now, i am looking back at myself and somehow i miss the moodswingy, angsty, miserable and pathetic self.

i really miss that annie.
it's like i laughed so much, joked so much, constantly having fun with my friends, but part of me is tired and is sick of all these. i just can't put on that smile 24/7

i am living a dual life. everyone does right?

every morning, i goes to school with a resolution that i wanna moodswing cos' i really can't stand all the craziness from like 8am to 4pm (what a weird resolution!) but when i see the class, my dearest classmates, i can't help but to laugh along with them, join in with all their crankiness and make a whole big fool of myself.

i am glad and i am not complaining.
i really love my class
maybe i am just getting too old. haha
maybe all i need is just some moderation. too much of something is not good.

things are kinda weird now. honestly, i feel bitter.
some things that others know and i don't know. "and now my heart is sore"
haha. what a childish mindset but yeah.
it's really awkward for me. serious. i don't even get the slightest hint if there's smth going on.
sometimes i think i'm just thinking too much or just being self-deluded.

maybe it's just immaturity on my part.

Wild Swans in Coole

THE trees are in their autumn beauty,

The woodland paths are dry,

Under the October twilight the water

Mirrors a still sky;

Upon the brimming water among the stones

Are nine-and-fifty Swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me

Since I first made my count;

I saw, before I had well finished,

All suddenly mount

And scatter wheeling in great broken rings

Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,

And now my heart is sore.

All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,

The first time on this shore,

The bell-beat of their wings above my head,

Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,

They paddle in the cold

Companionable streams or climb the air;

Their hearts have not grown old;

Passion or conquest, wander where they will,

Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,

Mysterious, beautiful;

Among what rushes will they build,

By what lake's edge or pool

Delight men's eyes when I awake some day

To find they have flown away?

W.B Yeats

thank God for everything. good and bad