13th September 2013 9:21pm

Day 6

Dear fucking diary

I could say that I was too busy with my studies to write over the last few days, or that I was too busy making friends for myself, but this is my diary and I'm the only one who's going to read it so why would I bother bullshitting myself.

Today is Saturday.

*insert gospel halleluiah*

One of those mystical days between work and play where we establish long-term life defining traits to carry us through our every day lives. This is where freedom and pleasure collide and where we overcome insecurities, establish family relationships and pursue love interests in those days between days.

But not here! Instead I get to fucking STUDY more!

*rips up gospel halleluiah song-sheets*

When was the last time you heard a teenager saying "Oh what a beautiful day it is indeed. Looks like the perfect day to stay inside and give myself a migraine memorising Hamlet's soliloquys."

That's right, NEVER!

God, I really do miss being home on a Saturday. I miss meeting up with Mike and hanging out in the old boat house by the river.

For all the stupid pranks we pulled, or jokes we made there was ever any harm in them. We never hurt anyone. Well, we never meant to.

Ahem. Anyway.

In the few minutes we are allowed between classes, I usually just head back to the dorm room and hope that no one is there. It's not that I don't want to make friends but it's a bit hard to just walk up to a group of people and just chat away like I've always known them. They have their group and they all know the rumours of why I'm here which makes it even harder.

I don't want to be by myself, it's just that… well… sometimes people are just too fucking annoying to deal with.

There. I said it.

Well let me see.

Did anything fun or exciting happen to me today?

Nope.

Nothing.

Nothing ever happens to me.

But I must return to my observations of Sherlock, the strange boy who set himself ablaze in chemistry and gave me a cigarette.

I see him everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. I swear a part of me thinks that hi is stalking me, except that it's me who keeps walking into him rather than the other way around. So maybe he thinks I'm stalking him.

And while we do keep running into each other, neither of us makes a point to try and make small talk. It mainly just consists of awkward hellos and a weak gawky smile from both ends as we pass in the corridor.

But there was something different about him today.

We were in History today and the teacher made us put our chairs in a circle. And why would you do that, some of you may be asking? Well of course it's because having the class in a circle is more 'unifying', and in order to understand the past we must be unified in the present so that we won't make the same mistakes in the future.

I shit you not. This is actually what we were told.

I don't know what sort of 'mushrooms' they eat in their soup but I know that I want some.

Anyway, while we were learning about the Crimean war, or something like that, I spotted this Sherlock fellow on the far side of the ring of chairs. He was staring into the distance, a thousand miles from England, or Crimea for that matter. There was something different, something troubled in his expression.

Usually he walks around on his own but he never actually seems to be lonely. He smiles and waves to his fellow class mates, making small chit-chat, joining in on the odd joke, the same of the rest of us.

But that's what we all do. Like military camouflage, we use formalities and niceties to blend in to the crowd. But this doesn't make us belong to anything. We function. We exist. And every day there are a thousand new things to drag us down to the depths of our own despair. But we put on our game face and carry on.

But it was in this moment when I found the boy behind the mask. His eyes were glazed and dark rings circled his eyes, made even darker in contrast to the gauntness of his long thin face. If I hadn't met him before I would nearly have been afraid of him, or felt great pity for him, or both.

Never breaking from his daze, his eyes moved minutely. They twitched, like they were scanning the pages of an invisible book, own of his own past, his own history and his mouth furrowed like his eyes didn't like what they were reading. I couldn't help but lose myself in them.

Ha! Listen to me. I've only been here a few days and I'm already turning. But in all seriousness, there was something so…so… relatable about the way the weight of the world seemed to be pushing his further into the darkness of his mind.

In saying all of this, the guy could actually have been thinking about what was for dinner today, or if he had brought his laundry to the wash room on time.

I don't know what he was thinking, but all I know is that he broke from his dreaming in an instant and his eyes came up and locked with mine.

The look we exchanged wasn't cold but it felt like he had caught me with my pants down, and his expressions read the exact same back.

It's strange how that one brief moment came to my mind when other more exciting things didn't.

I just can't stop thinking about what he said to me on the roof.

Fate.

Who knows?

"Do not be afraid; our fate

Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift."

― Dante Alighieri, Inferno

Until tomorrow.