Sorry.

I love my Dad. He is the kind of guy who doesn't say that he loves you, or hug you because he's too embarrassed or being your typical traditional chinese male, he doesn't really know how to show that kind of affection. But he shows it in his insane way of trying to give the world to us. I'd get scolded if I ever skipped a meal but the next thing I know, there's this bowl of maggie mee on the table with fishballs and chicken and vegetables and whatever leftovers there is in the fridge. I get a new job, and the night before my first day I find the street directory on my table with specific intructions on how I can get to my new workplace. My dad apologizes when my allowance is $10 dollars short because he didn't have enough ready cash at that point of time. We never had to worry about there being not enough food, or money or comfort. And for so long I have taken it for granted, complaining that I was being treated like a kid, but still acting like a brat, wanting my freedom but still wanting more clothes, more expensive gadgets, wanting more of everything. And he wouldn't complain, he just tried his best to get it all, putting on a front like it was all so- attainable while he slogged. But of course, he wouldn't let us see that. He just wants us to be happy. And this is what unconditional love is, I think. I find it right here at home, it's just that I dont always feel or appreciate it. I remind myself to remind myself constantly. It's killing my dad to send me to Australia, and all this time I've only thought about how much I wanna go. If my mum hadn't come and tell me secretly I wouldn't have ever thought about anyone but myself. How did I ever get like this. I don't know what to do.

talking to other people sometimes make you realise things about yourself-

I can't stand being alone.

If there were ever some insane person running around her office building, her heels in her hands, that would be me. But even then, it will not be enough to keep me awake.

I've long forgotten the inspiration you can find in novels.

"Everyone is responsible for the page-turning tempo of his or her Life Story," Dad said, scratching his jaw thoughtfully, arranging the limp collar of his chambray shirt. "Even if you have your Magnificient Reason, it could still be dull as Nebraska and that's no one's fault but your own. Well, if you feel it's miles of cornfields, find something to believe in other than yourself, preferably a cause without the stench of hypocrisy, and then charge yourself into battle. There's a reason they still put Che Guevara on T-shirts, why people still whisper about The Nightwatchmen when there's been no evidence of their exsistence for twenty years."

- Special Topics in Calamity Physics, by Marisha Pessl

I think I might still be at the same place as I was last year.

...dumbass.

According to this, I should write about how I feel.

I feel tired.
I feel neglected.
I feel ridiculous.
I feel stupid.
I feel confused.
I feel excited.
I feel passionate.
I feel like watching that movie they are talking about.