Sometimes it seems to me that I am alone…absolutely alone. Nobody in this world can understand me. But really it is not so. Morning comes and with the morning come my friends as well. They remember me and we have a laugh together. What can be better than friends, especially when you are in a good mood? But if you are in a bad mood, you need friends even more. When I am in a bad mood, my friends always make it better. They simply say a few nice words that improve my mood. Then, I no longer feel like a white crow in this world, but feel part of it, like I belong to this society. This is most important for me at the moment. While a flower is growing, its stalk is not yet strong and it needs support. This is how I am now, and my friends are my support.
However, sometimes I get the impression that everyone lives inside their own shells and only for themselves. Or, maybe it is only I who lives inside my own shell. Sometimes it seems that everyone wants something from me and that nobody would do anything for nothing. And sometimes it feels that I cannot let anybody into my heart; it’s open but nobody wants to get in. At these moments, I can’t do anything with myself.
I am made of two parts: optimist and pessimist. When I wake up, I never know through what color glasses I will see the world today. People who know me have gotten used to this, and to those that do not know me, I always tell them in advance so as not to scare them away.But my best friend always know right away what kind of mood I am in.
Only one thing really gets on my nerves: monotony. Every day being the same, getting up in the morning, going to school, then back home, then doing my homework, and going to sleep. Every day the same! I would go mad…On the other hand, you never know what might happen to you from one day to the next; I might meet new friends or maybe old friends will get in touch with me.
I am a romantic, but, for some reason, nobody believes this. I love roses, I love the forest, I love my friends, I love my parents, and my dog. I love winter and summer, Qiong Yao (a female writer), and music. My cousin always wonders how I can like both Backstreet Boys (an American pop band) and Li Yuandi (A Chinese pianoist). I can’t listen just to rock or rap, for example. I don’t understand people who think that if they like hip-hop and somebody else doesn’t, then that person is hopeless and there is no point even to talk to him. Everyone has the right to their own opinion and it does not matter what style of music he listens to. Most important is a person’s personality.
I especially love my bedroom. It is a whole separate topic. My friends say that it is a museum because all the walls are covered with photographs, pictures, letters, and everything I get. But my bedroom is not a museum; it is my soul and all of me! It is my life from the start to present. It is my castle, in which only very close people can enter. My room does not exist without me, nor do I without it. We are two halves of one whole. I love my bedroom very much. I never feel lonely in my room, because from one wall my cousin looks at me, from another wall, my friends, and here I am on the farm, and here I am at the seaside…and everything that has ever happened to me, everything is here, in my room.
And I love evenings, especially winter evenings. Silver snow on the streets, and everywhere there are yellow lights like fireflies. In the glass sky, it looks as though somebody has stuck tiny, tiny stars like small pieces of grain. But really they are very big. Maybe somebody looks at us from above exactly the same way we look at things and thinks that we are tiny, although we are not.