The thing is I haven’t experienced any day that I could qualify as the ‘first day.’ I could count the first days of primary or middle school, but they weren’t important enough to be memorable. If I were to talk about my first day in the orphanage, it seems tragically comedic to me. I thought they had forgotten me there. Due to family circumstances, I wouldn’t realize that it was a orphanage until I fell back into orphanages three years ago. They say once you fall into shelters, you can’t get out again. I don’t even know why I’m writing; I guess I just felt like it. I didn’t plan anything; I thought I could write about this because it seemed suitable for me, but now I understand that it wasn’t.
Going from middle school to high school in the same school didn’t change anything; I was with the same people. I have 2 more years to spend with them, and I can’t say I know most of them, nor did I enjoy being with them. Maybe it was my fault, who knows. The only thing I know is that they didn’t like me; it would probably have been better for them if I hadn’t studied in the same period. I feel unnecessary; they never saw my efforts, and I couldn’t open up to them. Constantly worrying about what they say and if they think badly of me, I closed myself off. What happened in the end? They didn’t get to know me; they don’t even know that we were in the same period. I can’t do it; I don’t think socializing is for me. Even though I involuntarily assign meaning to every word they say and everything they do and look at, it eats away at me like a worm, consumes me, finishes me. I think the main reason I’m writing these things now is the conflicting nature of my current friendships. I’ve drifted away from the topic a lot. If I return to the subject, I guess I will talk about the first day at the dorm, but since I don’t remember the one when I was 6, I’ll try to describe the one when I was 14.
At first, there are places where everyone goes, later distributed to orphanages, the places we call ‘First Step.’ They observe you there for a week or two, or someone from your family comes and takes you away. If you’re like me, you go to the place where you’ll stay until you come of age. I went to the dorm with a friend from the ‘First Step.’ I even gave him a stuffed penguin as a souvenir. We’re not on good terms now, but that’s okay. There was a girl named Rabia. You know there are always those dramatic individuals everywhere, and she was one of them. She came in very calmly, and when she saw us, she started staring at us like, ‘Who are these people?’ We got a little scared, tried to explain. We even initially thought she was a boy. It turned out she had come to talk to her counselor. However, when the counselor refused to talk, she caused a scene. They locked us in the room; I think we stayed there until dinner. After dinner, we were taken to the floors. It was such a bad environment that the first thing they asked us as soon as we arrived was, ‘What’s your sexual orientation?’ It doesn’t feels strange when you get used to it, instead it feels nice and home. But even when told, it doesn’t seem like a humane environment. I don’t even want to describe the attitude of the staff there towards us. The worst part might be them.
Carpe Mortem 
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