It's a Monday night, and I had no classes today. Perhaps I'll write.
Who am I? I'm not really sure yet. I'm only sixteen, so I guess it's normal that I haven't "found" myself. But I'm here to write about myself. That would probably be difficult for someone who doesn't know herself.
Well, I'll tell you one thing first. I'm a horrible person. I have a short temper and I pick fights with my closest friends. There are days when I'm inexplicably depressed, and there are days when I would starve myself. But no, those descriptions don't quite capture my essence. Capturing one's essencewhat does that even mean?
How about thishair? Well, you wouldn't understand what I'm saying unless I explain it, right? For most of my life, I've had long hair. The first time anyone cut my hair was when I was two. After that, I refused to let anyone cut it. I didn't have bangs. My hair reached past my waist. I always kept it tied up or pulled back.
When I was in the sixth grade, I caught typhoid fev