An origin story

Let’s see. How was my day.

It was pretty much like the other ones. All boring and sleepy. College days. Always have something to do with sleeping on desk and daydreaming while the lectures are on. The weather was really hot and sweaty the day. But now it’s drizzling.

I was reading some book with short stories, various English writers during the class periods. And there was a story named “Big blonde” all about some stupid blondes having mid-life crisis. And there was this lady called Mrs. Morse who  attempted suicide of no big reason. She was hardly sober the day, and swallowed a bunch of tablets, to make peace with herself. I couldn’t get any sense out of it. I borrowed the book from the college library, which I regret now. No good stories in it. I chose it with so much expectations, I bunked a whole class to find something readable. Now that I found it, it bored me already. My brother’s also reading this book of short stories, no offense to the English authors of this book though. I told him how amazing Rabindranath Tagore’s short stories are. Those stories create an atmosphere, you can never get distracted from it until you finish it. And those endings are way better than any happy endings. They make you feel something. Like arts.

I actually blame myself for knowing so little of English literature. I think there’s millions and billions good stories out there. I have read the fault in our stars, looking for Alaska all by john green. He seems to have some obsession knowledge over afterlife and oblivion. The diary of Anne Frank inspired me the most. I’m not a book worm kinda girl, read a few. I Swag.