Excerpts from Arabella's diary
12 January, 2010
I've always known I was different. No, I don't have superpowers, but I've always been the odd one out. Why? Don't know. Some people might say I have a sixth sense. Maybe, but it's more like a whole bunch of senses. I guess I'm one of those gifted know-it-alls you find at most schools, who people either love or hate (mostly hate), but secretly wonder how the hell they know what they know. It's not that I'm not grateful for my intelligence, and more importantly, my wisdom, but it's hard, being different, and my 'gift' feels more like a curse most of the time.
What is it, though? Don't know, but I've always been able to know what I shouldn't. It's not magical, but it's special. I remember that time when I offered advice to Ashley Parkins when she lost her scarf, and I happened to guess spot on its location. Needless to say, it's landed me in trouble. Like all the time. My principal spends half the time giving me awards and half the time telling me off and saying how disappointed she was in me. Now, with Lizzie's help, I've finally learnt how to shut up, even when I think I know exactly what happens. I've learnt that no matter how good my intentions are, no-one will listen because when you're different, to everyone else, you're always wrong. Don't you ever get into that mood when you're sure that everyone hates you? And then the next minute you dismiss it as a momentary paranoia. Well, I'm like that. Except I am soo not paranoid. Everyone at school hates me. People either diss me because I'm a straight A, or because of my 'talents'. It's not fair. And I reckon I'm about the only teenager in the world who has a right to say that. I guess I'm whining. You would be whining if you had to live in this pathetic excuse for an existence. The funny thing is, though, I'm not bullied for the usual reasons. I'm not stupid, and I've managed to steer away from suicide, I'm reasonably well-to-do, and everyone who I've known for less than a day say I'm pretty. (After a day, in the face of my schoolmates, they change their minds pretty quickly.) But what is this sense of mine? I don't know the specific's but I sure do know what I can do. As I said, it's nothing magical. But I swear if you gave me a reasonable story beginning of a child who lived in Antarctica, I could immediately picture it and describe it to you, as well as describe the poor little beggar's life. Try me. In the middle of war. At the French Revolution. No matter what, I'll always get it. I guess you could call me empathetic. I guess I am, even though that is soo ironic. I will always get it, no matter what. I am a very fast learner, and I know things way beyond my years. If you think about it, it's kind of useful. In a weird sense. But trust me; knowing more than your parents do have great disadvantages. Sometimes, I can't take it. Sometimes, I feel like life isn't worth living.
19 January 2010
I've found this poem that describes how I'm feeling perfectly.
Sitting in the moonlight,
Waiting for tomorrow
Feeling like my days are numbered
Alone at tranquil midnight
No-one to carry for me
The burdens God bestowed my poor soul with
Tomorrow there's no future
Just the same old, grim old story
Of a lonely spirit waiting to be free
I guess I'm still waiting. Still hoping. That's all I can do for now.
Well? Is the poem any good? im not very good at poetry, but i tried! hope that wasn't too boring. i couldn't find any other way to let you find out more. I'll do a POV later today. cheers!
