We want too much. All of us.

And scaling another height is just ice on the burn; once it melts away you just go back to wanting more and more and more...?

I want to do well for Chem/Physics SPA. And to stop thinking so much about...everything.

--

But I'd give this stuff up, all of it, if I didn't have to move. I like my house. And no matter what my parents say, it won't be the same anywhere else. Why didn't I appreciate it more in the past? When we first moved in I used to lie on the floor - I didn't have a bed yet - and gaze up at the blue, blue sky. I spent hours just watching the clouds float past and wondering where they went and if they'd ever drift down and become cotton wool. Back in my old house, we couldn't see the stars when we slept - our view was blocked by another HDB block.

Here I can literally see the colours of the sky melting into each other; a palette stained with orange and pale blue and soon-to-be-pink-and-violet. I used to take pictures of the evening sky. But now I seem to have lost the ability to see the beauty of the sunset, and by the time I get it back it'll be too late and I'll never be able to sit on the wood-tiled floor every evening and watch the watercolours mix and deepen into black-velvet-and-diamonds.

And my parents think I don't get it. I do. Perfectly. But I hate seeing the logic of their reasoning in facts and figures and crunching numbers, because this isn't just a house - it's our home and I can't bear to see it taken over by some other people who will tear down all the built-in furniture and my study table and the cupboards with the Hello Kitty knobs and the shiny pink headboard, because they were made for me and not them and they wouldn't feel at ease using it. I know how that feels. I'll tear down others' furniture too. Destroy the house's personality and force it to imbibe my own.

Maybe I'll orchestrate a reincarnation of sorts. Or maybe I'm just crazy.