Journal Entry #1

I've been sitting all day on my desk in a strange apartment, trying not to feel the anxiousness of a person getting her first two tattoos on a Sunday. I try not to sound poetic—just a kid writing like a kid. Yesterday, my coursemate talked to me. I'm not really fond of talking to people. I'm used to finishing a class without bothering to know anyone, but then I opened up like a book you could read if I just let you—I've shared my struggles since living in Manila alone and as a college irregular student. I've realized that I am self-destructing with all my doubts and worries that I've been eating all these years. I can clearly sense that I am becoming who I was before, with all those secrets, desires, and plans that I could not tell my people. I am lying if I said that I feel safe on my own; after all those years, I could still clearly hear my demon's whisper. It's telling me to surrender, so every waking morning I try to do stupid things to keep me going. Some I can control, some I cannot.