A journal entry last August 20.

If there’s one thing I hate about myself, it’s about hating other people without them knowing it. But what I hate more, is when I hate and do nothing except be silent and pretend and just backbite thereafter.

I’m too tired of that routine. If not for proper manners and ethics (as if I care), if not for the awareness of society’s norms, if not for values and for society’s sake, I should’ve screamed. I should’ve yacked, I should’ve shouted, I should’ve mouthed, I simply should’ve bickered them all. Not that I’m blaming the virtue of being tactful, or proper manners, or ethics or society. Not that I hate to be a so-called goodie-good girl.

Or I guess I can’t just free myself from being a so grade-conscious hypocrite. Of course not. From what had happened today, it was more of an illogical phenomenon that hit my papers rather than my nervous system. From my own point of view, it’s her nervous system and not mine which experienced the most irradical event yet to be seen.

Or I guess I am to blame. After all, considering the pinch of effort I gave, it was far from industrious. It was exerted with force maybe, but not industrious.

I have to say that I am not writing this for show. I am writing this because I am too sick of pretension any longer. More so, I’m writing this because I can’t just wake up every MWF for this semester and face myself with her ever presence and words.

She’s like no other. Of course, personalities are altogether different, but her? I can’t bear her illogical reasons, irradical perceptions, her stubbornness to align your opinion from her own perspective, her forced teachings down to the very core, her most thought sayings, her crooked smile and most of all, her aura of hidden darkness.

Since I’m really tired of the teenager’s routine, too tired to torment myself thinking about her, too tired to write anything about her, I must then assert.

I have the right to say I DO NOT CARE.