I'm not Augustus Waters, nor am I Hazel Grace Lancaster. I don't like the choices I've made. I don't like any of them. 

When it comes to the choices I've made regarding education, I just—of course, I've found something better, now that it's too late.

Yesterday I went out with a long time friend, and I think she relates to me the most about not being happy in this country, even if she doesn't fully understand. She understands my need to leave this country, because I'm not happy here. Because it's not home.

Most people, when they hear this, they think it's just me trying to be a white kid. They'd bump in to me at the library and go, “Hey, how's life not being white?” and at the time, I hadn't minded, but now as I sit crosslegged on my bed, I think that people must see me as ungrateful, for having so much already, and still wanting so much more.

Anyway, when I told my friend, yesterday, that this year is my tenth in Malaysia, she said—and I struggled so hard to keep a straight face when I heard this, I tried not to think of the vines shoving their thorns in my goddamned heart and told it to get its shit together and beat, beat, fucking pump blood please, because she said—she said, “Wow, ten years being unhappy.”

And that hurt me, only because it's true.

What's worse is, by the end of the night, we both found out that she is going to pursue her studies in America, at the university my dad used to go to. She's going home, and me, I'm staying here, because I don't like my choices.

I don't like that I failed accounting, and that with only one semester left, I'm considering to quit foundation and take the American Degree Transfer Program, so that I can go home, too. I don't like that I still don't know whether to take Islamic Finance or psychology or professional communication. I  don't like the way I treat my friends, shitty, because I've built my walls so high up I refuse to let them hurt me too. And now I can't even go to them for advice, or anything, even, because my ego is so inflated I can barely breathe in the room, and because I feel pathetic going to them— I am that one friend who always leaves so that she'll never get left behind, and now I am all alone.

I don't know anything, really.

I only that I don't want to be unhappy, any longer. But I can't seem to do anything about that, because I don't like my choices.