In July, I read seven books.
So far, this is my best record.
But now, in August, I feel overdosed and likely retreated from reading.
I know, I’m not the best person to talk about this.
I may read a few more books than people my age, but there are many and many people who have read an entire library.
They read long and sophisticated books about out-of-space topics.
To them, I’m just a child who likes to boast about petty things.
So ridiculous as I am.
“People my age”, such a good phrase. What do I know about the people coming to this world in the same year as mine?
Almost nothing.
I don’t get them and they also don’t get me.
Such a fair trade.
I sank back to the meaningless routine. Sleeping for the whole day, nearly doing nothing and uncaring about the world outside.
I feel lost, lost in the crowd, lost in the countless waves of life.
Among the sea of people, I’m merely a flickering digit on the board.
Secretly, I find everything irritating and stupid. Some may think I’m kinda a nice person until they hear all the thoughts in my head. All people are like that, aren’t they? Monster inside, friendly neighbor outside.
Having a well-function filtering system makes you a good individual.
Alas, all the hatred I have against society is my rage at the identity called “me”.
The absurdity of life is a game not anyone can play.
I guess it’s never a good sign when your name literally means blue.
Gác Nhỏ Của Lam 