July

July. The ninth month since I left France. The ninth time I moved since my arrival in Europe. Nine months, such a particular period of time. I have experienced the betrays and felt the gratitude. I have seen desperations and hopes. I have lived through desperations and hopes. Tasted others' psychological crisis, and my own. I have bore the silence of many and started my own gang. Running well for the moment. Watching The Simpsons in German but mainly speaking French throughout the day. Gradually having my name altered, my identity filtered, getting comfortable running in Vamp boots, having fever from the rain and suffering from sunburn. Saying farewell to my official single life, the key word, official. Developing more tolerance towards certain things which I would never have if I hadn't left for Berlin, although it is up to debate if such apathetic attitude is purely good. Costumed to see the light at the end of metro, forming a habit of burning my oatmeal while taking a shower, having my Äpfelschöle after school, dwelling if I should be honest with someone who lies, hiding myself behind my iPod in the U-Bahn, smoking during school break, rationalizing all the irrational things I do. I am doing nothing remarkable, still have my short red hair and contact lenses, still laugh or cry in the sleep, if I ever sleep, (But I have not been taking sleeping pills), still having doubts on how long I will stay, how I will stay. Ninth month, I told myself that it was a start, as a newborn, as we entered the new chapter in the German grammar book, as I am slowly getting over seasonal allergy,leaving Johnnie Walker behind, setting "Violently happy" to be the ring tone of my cellphone while prospecting the probable happiness in the near future.
July. The ninth month...