October 21, 2008

On days like this, I just really want my old life back. The people here treat me
like I’m merely a pretty face with a slim figure. One may think that having these
“desired” features are enough to satisfy me, however, it is quite the opposite. I
often find myslf fighting back tears that threaten to spill out of my eyes
when they compare me to a thin, inanimate objec. I am anything but an object. I
have dreams just like them, diary.. At school, the teachers always ask us about
our dreams for the future. I would hope that one of their dreams was to be
kinder. I dream to be seen on the cover of magazines as someone whose iner
beauty shines just as bright as their outer beauty. What if I’ll never be good
enough, like they said?

Remember that strange package I found in the atic? I’ve grown strangely
attached to it because it gives me a sense of… I don’t know…. Protection..
Genunity. But I’m afraid it’s getting worn out. The fibres are now hanging loose,
and the buttons are springing out. Note to self: take up sewing lessons.

Will keep you updated.

- Este