delusional fool

I should be happy.
I’m finally done with the tough high school days, and nonchalant may I seem, I am screaming in exultation deep inside. I want to give myself a pat on my back; and though I might not be getting honors or any award on graduation, I am severely proud of myself. Just one unforgettable moment:
        I usually don’t/can’t cry in public. Seriously. I find that embarrassing (yeah, even until now), and I prefer crying in private. It makes me look weak and I want to give everyone the impression that I’m a tough girl. It even gets worse when someone comforts me. I can’t always stop the welling tears though; as there was this time in sophomore year that me and my gal friends went to the comfort room after class hours (in which the halls were empty and eerie). You know girls- they come to the comfort room in groups. They were checking themselves in the mirror and I was still in the cubicle. They decided that it would be fun to scare me; and they taunted that they’d leave me alone with the stuff-better-unnamed in the CR (while flicking the light switch on and off as an added effect). This scared me stiff and I cried and went out there as fast as possible, my skirt unzipped. And they thought that was funny, and they all cheered since it was the first time they saw me cry. I thought that was funny too; but I pretended I was angry and didn’t say another word until the next day. (I didn’t even cry when I almost flunked Computer or I stubbed my toe or in those moments that would normally induce tears.)

They say that the high school years would be the years you’d really miss and fondly look back in the future years. I don’t know whether I’d believe it or not; but then personally, I think I didn’t make the most out of the four years. There’s no coming back though, and all I could do is to move on and do the things I want to do along with the drift of time. As much as possible I don’t want to have regrets.
So I’m leaving it all behind- the all-girls-should-have-their-hair-in-a-ponytail rule (which is what I’m most happy about leaving as tying my hair combined with brain-demanding tasks induce nasty headaches), the obnoxious strong odor the nearby factory expels at some times (they should really do something about that), the overpriced food in the cafeteria, the tiresome task of going up and down the stairs as our classroom is situated in the fifth floor (I fondly call it as the Mount Everest Expedition), the RestRoom passes, the slow ubuntu computers, etc. [end of thinking capacity: don’t even wanna talk more about it) But along with that cliques have to disintegrate, relationships will have to survive long distances, and friends will have to bid goodbye to each other. Our teachers will not be only reminded of their physics or math or English or the strictness or mercifulness, but also with the lessons we’ll be carrying throughout our lifetime.
I’m going to college. Now, this is the real thing.
The problem is: I thought I’m going to be moving on now. But then behold, rose three fundamental problems that I would have to think of and solve before graduation day. I call them as problem #1, problem #2, and problem #3. I won’t be mentioning further information though, as these are problems highly require confidentiality and names are better off unmentioned. These problems have always been long present; but due to my being avoidant, I have been evading them them until this final moment. They’re like shattered glass, I could pick them up (and try to repair it) and risk being wounded in the process or just leave them be and still risk being injured by accidentally stepping on the shards of glass. I’ve developed solutions but fear is conquering me. I’m so getting a brain hemorrhage with all of this. The pressure is gradually building up and I only have a few days remaining.

To do or not to do? What should I do?

One English class, our teacher distributed colored papers wherein we were told to write our personal views and understandings of love which she would later collect and read aloud to class, each to be rendered anonymous to the writer. I, along with forty other people in the room shot the teacher glances of disbelief, completely dumbfounded. It was as if she asked us to explain Math in Latin. Of course, all of us (hopefully, all) have experienced love. Many of us have the uniform perception of love as it is expressed overrated by almost everyone, or it is how we feel it ourselves, the mushy, tingly, warm feeling all over. Despite the many words of wisdom reiterated by wise men, such as love is the only rational act or love is all we need or love is blind or that it makes the world go round; it seems that none of these could give us a clear outlook on the ehl-oh-vee-ee matter, and on some instances, make us even more confused than before. Some say love is blind, while some say love sees through the mind. And they say love makes the world go round since the world is round (or rather spherical), and it is love that completes the world and brings all different forces together to shape the world as it is. Or whatever. Or perhaps we're just making things difficult for ourselves since love may be just as simple as a feeling of attraction for someone else, this so-called chemistry, and that only hearts know.
For a whole minute I was just staring at the blank flashy neon yellow paper on my hand. Short of time, I thoughtlessly wrote: "Love is an act of self sacrifice; the more we give ourselves, the more we feel complete."
When the teacher finally read the descriptions allowed in class, none of them could really fully satiate my thirst for knowledge of this so-called love. It was as if love has lived with us from the moment we are conceived until to our graves, but still remains as a complete alien.
Or perhaps, I'm just making it hard for myself. Perhaps this ecstacy, this bliss called love has a meaning that transcends every word from even the thickest dictionary, or every description of that matter ever iterated.
Love is the act of love itself.