When people think I don't understand, I do. When people think I understand, I don't. That's the scenario, the worst case scenario, most of the time. I really shouldn't be blogging. It's 10.14pm now. Today's Wednesday. From tomorrow onwards, Thursday, there are 6 school days left till the June holidays - inclusive, that is. Next Monday is a Vesak Day holiday.
Ironically so.
Time flies.
I've noted that she's a brilliant poet. Better than I could ever be.
My imagination is quailing.
Last year I so foolishly threw away, discarded like rag, my childhood innocence, all because I hankered after the icy reputation of the untouchable flower. I wanted to get one thread out of a piece of cloth, but I messed it up and the whole fabric came undone. I've never been a good seamstress.
I want it back. I'm searching for it, and if I find it, I'll keep it till the day I die. My childhood. Return it to me.
It's mine.
My imagination, my cloud deciphering, my innocence, my laughter, my heck-care attitude - return everything to me. I won't mind if it weighs down on my back, because I don't think it will. I won't mind if others get irritated by it, because they're bloody not me. I won't mind if the pearl disappears forever, gone in exchange for it, though I'll miss the white glow. As long as my childhood is returned to me...
I'm only coming thirteen. Still a child. No more, no less.
