Here's what happed today at dinner :

The soup for the noodles was awfully bland, nearly tasteless in fact, but I ate it anyway, raising no complaint to my mother, the cook. When she came to the dinner table and asked how the dish was [this was like halfway through my dinner], I told her flat, "Erm, it's kinda bland."

Then she revealed that she had forgotten to put in salt. After she did, she asked, "Why didn't you say anything before? You shouldn''t suffer in silence."

I didn't know why I didn't tell my mother such a simple thing. Then, later on, I realised the reason: I didn't think my opinion mattered.

Funny, isn't it? To feel that way in one's own home.

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I am heartbroken.

My essay for the English MYE is atrocious; my personal worst [note that my personal best is only a 24] . My heart ACHED when I saw that horrid number on the top right-hand corner of the paper.

Absolutely completely AWFUL.

But I still won't cry. Nope.

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO NABILAH, MY SITTING PARTNER FROM 204. =DD