Here I am. It is midnight and I am sitting in front of my computer thinking of how I should write this post. Of how I should phrase my sentences and break my paragraphs. Of what words I should use and what picture I should add.

Were I truly honest to myself, I would admit that the thought of writing this shames me to the verge of tears. But I choose to embrace a lie that, simply put, makes me feel better about myself -- this is a confession written out of boredom and restlessness. If I allow my flitting imagination to take full rein, I can even delude myself into believing this will be a great - not good, great - piece of writing... before I have even started writing it.

It has been almost a month since I last went to any of my classes. It is too late to go back now, I feel. Too many missed assignments, quizzes, tests.

I am told that if I were to go back and explain things, I could start with a clean slate. There is a little girl in my head that is rolling around laughing. The slate is never clean. Perpetually smudged from the moment you made your first mistake because life is written in detail with a black fountain pen.

Why a black fountain pen? Because that is what my father used to use. He doesn't use it anymore and oddly enough, it makes me sad. It is a symbol of how things are no longer what they used to be.

The sheer disappointment I know I am to my parents is as overwhelming as the utter failure I see myself as in the mirror.

I have taken to staying in my room; breaking all contact with the real world. I established this self-isolation three, maybe four, weeks ago. Choosing to stay in my beautiful room with the blinds drawn and the doors closed. A cessation of time, in a small way.

In doing so, I feel as though I have allowed myself the freedom to create a world to my liking. One where I do not feel I have failed anyone. One where my intense need for approval is constantly met no matter what I do. One where I feel pretty and smart. One where I embody the "essence of confidence." One where I am not who I am but rather who I want to be.

Since the beginning of the month, I have not left the confines of my room more than a handful of times. I miss nothing of world outside, knowing full well what it holds. I split the area around me into two: Rolla and my room. The former I view as the culmination of all things mundane and the latter being the hub of my imagination.

I have been thinking a lot about my chosen career choice. The more I think, the more resolute I am at my conclusion that I should never have chosen to become an engineer. When I was in school, I wanted to write. I chose engineering because I had a point to prove: I wanted to prove that I was smart. I was also rather adamant about not choosing a career in journalism because it seemed so cliche at the time.

I have also been thinking about what drove me to this university. Memories surface of me in my old college in Malaysia flipping through university catalogues, trying to choose which university to apply to. It had to have a small student-teacher ratio, it had to have good campus security, it had to have a good engineering program, it had to have this, it had to have that. In retrospect, I did not feel any great need for any of that. I simply chose that as my standard bar because, once again, it seemed smart. It did not matter that in reality, I hate small student-teacher ratios or that I could give a flying fuck what the security is like.

I wish to God I could turn back time. Or at least did not have to pay such high fees for tuition. Or even wish I did not hate the Malaysian education system so much. I suppose everyone feels that way every once in a while. The only difference is, most other people continue on, chugging forward like Mr. Thomas. Me? I tug on a tiny frayed end and watch me lose control over my life.

I still see myself as that 10-year-old little girl living in Apartment 8B, Kianggeh Apartments, yearning for constant approval while being too timid to ask for it and forever denying myself my goals not because they are set too high but because goals are not supposed to be obtainable.