Blog RecentArchives About Me ProfileGalleries Non-PhotoPhotographical Portfolio SitesContact GbookExperimental The Bookshelf |
2006. 02. 16
Stressful. Semester starts next Monday and I am heading back to Hsinchu. No, not yet, almost. The sixteen square meters dorm room, sharing with other three students, four square meters each. Suffocating already. And the rushing schedule, thirty hours of classes a week, rarely stop. I am not mentally prepared yet. There are butterflies in my stomach. Very uncomfortable. I am not sure if I am still the one I am anymore. No goal, no motivation, tired of everything. Maybe the words did take effect on me, the words I am not willing to mention again. Yet it is an habit, to be aware of what others think, that I am not ready to live on my own. Only when there are friends fighting beside me can I retain the energy to move on. Not good. Hard to explain what happened to me exactly. I was often in an unstable mood last semester. Mostly blue, desperate. Then, maybe once in a while I got hyper, over-hyper. As if the whole body was controlled by nothing but mood. The epinephrine maintains only two concentrate: extremely high or extremely low. My heart was incline to beat fast and suddenly stop, leaving my brain to work in solitude. Sometimes the campus gets cold and foggy, and I wished I could walk on the flog, become the flog, become weightless. Then, maybe the air will support me against the gravity, to float, to forget. People do not judge fog. People do not care if the fog tried to reach every corner. People do not mind the fog wants their accompany. They do not question its intention. They consider fog harmless. But I am not fog, not matter how hard I tried. Sigh. |