I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

Sometimes, there’s those days when you’re just happy to be around. Today’s one of those days. I’m actually looking forward to the future, don’t kow why, but I’m happy. I’m smiling for no reason, I’m welcoming the madness, I’m dreaming. I don’t know what will happen, I only hope it’s exciting. Such mood shifts, it’s strange to think what would happen if I turned into a boring, normal person. I look at them and you have to laugh. They’re all so pitiful. May I never be a slave like the masses. May I ever be myself.

Ah, the eternal struggle of youth to not grow up and become what they see around them. I still feel this rebellion, but now I realize a lot of my frustrations were born out of living in the suburbs. I’m more of an urban type. How could I have known this then, though, having never lived in a city? I still get creeped out when I go to the suburbs, especially if it’s a mall area. No offense, but I don’t know how you people do it.