Days Without a Journal

... And I asked how normal people lived.

"Normal people, they can remember things even when they don't write a journal, right?"

"No. They can't-- we forget a lot."

It's painful, having to face an empty desk everyday. The smooth surface, with blots of blue ink here and there, some words scribbled on it, has been with me for the past eight months already, but not once has it been this empty that I can even see the virgin spaces untouched by pens or highlights. I haven't a notebook to write in, so I look at its emptiness, staring back at me; blankly.

I sigh.

***

It's my second week without writing a journal. The days that have passed would have added up to twenty pages already. In the days that I've mindlessly lived through, I thought I would remember their every detail, but in truth, I've already forgotten even the looks on my classmates' faces and the little, unnoticeable but still memorable events that took place in the small confinements of class 5SD. All I can remember, is how tough reality is, how I never really learnt to face it, and how hard it is to survive on my own, without my book shielding me from the attention of other people. In a way, I lived without putting myself into reality. I lived as an observer. Now that I have nothing to separate me from the rest of these beings, I'm forced to be a part of their society. I've never talked that much until now... Though, people ask about my diary more often then they do about me. Every single time they see me, it's not "how are you Rachel" it's "how's your diary going?"

Miss Diary. That's the nickname the class gave me. The girl whose journal never seems to end.

Each passing day, I regret more and more, not having a book to write in. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I deliberately torture myself like this, I did go to the bookstore the other day, they just didn't have notebooks that fit the criteria.

This morning, with each flutter of Jalur Gemilang, a needle stings my heart; I have nothing to record it down, how each flag danced to the morning breeze and the weak artificial wind created by the slow as hell ceiling fans. It's patriotic month. They decorated the classroom, Jalur Gemilang hanging down from the entrance and the backdoor, making 5SD look like a Japanese-style restaurant. I wanted to write about it, how they swayed above the doors, annoying people who came through the wide-open doors, some ducking, some not even tall enough to touch the flags that hung down-- I silently giggled at their height in my heart.

The girls, they made cards, with each person's nickname written on them. When they stuck it to the board behind me, I felt like I was punched in the stomach; I have nothing to write it down with. I cursed them for being so lively when I haven't a notebook with me. The nicknames, ranging from plain stupid to ones that actually suit the person, got a bunch of us guessing which nickname belonged to which fool.

If I had a book, I wouldn't be here right now. I'd have already written about how Shalala(the nickname WeiWei got; ikr, wtf) skipped school again, leaving already miserable me in the doldrums once again. I numbed myself with work, as usual. If only I numbed myself with concentrating doing my own homework eh, instead of just copying answers from my friends like a human photocopying machine. It can't be helped-- it was last week's Chinese homework that I completely forgot about once the songs of freedom played at 1230 last Friday. The Chinese teacher was terribly disappointed with the lot of us, reprimanding us with a despairing look on her face. We're not taking our own culture seriously, being so sloppy and unappreciative of the Chinese culture. It's not entirely correct, yet all very true at the same time. I am interested, I'm just not very good at writing Chinese characters, which kinda sucks, I admit. I can use fancy proverbs in conversations, I just can't write them out or memorize who wrote what and which freaking ancient book each proverb is from!

This is how my journal would be like if I had one. I am holding back now though, since not everyone enjoys long ass posts.

***
I had my head hung down. Sigh. How long more til the end of this dreadful Monday?

There was a knock on the door.

"Looking for Rachel"

Huh. Nobody ever looks for me, unless the English teachers need a favour.

He handed me a gift pack, with stationary and an A5 notebook. It's from the school's English panel, a little thank-you gift for representing the school in the district elocution contest which I--to everyone's dismay-- did fucking horrible in.

 I smiled.

It's settled then.

I am starting a new journal.

田园与小木屋？

我趟在门外的沙发上，听着傍晚悠闲的声音。那温软的夕阳照着我前面的草地，把所有的都变得黄黄色。在草场上，我的两只狼狗躺着发呆。我看了它们那么可爱又轻松的样子，真的好羡慕呀。。。我的怀里躺着一只四肢脚的天使，她那带着一点金色的白毛我的手正摸着。 电风扇在我的后面吹呀吹，天使小狗面对着那一直不停地旋转的电风扇享受着原本给我的风。

鸟儿在芒果树上，鸟儿在草地上。

我看了眼前的风景，幻想着我以后的梦想家园。笑着，我对天使小狗说：“以后，我想住在乡下，买下一片很大很大的田园，让你们，和你们以后会拥有的朋友们在那里泵跑，在那里趟着，在那里陪我看太阳下山。” 天使小狗舔了舔我的手，是否对我说她在等待着呢? 我紧紧地抱着她，对她说我会尽量地赚钱买家。很可笑吧？在现代社会里，要买个公寓都必须工作得半生不死。在整十、二十年后，买个田园是个遥远又不可能的梦想。虽然事实是这样，不过我觉得有一天，我真的会拥有个充满小动物的田园。

我的梦想房子并不是一坐皇宫似的大房子，而是一间单程小木屋。我想自己一个人单独地过生活，每天照顾着不说话的动物，与它们一起玩。一个人住很自由， 没有人对你说你煮的饭菜吃了会进医院，更没有人会伤你的心。对，我是非常地喜欢动物。我有想过当兽医，在动物园里工作，不过我对我的生物学没有很大的信心。 还有一年的时间让我想呀，到底呢我要拿英国文学还是读兽医。

天已经暗了，我脑海里的草原也慢慢地消逝了。。。