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Thứ Năm, 12 tháng 8, 2010

The difference is real. It does exist. Many times I thought I have overcome it, or told myself it's just a matter of stereotype, but again and again, it makes itself felt.
Is it me who is different or is it us? That we are different from each other and we may never get close is not a matter of time and effort. I used to think so, or at least used to make myself believe so. It is not a problem. It is just a fact. I should have accepted it earlier.
Tonight, again, I feel isolated, and a desire to go home and be with those who are truly mine is burning inside.
I wish I could cry.

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