Date: February 14
Today I solved every question in my practice paper.
I got nervous at first. My hand trembled a little. But then the questions started making sense, and the world got quieter. Not peaceful—just... quieter. Like the volume was turned down on everything that usually screams at me.
My room is the same mess it's always been.
A mattress on the floor. A desk with one leg shorter than the others. A cracked mug I still use to hold pens.
Mom barged in halfway through my revision.
Didn't even knock.
She asked why I waste time with "books that don't feed anyone."
Said I should "watch how beggars hustle better."
I don't know why she brings beggars into every fight, but it's her thing.
She left the door open again.
I want to leave.
Not the room.
Not the house.
All of it.
I want to build a place so far away her voice can't reach me.
A home—not just a building. One that's quiet. One where I can sleep without dreaming of people yelling.
No one else believes I'll do it.
But I do.
I have to. If I don't believe it, then who will?
My friends aren't really friends.
They call me when they need notes or someone to blame for a group project.
When I sit with them, I feel like a ghost.
No one listens. But everyone laughs when I mess up.
Tag-along. That's what I am.
The extra piece in a jigsaw puzzle that doesn't quite fit anywhere.
But it's fine.
They don't owe me kindness.
And I don't owe them my heart.
Sometimes I stand on the balcony late at night and stare at the sky.
It's big. Endless. And when the stars show up, it reminds me I'm still here.
Alive.
Still fighting.
Still studying.
Still making plans to leave this godforsaken place behind.
I will get out.
I'll pass these exams.
I'll get a job.
And even if it's a one-room flat with peeling paint and no fan in summer—
it'll be mine.
No more shouting.
No more begging to be seen.
Just peace.
Even if I have to build it with shaking hands and sleepless nights—
I will build my own place.
End of entry.
– M.