We are jealous, undeniably. It really eats up at my heart when I come across the glamorous bodies of super models on the magazines and sigh with great shame at the sight of my big fat belly. It also drives me crazy upon valentine days upon a glance at my close girl-friend having awful lots of fun while I am virtually left unheeded and even dubbed with the nick name “Tomboy”. Then, after school, back home, my moth adds more agonies to my heart by chronically grumbling about my untidiness and poor academic records, unlike my brother who is apple of her eyes for his outstanding school performance and scientific lifestyle. Who am I anymore? I just wanna kick the ass of these people out of my life. Why I am the only one to be the target of being ridiculed? I feel weak and vulnerable, but take a better look at these truths, I am painfully acute that I am the cause of my failures; I am just overly jealous of them, and I should be proud of their greater achievements. After all, they work hard to earn such credits. In retrospect, I feel motivated to carry out a revolution on myself. I patiently observe the way to beautify myself through outshining mirrors of super models, thank them for their useful tips and dream one day when I become “the lady of catwalk”. I also open my heart more to guys, by following my girl-friend’s advice, so as to vanquish them in ten days, and come to my brother for his sharing of success in both learning and life. Then I see myself run in an endless race to simulate every celebrity, until one day, in the hindsight again, I am deeply reminiscent of my appetite for food cooked by my dear Mom, my lovely characteristic “naïve boyishness” which characterizes me among homogenous genes in my school, and my spontaneous trait that gives birth to creative ideas. I really miss those things, and now, I remain stumped to myself. Seamap guys, let’s help me with such a catch twenty-two-situation?
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