I don’t like studying.

Studying. Yeah. Studying.

I have to admit, I’m deluding myself that studying is a fun thing to do. I had to. I had to to keep myself on the go whenever and wherever, regardless the circumstances. And I guess it’s not very bad because I’m not losing a lot—just time (just: yeah, what a proper word to precede time). I don’t lose a lot because time is all it has to take to study. And sadly enough, I waste a lot of it.

I love learning but not studying. There’s a whole lot of difference. Learning includes excitement and unplanned curiosity, lots of discoveries I didn’t think would be so awesome to find out. Studying, in a sense, has responsibility tangled to it. Like it’s something you do to please someone, to please people–attain high grades, get to somewhere after, assure yourself of the bright future everybody tells you about, and the sort of stuff alike.

I’m not really sure where this post is going, but I’m studying anyway. I study for my Mom, and sometimes, for myself. I don’t care if time lost was wasted on studying, it’s the only way to compensate for all the time my mom spent providing us the life we needed anyway—no, actually, a life that is more than what we needed. And I’m glad I grew up not depending on what money could do; I grew up without thinking money is the answer. And it’s all because of Mom.

Pretty vague, I know. I don’t care.

I wrote this on a whim–out of an urge to write something about how I don’t like studying. And I sort of thought the post would look nice if I blabbed more irrelevant stuff.

So yea. School doesn’t entirely suck. It sucks to an extent that we have to study to attain high grades; to find some sense of pride and achievement in being regarded and labeled through that means.

Yea. Cool. I have to study now coz I’m very fucked this week.

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