Letters, I love them. It is the most wonderful feeling to come home and find a letter addressed to you. Not bills or magazines, but letters. I sent my sister a letter for her birthday last week, and I just received a letter back. And you know, I knew before I opened it; I am going to cry.

In my letter to her, I wrote about memories about her making me a cup of tea before I went to school back when I was younger. I suppose it was more of a question – sometimes I have these memories etched into my mind that I don’t know whether is true or not.

I got my answer. It was true. She did use to make me a cup of tea, because that was something our father used to do for her when they were younger. Oh god, the tears are welling at the thought of the letter. I shall forever keep it, and bring it wherever I decide to move.

The past days I’ve been struggling a bit I suppose. Trying to understand the meaning of it all. It’s something I try to avoid, because it is a question I’ll never be able to answer. I study a lot. In fact, I’d say it’s what defines me. I am a student, I study. And then I read this at Tumblr today:

I pity those who spend their lives drowning in schoolwork honestly. Most of them study so hard to memorize something for an assignment or test and then as soon as the assessment is through, they flush that knowledge out quickly and easily.  

That’s not knowledge.

And it’s even more pathetic when they claim to think that that makes them a “smart” person. You’re not a genius, you’re a robot. Working hard, sure. But on an assembly line. You’re trained. You’re tame. Great, you’ve learned to remember, if even for a moment, but you’ll never learn to learn.

No. You’ll work hard only to continue working hard. But one day you’ll see that the system isn’t working. And you’ll try to learn a different way. But you don’t know any other way. 

You were never taught.

And I just thought. Yes, I am a robot. And I have been trained. Whenever I study for a test, I study. And then I forget. So naturally I thought; fuck this. I'll just become an artist and paint sad pictures that no one wants, but I'll just continue, and I'll start smoking and drinking away the pain that's eating my insides up. But then I think that if someone would take away school – well, I think I’d feel a bit lost, because that’s all I know of. It is something that has been constant in this life of mine. It's everything I know.

Tumblr might be a place where teenagers “ships” and have “otp’s”, but it is also a place full of wisdom. And it is a dangerous place, because once you are sucked in, it’s hard to get out.

I relish in sadness. It is something I have just realised. When have I ever fallen in love with a happy song? Why does everything I read have to be sad? I have become very good at manipulate my own feelings. Whenever I want to feel down, I will. And it is easy with all the sad Tumblrs out there. Because once you will recognize other feelings being similar to yours, it’s only natural for you to believe you are sad too, because your feelings matches together.

But you’ve forgotten that you have more than one feeling. A human being is capable of feeling so many emotions, and sadness is only one.

Up until the letter I got from my sister, I’ve had a pretty depressing day. For even more depressing reasons that I shall not share. Not because of secrecy, but because they are ridiculous and embarrassing reasons. I was listening to Adele – because sometimes she just puts words to the emotions I cannot speak. And then all of a sudden I was crying because of a Winnie the Pooh gif on Tumblr.

And that's when I know I have gone crazy.

But I'm okay now. And I am going to write another letter now. And make another birthday card for my other sister. And then I am going to read, because for the love of god, I need to. That is, if I don't want to fail school. And you know, maybe I actually do. I don't even know anymore. So maybe I'm not okay. But that's fine too. It's okay not to be okay sometimes, as Jessie J so nicely puts it. But someone please hand me a copy of The Perks of Being A Wallflower. Because I simply must read it.