A more Composed Me.

It's late afternoon now; an hour's break ahead of me before the next class commences. Here I sit, gazing out the window next to me, noticing the rustling of the leaves, and the people who walk by. A sense of melancholy seems to reside in me, and yet where is the source of this sadness? I do not know. At this moment in time, I am calmer. There's just something about the nights when one is alone. It just leaves us with a lack of emotional control. It is as if the burden of the entire day is weighing heavily on my heart at that time of the night.
Being alone at this moment, there is that sense of loneliness. But I would be lying if I told you that I am not enjoying the time to myself. Honestly, I hate being alone. But there are times, like now, where I just want to be away from all the people I know. I do not like being judgmental or cynical or pushy. And yet that is the way I am of late. The root of these negative feelings may not be caused by the issue at hand, yet I seem make use of the irritation at that moment to release all that pent up frustration. Being alone is good I guess. I don't have to put up a facade to please people. I do not have to worry that what I say, what I do, is going to hurt the people around me. And most importantly, I would not bother about people judging me.
Here I am, typing furiously on the keyboard, earphones lodged on to my ears, the music drowning out all the other activitie around me. I can envision a world of my own; a world where I can shut out all that goes on around me.
I am tired of hating school. I can come up with all sorts of reasons to despise this place. Yet, none of these reasons are good enough to support the tenacity of this distaste for the place. There's is something more; there always is something more, isn't there?..

I see you often enough these days. But there is nothing for me to say to you. No hurt, no hatred; just plain emptiness. What can I say to you? Words are just words. There's no point in making small talk. I'd only be making the situation more awkard than it already is. If you ask me what can be done, I simply have no inkling of a solution to change this. Maybe we should sit down and really talk; maybe we should never talk. All things must some to an end. Is this the end then? Or is there a sequel to this little story in our lives? If it truly must end, no amount of lingering is going to do any good.
I have no intention of making this entry into a debate on religion. I would rather find common grounds with the majority. There is no particular religion that I believe whole-heartedly in. I cannot deceive my christian friends and christianity itself by saying that I am a christian. It would not be right to do so. I am still searching for answers. Answers which may never be given. But what's important is that I have to be at peace with myself, and be at peace with Him. The last few lines of Desiderata (top of this page) resonates my thoughts on religion:
"Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be".
On a final note, I am leaving all these issues to God. I may fret and worry about the choices I have to make. I may get angered at the obstacles I face. But my life has already been mapped out for me. Whatever choice I make, my next challenge has already been paved for me, to train me up for crunch time. I have to keep that faith. I am desperately clinging onto it as solace to my destructive mind.