there’s nothing to write

All these classes feel like nothing. There is this constant agony going to the same place over and over again, knowing what you’re gonna learn, where there are no wonders left for you to ponder about. Of course, one might say this is due to lack of interest, even lack of understanding, but I’d say it’s a lack of will to continue learning for another 4 years doing the same thing again again. Sure enough college life could be surely interesting, but only for the first few weeks. Other than that there’s no fun.

These walls, are oppressing. The room is somewhat liberating, because of the privacy, yet amplifies your loneliness. So you put a piece of paper, writing “Are you hoping for a miracle?” and put it on the wall for whatever reasons you don’t know. It gives you something to read, I guess. Then a huge spread of black papers, where you are trying to fill it up with words and quotes from dead and damned philosophers and soothsayers, and yourself, which amounts to nothing.

You wake up in the wee hours of morning and listen to the deathly silence, appreciating it. Such things can no longer be enjoyed as the dastardly noisy women constantly singing Malay Songs three in unison loudly (horribly too) till late at night. How annoying.

And there’s no internet. So you don’t really know of Salinger’s death until today, which is somewhat… shitty, although it does not bring any whatsoever significance to you.

How… depressing.