I spent most of this week thinking about an assignment that I had to do. There were quite a few assignments, actually, and the thing about going to school is that you end up with a lot of obligations. Cover letters, class surveys, and of course essays. Obligations that I'm happy to fill, to be honest. I'm now the class rep for one of my courses and things had become quite busy. I talked a lot with my professor and with every single conversation, I felt that I had become more and more of an adult and less and less of a child. To converse with another adult on equal terms was a very strange feeling.

On Wednesday I went with two of my acquaintances to a nearby university where they were holding fortnightly talks on finance and how to succeed in a business career. It's no surprise that every business school seems to have the prettiest buildings. In fact, this one was a lot more attractive than any single other lecture theatre I've ever seen. I was quite tired so I sat down and chewed some gum, and one of my acquaintances showed me a Tumblr page on his Samsung Galaxy. It was a post about how ridiculous it was that magical girls like the Precures take such a long time transforming and the villains won't actually hit them. They were making up theories about how the Precures slowed down time and all that. I just think that it's fiction and people are allowed to do whatever they want.

The talk was pretty interesting. Quite embarrassing actually - well, at least I got embarrassed! The speaker was a Swedish banker who has worked on hedge funds and all that, and is now working as a motivational speaker. Then before his presentation started, he began singing and honestly, his singing wasn't very good. Then he started showing us photos of his recent travels, as well as his private island in Sweden. Then he taught us the key to being happy, namely that 1. you have to be rich and 2. you have to own an island. Okay, maybe he didn't say that. But he reminds me of someone who has worked in finance for such a long time, that he's getting bored. So bored that he lives off talking nonsense, and that (unfortunately) there is an audience like me who's actually listening attentively to them. He ended the presentation, as expected, with a song. This time, I noted down his email and I decided I was going to shoot him an email after.

I bought a can of peach nectar at a local Japanese shop. It's basically a translucent peach juice with bits of peach flesh floating in it, and it actually reminded me of Misuzu, which is hardly surprising since my room is filled with pictures of her. I only found the canned version whereas the one she drank is actually in a juice box form, and probably should be a lot thicker. They also charged me three dollars. Three dollars! I guess I better keep the can.

My week didn't end too pleasantly, I suppose. An online friend invited me to spend some time with him. Then it turned out that he had to scrim for someone and that he couldn't hang out with me anymore. I saw his friend's list and I saw so many people whom I used to talk to. But I don't talk with them any more. And it felt strange. It was a very empty and desolate feeling to know that the Internet isn't really quite the same as real life, that your relationships are as complex and as fragile as a spider-web. I think that when people first meet, you become excited at what they might be. Then as things dissipate, you realize that you pretty much have nothing in common with just about anyone. I don't think anyone really managed to live through that phase, and at least I could feel for those who, in the end, just get sick of other humans. I think as long as those feelings persist, I won't be a true solitary. The day I become truly solitary is when I immerse myself so deeply in my fantasies that to feel the warm embrace of another human is no longer necessary any more. But that's impossible, really, because humans can't live without other humans, whether I like it or not. It sickens me to the bottom of my heart.

I just want to sleep. I feel so exhausted and next week is going to be very busy.

Writing has become my only consolation out of my pastimes, and the more I write the more I think that there could be so much more I could do in and with my life. But it's not at all a comfortable feeling. Writing is very nostalgic, and the more nostalgic you are the more you  think in the past. My history had been a mess. The more I write, the more I regret. But when writing is your only consolation, there's not much you can do.