snobs covered in glitter

This story is actually real. The story of my life. I always wanted to share it, so here it comes. I know it's a bit chaotic, but please finish it and then judge. Hope you enjoy it :)

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1. My first day

You know all these stories where a girl is sent to a boarding school? At first she hates it, because ... she just likes her previous school or maybe she doesn't want to leave her friends or she wants to be with the love of her life. Many many reasons. In some stories she wants to go there, because her previous school was awful, she had no friends and everyone was mean. Or she has a big secret, which everyone found out and she had to run away. There are millions and millions of reasons why she wanted or she didn't want to go. And there are millions and millions and millions of reasons why she has to go. (Maybe not millions, but a few reasons why she has to go) As you have seen in the past seven (are they seven? Depends on the format) lines, for everything in life there is a reason. Sometimes there might be more than one. That's why we sometimes ask "Is this all?" and we think "There should be more than this." and then we just sit there and think about the case.

 

Actually, there is no point of me saying that, because it has absolutely nothing to do with the story. It just came to my mind while I was writing and I think it's something we should think about when we are in the mood for a deep conversation with ourselves or someone else. I again started talking about stuff, which are not related to the story. I often do that, please excuse me.

The story starts with me. This is my story and it did actually happen. I am not going to tell you boring things about myself like where I was born or how do I look or what is the name of the cat of my best friend's cousin. Because the story only starts with me, it's not about me. I am the one telling it and it is partly about me, but not entirely. This is not the story where the girl hates it at the begging and then she finds out it's magical and perfect. It's a bit different. I will stop talking and start telling the story.

When I was about sixth grade my parents decided I need to go to a boarding school, because the education is better and they were probably right. I prefered to live at home with them and study at my country, but this was not an option. You know parents. They will do whatever is good for you no matter how you feel or what you say. Even if this makes you hate them. Parents are mean aren't they? How can they do something good for us and not care how we feel? Shocking! This is what we, the children think. But we don't see that even if we disagree, our parents do it for us and they love us so much they don't care if we hate them, they only care about our well - beeing. This huge love only makes us hate them more. Is this the world? When I become a mother is my child going to hate me, because I love him? Is this all?

I hated my parents for a long time, because I refused to listen how good it will be. How much better it would be for me and how much better I would feel.

From all this talking I kind of expected the school from the movies(naive me). I expected to meet some friend I would have for the rest of my life and she will be my BFF, the one who understands you completely. Sadly life is not a movie. As I walked into the school I was frightened. It was full of so many people who looked so ... happy. They were so confident, the whole school was filled with voices of excited people. They wanted to be here, this was what they have been waiting for all summer. It was finnaly here! And I? I wanted to scream at them. What were they so happy about? My heart was beeing torn. I felt the fear in every part of my body. I felt the tears waiting to come out. "Let us out! Let us out!" I could almost hear them calling from inside. "Don't come out. Don't!" was my answer. I didn't want the other kids to see me, I didn't want to turn into "the girl who cries" and "misses her mommy". Who would be a friend with this girl?

While I was keeping everything inside everyone else was having fun. Or maybe I was not seeing it. I was so focused on my personal suffering, that I didn't see other people were feeling exactly like me. We people do that a lot.  When we are emotional the whole world is supposed to think about us, and we don't see that other people suffer too. As my grandma says "The I becomes teh most important". Are we really this selfish?

I will not make you suffer more, by telling you how my heart felt and how horrible and agonising my first day was.

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