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I just dreamed of receiving letters, but I guess no one would write to me, so here I am, writing to myself, only because there are certain times in our lives that we have to document out of the unreliability of our memories, which almost always recreate everything without an ounce of truth in it.

I watched Cloud Atlas today, then I decided I’m going to read it. I like the name Sonmi; maybe someday I’ll have a child named after Sonmi-451. She is a brave and passionate character that one could easily get attached to.

Today, I also realized why I had been telling __, numerous times, that I miss him. It is because I truly do miss him. It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to him–really talked to him for hours and connected with him. I miss that. It feels like he doesn’t care anymore and that he’s more concerned with learning how not to take things seriously and to just play…even only with his mind.

Work’s a bitch. It’s hard to get along with it, especially with my temperamental drive. I can’t quite get it right every time the dry season comes. I hope I’d be able to do at least two later.

Starting today, I’m guessing I’ll be confined a lot to this house. Might be good. Maybe some reflections in life would come of it. That dream of studying again, of investing, I hope these would all come to fruition in the next months.

Whenever the sky cries, the house does too, incessantly, most especially in the kitchen. Ma said she’ll get it fixed. It’s a bother.

And ____ (______). Whenever I think of you, I’m almost certain I love you. All my life, you’re the only person who has come this close. What would happen to us then?

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