, but it feels like i’ve been this age for years now.

over the weekend i was at a driving school for the mandatory theoretical course. someone in my class was born in the year 2008, and there was someone signing up who was born in 2007. are they still not children?

i saw my dad’s texts with his sister; a conversation about how there isn’t anyone in our family who was still young. then he said “24 isn’t that young anymore.” i was offended at first, but maybe there’s some truth to that.

i’m encroaching my mid 20s. what a terrifying thought.

i thought i’d kill myself at 18 and yet here i am, still standing, six years later.

how strange.

i don’t think i’ve accomplished much in my life despite being 24.

i wonder if being alive is a feat on its own.

i still feel like i’m 19.

july is here.

june is gone.

the grey cloud that’s been hanging over my head since i was 12 remains.

i wonder if this fatigue will ever go away.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

a song as always.

#contemplations #dear diary