The painter fell off the tree...

I'm starting to curse the existence of 4-hour breaks during my Monday&Wednesday schedules... Probably because of the massive boredom dawning upon me and a classmate during this presumed wee hours by other people...

I'm not happy with the lineup of teachers I have for this semester. Although some are boldly marked with a check on their records in positive preference for my future grades, I agree to what EJ thinks that my tuition's not spent wisely if that were so. Talk about having an African-obsessed theatre arts teacher in exchange for my supposed Literature professor ...
Nevertheless, I have no choice...

I still don't feel the thrill in this new semester... Although resectioning and dissolving were bypassed by the college, I was lightly saddened by the fact that a lot of my former blockmates have decided to shift from, if not leave, our section... It's not really depressing... Still, you feel a certain void starting to grow inside your heart as you move on, and even heavier as more individuals choose to depart as well...

Moments are exquisite, as those are permanent marks in time that can never be erased... No matter how far you embark towards future's worldly intentions, history can never be changed... You might choose to forget a part of your life, yet the memory shall still inevitably live in another person's heart...

***
Awhile ago, I was in the library trying to do an internal monologue a.k.a. stream of consciousness for a new post in my journal. However, I was seated next to this guy who was so into plagiarism for some unknown, yet unforgivable, reason... When he saw my site, he quickly copied the address and created his own, and can I say, ridiculous account...
Point forward: He expressed his unoriginality... I, on the other hand, expressed my loathe and spite for his immature act...

When I was in first year college - first semester, to be more specific - I had this classmate who imitated me like hell. She totally disheartened me to continue our friendship further, as she would always copy all of the descriptions in my identity... She'd try hard to like alternative rock and to apply the black motif on all her impractical possessions... She even bought her own notebook to use as her journal! My mind was reverberating with demands of authenticity.

Eventually, I had to tell her off... You couldn't blame me...

***
I'm a self-confessed download freak... I've achieved a download average of 1000MB/day...
Need I say more?
Oh... They're Jdoramas, if you know what they are...