May

June 11, 2005
Here I am writing about myself. I guess this can be called a diary, but I think it's kind of too late for me to start one of those. Actually, maybe it is a diary. There's no age limit for these things. Well, anyway, I'm feeling extremely sad. Like fallen-into-a-depression kind of sad. When I'm depressed, I clean things like a maniac, or more like, organize things like a maniac. Lately, I've been organizing everything in my roommate's room. I'll wake up in the morning, find the smallest bit of something off and fix it. How did I get into a big hole as this? Well, I think I can explain. It all started in the month of May.

June 13, 2005
Actually, I can only remember things that happened in the last two weeks of May. But now, I don't feel like writing.

Live Each Day in Eight Hour Intervals

He sits alone in front of his computer trying to figure out a name for his main character, who's actually based on himself. He doesn't want to use his own name because it seems conceited, but he decides that that's just his lame justification. He simultaneously listens to two songs on repeat, just for them to keep up with his favorite songs' play count. He heard a noise of something that fell outside, but lets it go. He doesn't really care about his landlord or his landlord's family, despite the fact that they are letting him live in their converted garage for $450 per month. Oh well, he thinks. It's better off this way.

Almost a year ago, he would have never thought he'd be living on his own at the age of 18. Now, he types on his second-hand computer inside his newly redecorated converted garage slash studio of a place. Now that it's winter he's always cold. He even duct taped all of the seep holes, but still needs three blankets and a beanie to sleep comfortably. However, last summer, he would have loved have slept naked. In ten days, he will be 19. In two days, his first own telephone line will be installed. He's not sure if he wants use the connection to finally have internet. He needs the internet to communicate with his family from countries away and to get a job, but he's afraid he would forget about those things and just use it for lesbian pornography instead. So he's not sure, after all, he's never had internet at home before. Whatever, he says to himself. There are bigger things than this.

Like finishing this story that hasn't even begun. Too bad he keeps too many doubts in his mind. He second thinks every step he makes. In the end, most of the things he starts, he quits. However, there's a certain flame for his desire to create a story. He's done it once, a 35-page short story. But he classified it "too immature" and he doesn't count it as one of his life's accomplishments. He wants to tell a story that will touch people's hearts. Something good enough to be made into a movie. But that's just his problem: he loves attention. Why do I love attention so much?

Five Years Older the Boy

When he was born, he almost died. Actually, he did die. For just one second. but in that second, he went straight to purgatory. Now, some people think that our present world is the actual purgatory, but it's not true. So you wonder, why a newborn went straight to purgatory , without having commited any sins that would leave consideration for heaven or hell? Well, the sins of the father that's why. You see, the father was dead, but not just physically. He was, in a way too incomprehensible to explain, spiritually dead. No spirit to go to hell, the powers that be needed a balance to this unprecedented event, fortunately, the father's negative energy was still left within those people who he ruined lives with. Those energies were collected and reincarnated into the newborn of discussion. So that second, was a year in purgatory. He grew a year, and returned with the mind of a five year old, in a newborn's body. He did not cry once out of his mother's wound, instead, he opened his eyes and exhaled. His mother died at childbirth. But later, she will resurface. But let us follow the life of this boy. The boy five years older than what he was supposed to be.