Call me a pessimist.
It’s as if I know I’m gonna be diagnosed with some terminal illness so I refused to go down to the doctor’s to view my report. The later I face reality the better.
My exam results were out in school yesterday and my phone was buzzing with excitement. Everyone wants to make plans to go down and see the results together. I declined. The thought of having to look at my results and then put on a brave front as everyone around me heave loud sighs of relief isn’t something I would enjoy doing.
I’ve been hearing news – both good and bad. I feel happy for those who made it through, and I feel really sorry for those who didn’t. However, a teeny weeny little part of me am glad that someone’s got as bad as I might be. It’s a really selfish thought but I let myself indulge in it for a while. These few days I’ve been going on like nothing’s coming up, joking, having fun – that’s the extent to which I am distancing myself away from the truth.
I won’t be able to smile for very long now. If I do get through this year, I’d probably cry. If I fail, then, it’s not somewhere I’ve never been before.