My school year officially begins today. I can't say that I'd woken up feeling particularly excited, although I did feel marginally more purposeful in comparison to my holiday slump. The environment is new, but not all that unfamiliar – At the very least, I can appreciate not having to struggle to find my way or sit uncomfortably amidst a sea of strangers.

I can feel the cogs in my brain begin to turn (finally!). My thoughts have been dormant for so long, and while it was nice to wallow in my lazy emptiness, I thrive on rationality. Today's internal discussion has been... productive? I have struggled with understanding the balance between my faith and sexuality for years, and I think I've finally figured out how to put it into words.

The way I see it is this: Human behavior can often be simplistically divided into two steps – Desire and action. Sinful behavior, on the other hand, is catergorised solely on the basis of action alone. We are all prone to sinful desires, but it is the decision we make in regards to these desires that set us apart. Take theft, for example. The urge to steal alone is not enough to convict a thief of a crime, but the act of stealing is. In order for the thief to 'gain' or 'benefit' from their theft (be it an adrenaline rush, or monetary gain), the decision to harm someone has to be made. And while human behavior is infinitely more complicated than this black and white view on sinful actions, this criteria sets a good basis for deciding what is sinful and what is not. This cannot be applied, however, to human emotions. The desire for love, romantic or platonic, hetero or otherwise, is innately human, and in my opinion, uncontrollable. When one experiences love, they will first and foremost experience it by themselves, in a manner that does not allow them to decide otherwise. (Does this make sense?) You can choose to ignore or deny your emotions, but they will continue to exist either way. The experience of love, whether experienced as an individual or otherwise, does not allow for free will. Whatever the outcome of such emotions, love is an experience created for us by God, and how can that be sinful? There is no need for me to 'balance' my faith and sexuality, because I do not believe that homosexual/homoromantic attraction and relationships are sinful. I believe that they are equally beautiful emotions that God has allowed for us to experience.

I did my best to explain it as clearly as possible, but alas, everything makes far more sense in my head than it does on paper (or in this case, on a screen). My brain does hurt a little. Perhaps I should give it a break and head to bed. Goodnight!

I'm writing this in the middle of class, a month after school has officially begun for me. I've only recently gotten over a particularly nasty bout of the flu and I've developed a newfound appreciation for being able to talk without being constantly interrupted by the need to cough.

It's horribly cold in my classroom, but I've elected to leave my cardigen at home today because of how heavy it is. The worksheets and notes we have received over the past week or so have been insanely heavy (and expensive). I've filled a total of 2 files with them alone. I am currently still waiting for my application for a locker to be approved. I can't wait to be able to dump my online shopping (and my notes) there after every haul.

On the topic of school, applications for extra-curriculars have been really stressful. It's hilarious how I've attended more interviews in the past few days than I have over the past 4 years of my school life. ...I'm deathly afraid of interviews. I'm hoping that I'll be accepted into everything I've applied for but that is prehaps too wishful. I have to submit a short story for a club I want to join, I'll upload it here (or an extended version) after I'm done with it.

My life pretty much revolves entirely around school... I wish I had a slightly more interesting update but this will have to do. Goodbye!

A little update! I made it into all the extra-curriculars I wanted (what a relief). Here's the (terrible) short story I submitted (unedited, unbeta'ed, etc. etc.):

it’s always sunny outside
It’s dark, stormy and all-around gloomy where I live. The clouds hang overhead, never leaving. The street lamps flicker constantly and the pavements glisten in the rain. No one steps foot outside, not to mow the lawn, not to weed their gardens, not to repaint the rusty gates. I can see the overgrown jungles sprawling across our street from the window by my bedside.

I barely remember my life before I had been moved here. At night, I toss and turn in my bed, dreaming of colourful festivities and strange machinery I wish I knew more about. During the day, I stare out of my window at the house across the road and wonder if they’re all like me, trapped in a house they don’t know, strapped down to a bed frame and a thin mattress.

I’d lost all feeling in my arms days, weeks, months ago. They’ve turned a lovely shade of blue-black to match the leather cuffs that hold me down. I can’t see my legs from where I’ve been laid to rest, but I assume they’ve met the same fate. There’s a stinging numbness where my limbs touch the rest of my body that used to irritate me to no end. Now, however, I’m grateful that I still have something left.

There used to be a maid who took care of me. She never did tell me her name, nor did I ever see her face, but I remember the thick black cloak she always wore and her long, wispy hair that hung from under its hood. She made me strawberry tea, my favourite kind, and fed me steak and roast potatoes with a bony hand. It was with those same hands that she gave me my first tattoo, a string of characters on my upper arm, and my second, and third… For as long as she stayed by my side, I got a new tattoo every day, another string of characters I could not recognise scrawled across my arms and legs, leaving behind the faint sting of a sewing needle. I think they’re beautiful, no matter how incomprehensible they are.

It’s dark, stormy and all-around gloomy where I live. The storm clouds have never left and rain has never stopped. As I stare outside my window, I wonder if each house along the street contains another soul like me, a soul trapped in a pile of rotting flesh. I wonder if their limbs feel as heavy as mine, and if they too have been inked with a myriad of old runes. Beyond the weeds and too-tall grass, I wonder if they too are still alive.