07.10.11

A PROLOGUE OF SORTS

The first thing you should know about me is that I am not a morning person.

I know as you read further entries, you'll probably start scratching your heads, thinking, 'Wait, how could she not be a morning person, I'd think an overachiever like her would want to get up bright and early to study and blah blah blah…' Well, the truth is the truth, and the truth is, I hate getting up early in the morning. If I could somehow go to school at midnight, come home at 7 am, and sleep from Noon to evening, I would in a heartbeat.

Sadly, I can't, and so every morning, my alarm clock rings that shrieking ring. It signals the end of another peaceful night's sleep and the beginning of a new day which I will not begin to enjoy until around 45 minutes after getting up, once I've splashed some water on my face and had a good breakfast.

Anyway, I should probably tell you a little about myself, though if you're reading this, I'm assuming you've already taken a look at my profile. I'll keep it short.

My name is Haruhi Fujioka. I am 17 years old and I dream of becoming a lawyer someday like my mother. According to some, I look like a boy with my short hair and very unfeminine clothing choices, but then, gender roles were never my biggest concern.

As of two days ago, I am on summer break. An entire month of no school, which means no 6 o' clock alarms every morning, which means a very happy me.

In fact, I'm in such a good mood that I've already finished almost half of my summer homework. Today I'll put the finishing touches on my Foreign Language paper, and then get started on my math homework.

What do I do for fun, you ask? Well, studying is fun for me. My friend, Kasumi, thinks I should find other hobbies, but I don't see why it's such a big deal. It's not like I'm always studying. I like to read and watch a little Court TV too, but I digress.

I just realized I've been rambling for the past several paragraphs and that I should probably get to the point of all this. It's kind of hard to explain. In theory, it should be pretty simple: I'm creating a record of the events that occurred last year and how I got to where I am now. I even have an outline of the story right here next to my laptop. It starts with this prologue (of sorts), then goes into the day it all started, and how I had to adjust to the six new presences in my life. How difficult sleeping arrangements became and how they practically had a duel to the death over who'd get to sleep in my room; how their total naivety to the outside world got them arrested TWICE; how they literally almost destroyed my school's gymnasium; how they turned my quiet life into a giant, chaotic mess; how at times I wanted to pull my hair out and scream at them to just go away and leave me alone; how they gradually began to understand just why I was so angry with them all the time; how they protected me when I was in danger; how I somehow began to see them as friends, maybe even family…

And now I'm rambling again. Have to work on that.

Anyway, all of that seemed so simple last week when it suddenly occurred to me to write it down. I brainstormed for a few days over what to say, how to say it, etc. I wrote my outline, I got all my really hard homework out of the way, and on top of all that, my dad will be working late every night for the next week, providing ample time for me to write without being disturbed.

So why does it suddenly feel so hard? I guess because I'd forgotten just how deeply the events of last summer affected me. This isn't something I can just put on a document file and then let sit in my hard drive until however long it takes for such things to become obsolete.

That's why I started this blog, even though I doubt anyone will believe that I'm telling the truth. I certainly wouldn't if it hadn't happened to me. It doesn't matter, though, whether you believe me or not. I just can't keep it to myself anymore. I've been hiding the truth from even my father for so long. I feel like if I don't have something to remind me that it was real, I'll stop believing myself. I'll decide it was nothing more than the crazy dream of a seemingly sensible sixteen year old Me. Afterwards, I'll put it from my mind and slowly, but surely, forget.

I can't let that happen.

It's been an year this very day, July 10th, 2011. It took some time, but I've finally come to terms with everything that happened those three months. Now it's time for me to tell my story.

A story full of awkwardness, embarrassment, insanity, hugs, laughs, and tears. And it all started because of a botched address…

Posted by Haruhi at 9:27 pm 5 comments