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Finally, the blade deepens and hits just right, the scar of what the doubtful and painful knife has left me insecure and filled with emptiness. The sparks of love I had was weak and burning low, it soon became a weapon that only caused me harm. This body soon became an empty vessel searching for a purpose in this constant non-fiction world. Tick tock, tick tock, the clock goes, teachers writing riddles on the board, speaking of a foreign language that I cannot comprehend.

Various noises filled the classroom, speaking of gibberish as I sit in this isolated bubble of my own. Surviving in this vessel, searching for a purpose- no, but rather waiting to be re-wired and commanded day by day. I love the languages subjects so I am pretty good at it, but I hate maths and sciences, hence I am bad at it.

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With no further comments I scanned through the whiteboard, but everyday I worry on how people kept instructing me how to grow as a person; giving me options on what’s right and wrong, but in the end, the things that I will choose will forever be false.Everyday, I noticed to have a work that is always incomplete; I stare at the blank piece of paper reflecting about my life. With not much personality as an individual, hence I do not find it as an inconvenience to survive in this school.

As time continued to pass by, I realized that I’m currently stuck in a never ending cycle of hypnotism, staggering through the same hallways each day, and soon it feels as though everything is on repeat. In class again, questions and answers that are not even needed in my daily life, being drilled into my mind, as I flipped through the textbook, which contains no specific answer.

“How are your grades?” you asked with a smile.I shrugged, “The same, I guess.”Piercing me with your eyes, reminding me of the “future” I will soon have. If my tears were colours, then my pillow would be painted with rainbows.

Thus in the morning, I would wake up with dark rings around my eyes, taunting me every time I look at myreflection. I would try and cover it up so that they would be a shade lighter, but I know they can never completely disappear. Staggering through the same hallways, towards an empty seat, one far from the sunlight, but rays still reached, blinded me and left me a daze, as if it is trying to question me; “What were you expecting in life?” “What are your dreams?”Searching frantically for an answer in that textbook, I can’t breathe, I’m choking and it hurts.

The stares that they give, beating down my confidence and pride all over again, I tried to find an answer, but its all the same; still an empty white paper, reflecting about my accomplishment in life. “I can do this…”I keep repeating those words in my mind, as I stare at that incomplete work, reminding me about “responsibilities”, “success”, “achievements”, “grades”, and so on, and every time I climb back up, your words kept knocking down my stance, chaining me down, to expectations, that I cannot achieve.

Expectations and dreams, which are so heavy chaining me, more than gravity ever will. “I’ve tried…I’m tired…It hurts…””When will you ever grow up?” But let me ask, what is the meaning of “growing up” in the first place? If this is what’s it feels like, then I just want to stop. The path they build for me is dictated to be perfect and filled with beautiful lies.

Feeding me with expectations, rewiring my senses, choking me with perfection. I cannot breathe, I feel nauseous. My body cannot sustain it. Staggering to a mirror, I see the rings under my eyes, as a constant reminder the about those disappointing glares I noticed:”Ah… they are getting darker.”

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