Dear diary,
You know what's funny?
Everyone’s panicking. Crying in group chats, over-caffeinating, rewriting the UN Charter in color-coded notes. Me? I’ve reached a level of emotional detachment so refined, it should have its own diplomatic status.
Emotional detachment? Check.
Numbness? Double check.
Guilty as hell? Absolutely.
My coursework marks are actually pretty good, so at least past me tried. Present me? Not so much. I don’t know how I’m going to survive the final. Spoiler: probably by pure luck.
Now, before you judge, I have an alibi: I’ve been watching Hometown Cha Cha — just one episode a day, so it’s not technically binge-watching. It’s more like slow, intentional avoidance therapy. But guess what? Even that show couldn’t cheer me up. Apparently, Korean seaside charm isn’t enough to fix a student who’s lost all motivation.
And here’s the kicker—I told my mom I’m depressed, and she looked so worried I nearly felt bad enough to study. Nearly. So now, I’m basically a dorm-room diplomat of despair, negotiating peace treaties between my guilt, my anxiety, and my will to study.
So here I am—emotionally “Unreachable” and academically “Absent Without Leave”. Praying to god that the examiner who is checking my paper is having a good day and says “You know what? Today I’m feeling like a lottery winner handing out free jackpots. Full marks, just because luck’s on your side.”
Warm regards,
Your loyal student-in-distress