I spent the whole evening sitting before a mirror to keep myself company.
November 6, 1938
Doses of true nostalgia since the sem break began drawing to a close. There's a buildup like you won't believe. I say "true" because we drones of literature have many ways of faking or provoking nostalgia. And when we do succeed, when we do feel something, some of us hesitate to call it the real thing. I don't know. It's just feels more genuine to dream when you're asleep, to cry when you're suddenly hurt, and to be hit by nostalgia when you're unawares.
Semestral breaks are so notorious for nostalgia that it's been sung. Anyway, in my case this year, it's late in coming. I must have avoided it somehow because of the tasks required by the division, the organization, and the child. It still managed to creep in though, from the cold wet soil as it were and sometimes with such violence that I had to hit my temples.
Before the Soul's Day, the child kept us busy, grossly entertained, and exhausted. I texted my father about this. Good, that's the way things should be, he replied.