Marx

If you are reading this I have probably written this autobiography six months prior from now, I have to ask your deep understanding, English isn't my first language and I'm pretty a bad at constructing a sentence, so pardon if you will encounter some grammatical errors in the future chapters.

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I have wrote an autobiography, I don't even know if that term applies to this one. I have always thought to myself that I'm good at expressing my ideas and opinions using pen and paper. Yes, I wrote this manually using ballpoint pen in a notebook. I cannot express myself by words, I'm bad at oral communication. Is the introduction too long? you're probably getting bored by now.

I'm going to write down every thoughts of mine in this.

This book will probably contain all diabolical opinions, or the opinions that people will usually call 'bad' just because they don't like it or, it defys their own beliefs and morals, they will be against anything that doesn't follow the criteria they live on. Why say this? to avoid being cancelled obviously.

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I am Marx, 17 years old, my gender? it's up to your interpretation. I was born in a poor family where wants is not even an option over needs, I've always wanted to become an author but everyone is against it, well they've always been against anything that concerns me. I'm bad at everything, well not academically but basically everything. I've always been deemed as the bad-child just because my ideas differs from theirs, I always stand for myself which why my family hated me more, they cannot control me, it's like being a rebel in a dictators country.

I don't know if what they hold on is the good side or I'm just being an imbecile. But I know to myself, that I'm not different from them. Even cruel, I'm the worse version of them. If you dive deeper into this story, you would have noticed that I don't usually use names for the people that I insert here in this book. Why? because they exist in reality.

Enough introduction it's time to start the real deal.

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"Nothing." I mumbled to myself as I hurriedly closed the page of the notebook I was holding. Why, bother asking the things that I do when it doesn't even affect the tiniest part of your self. His reddish lips formed a malicious smile. He's homosexual and wears a liptint, or maybe a lipstick, whats the difference? I don't know.

"Are you writing a love letter? what are you a grade schooler." He said teasingly, I looked at him, to make him sure that he could see that I am disgusted to the words he just said.

Love letter? what kind of thinking he has, I suppose his mind is filled of green things that even God himself won't even try to peek. He shrugged his shoulders and went back into his seat after I stared at him for long seconds.

I'm probably writing the first paragraph when he saw me scribbling in this notebook. People always like to put their nose on others businesses especially if they have a bond on that 'other'. Maybe it's in human nature to bother people you have relationship with to show you care.

It's a sunny day but as I can see from the window of the classroom, there are gray clouds from the distant forming, maybe a rain will drop this mid-afternoon. I hope so, it's 37 degrees outside, too hot that turning into a black man is nearly possible(not a racist way).

The female teacher is only half way in her two hour lecture, she's blabbering about some media literacy, using fun examples that seems to keep the class entertained. The homosexual friend I was talking about is just sitting beside me, the phrase 'went back to his seat ' earlier is just about him tucking himself into his chair, more of fixing the way he sits.

Why am I even explaining it. You people probably have some common sense anyway.  I'm running out of words to use, I have so many things in my mind that I wanted to write yet can't seem to find the proper words to write it down.

I have always thought to myself that I'm good at expressing myself using pen and paper.  Maybe it was just me who thinks that way.

The lecture is still ongoing, and I have learned non about it. The teacher is now talking about suicide, I don't even know if this is still connected to the lesson. Well, maybe I'll just put this one here.

Last week, a student from the same school jumped from the third floor. Of course he's dead by now, but before he died he called his aunt, telling that he wanted to be cremated. This is real. I'm not convincing enough that's why I'm telling you it was a real event.

Suicide.

I never get the point of it. Well, I've always thought that suicide often happens if a person didn't get enough care from the environment s/he was in. "Was" because obviously we're talking about dead people.

Whenever I hear someone's commits suicide the first thing that comes to my mind, "The family must have been a jerk from not noticing the sudden change of behavior from the victim.". I might sound a complete dumbass, but this is just how my morals are.

They could have prevented it, they could have stop it, if only they observe more, if only they cared more. I know people have different priorities, different experiences and problems. Is caring became a hard mode that people cannot do it easily.  Do we really need reasons just to justify our lack of care.

This is just my opinions, if you have yours then make your own book.

An hour has already passed, one more to go before the lecture ends. She's still talking about it.  I remember her say.

"If you have problems, you can come to me, I'm all ears."

She looks genuine. Females do really are approachable, I'm not saying Males are not. It's just that there's something about them that makes them more soft and fragile, I'm not sexist I'm just expressing my views about females.

It's five pages already, I counted every leaf of the notebook pages. This must be enough for the opening chapter. I must write tomorrow if something intriguing happens.

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