4/4/14 –
It seems as though lately everyone has a blog, journal, or something of that sort online. What happened to just writing something with pen and paper? It's the only way to truly keep anything private; on the internet, anyone can read anything you post, if they know how to get to it. But, I suppose saying any of that, in this medium, makes me quite the hypocrite, aye? I know it does, but that doesn't change what I think on the subject.
That said, America has been pestering me to start something like this, so I guess it couldn't hurt… It isn't as if anyone will actually read this, after all. Scotland, Wales, and I are the Canada of Europe; no-one remembers that we exist. No matter that we are England's elder siblings; no matter that the three of us have been through just as much – at times more than – most of the other, younger European nations. Again, not that it matters, but still.
To deviate from serious topics, America and I are talking about video games as I type this. We both have somewhat of an unhealthy obsession with the Kingdom Hearts game series. He's played through two-thirds of Birth by Sleep on his PSP, but is procrastinating on playing Aqua's part. I keep offering to play it for him, but I understand why he wont let me. As for myself, I'm working my way through Kingdom Hearts I, though I really can only play when I'm at Alfred's place. More often than not, though, I watch him play Kingdom Hearts II, and we talk about how much of an idiot Sora is.
But then, I try not to spend too much time with anyone other than my older brother Scotland. (May God have mercy on my soul if he ever finds out that I'm in love with him...) He understands parts of me that no-one else would get. Not that I believe anyone would care to, but I digress… Whenever I spend time with Alfred or Arthur (we're… working on trying to patch up our relationship), it always ends the same way. Someone mentions eating, I make some excuse, and then… Shit hits the fan, as America is so fond of saying. It isn't as if I consciously choose not to eat, it's just… After so many years of famine and plague and war and death, I don't know how to care about myself anymore. In the end, though, it will always be something of an issue with us; none of them wants to outright accuse me of an eating disorder (I am still their sister, after all), and I just… don't know what to think anymore.
All of that said, I should probably finish this up… Arthur came over, and both he and Alfred are talking about a compromise for dinner. (Arthur wants to cook, and Alfred wants fast food; the thought of either makes me want to throw up.) I want to avoid the screaming this time, but… I doubt that it will happen.
Until next time, I suppose…
– Erin Kirkland,
Republic of Ireland.
