Myriad of cliché and stock-phrase are breeding on this planet, reminds me the importance of reading with discrimination and writing sensibility with sense. Time doesn't fly, but the train of works and fun has misled me to nowhere I know. Writing, I believe, shall guide me back the clear-cut context of life.
Tonight is going to be the dusk of October and the dawn of November. A month and a half has elapsed. A couple of months away from my first examination, which would highly determine which universities I will be eligible to apply. I am calm but not confident. I think, I am doing the right thing and going to the right direction, but I don't usually believe myself.
I feel impassive but not serene. My North, My South and West and My East, are the same if now I am floating in the sea. All I would do is to just hold tightly the helm and be clam. I believe the flowing water will take me to its course and I would be silent and still. But to prevent myself from dropping off the sea and being blew off to the tempest, I must hold my helm calmly, even gale is ahead of me. There is nothing to be fear of, but the fear of itself. But I want to go home. I am not tired of school or England, but thirst for the land of my birth.
