Sometimes it’s quite frustrating to talk to people. Almost every conversation with my dad ends being about money. Even amongst friends and family money talk is the only serious conversation they engage in. Although they do talk about cinema actors and actress and the occasional gossips of others.

Frankly I am sick of it. I have no interest in what they want to do with their money nor am I interested in someone else’s life.

Everyone has problems and I have my fair share. I have simple plans and do my level best to follow them. I really don’t have the time nor do I enjoy these kinds of conversation.

When I talk to others, I secretly wish they would rather talk about themselves. Their likes, dislikes, interests, motivations and their perspectives. But such incidents are far and few.

Alas, the only thing I can do, like all humans is to hope. But like all things human, hope too is a product of manufacture.

Everyone I know has moved on, Even the love of my life.

I just don’t know how to feel when I see her in someone else’s arms. I really loved her.

Sometimes I feel as though life mocks me. It gives me happiness only to take it away from me.

I don’t know how I should feel when she is around. I love her yet I know she is in love with him and him with her, I feel like should forgot all emotions, accept the pain it has caused me and move on.

I Wanted To Be a Writer
I Wanted To Be a Pro Wrestler
I Wanted To Be a Game Developer
I Wanted To Be God
I Wanted To Be a Woman
I Wanted To Be a Man of Sophistication
I Wanted To Be a Sex Slave
I Wanted To Be Great

All I Really Wanted Was To Be Loved.

There’s more to life than tv and music, and I don’t think that, years ago, I don’t think I would have said that. But I’m saying it now: there is more to life than tv and music. And when I look back on those hundreds and hundreds of hours that I spent watching movies, cartoons, serials and listening to music—many of which were not that memorable, and many of which did not tell a whole lot that I didn’t already know—when I realized that they were hours that are gone now and I’m not getting them back… It makes me mad. It makes me mad, honestly, that I’m not gonna get those hours back. You know those are hours I could have been spending doing something useful.

What’s the point in writing your whole life down when no body gives a shit.
Everyone’s too busy trying to be somebody else.
You know what, FUCK it!
Life’s a piece of shit anyway.