I cried in my counseling class again. *shocker. I’m not surprise. I’m like a sentimental shit whore that cries in every session. I guess my emotion gets a hold of me for no good apparent reason.
The activity was to slightly review our life. The way down to visualizing my life like a book, in a memory cottage hides away from a beautiful meadow. For which I see myself as a ugly baby, to a kindergarden kid where my dad actually holding my hand and brought me to school with my little spotted black ballet shoes. It proceed to morphosis into some ugly primary school kid with dark eye bags and she looked so dark-skinned that its like a smart outcast in the world where people cares that you have to be fair enough to be popular, or at least you have to be, smart. I am the smart kid, but a brown skin one. Then later on, I became a high-schooler. There wasn’t much to be honest, in my secondary school days. And then, the collge and later university. There were plenty of memories. Before I could go through them again, I was too distracted my tears on that poured down my cheeks.
I am not ready for this.Or maybe never. I will never be ready for this.