I've realised that I'm a perfectionist . . . which means that every single thing I do, even the ones that don't even have a cent of my interest, I'd do it with hardwork.

I've realised that I'm a clean, hygienic freak . . . which means that I love being clean. But, I have times when I like to get down and dirty, too, like lying down on the grass, or let myself be smothered in dirt. It's fun, really.

I've also realised that . . . I tend to clean up after other people. They don't realise it, hah, of course they don't. I'm a slave, that's what I am to them. I'm a maid, a cleaner, a janitor. Heck, I'm way better than that. I clean, yes, but that doesn't mean I like to do it for other people, just to fill up their positions. What am I, really?

Begging for mercy would be the last thing on my to-do list. But . . . it's just so . . . frustrating. I'm so miffed and pissed and angry and mad. Tense and stressed and strained and just . . . oooh. I'm so petrifyingly mad, it's just that I don't show it.

I've also realised that all this while, I've been demanding justice. I don't deserve this. I just don't. Just because I'm made of thick skin, that doesn't mean I'm made of a steel heart, either. I'm hard on the outside, yes, but I've realised that there's a soft, nougaty center on the inside, that is my fragile heart. Just because I like to do good to people, doesn't mean that there's a chance for them to step on my head until I sink six feet under.

I love to help people, yes. It's that so wrong? No. But . . . all this while, it's been me who's been cleaning up your mess. Me me me. I'm sick of being treated like a kuli, tell me what to do, demand me to do this do that. I'm just sick of it, you know? I'm on the verge of disappearing six feet under, now.

Yes, I cried at school today, for private matters. When it was after recess, I was supposed to pass up my history folio to my teacher.

But I lent it to my friend.

She didn't come today.

Phoned her twice, didn't pick up.

I told Pn Norrizan, knowing that there was a part of her that wouldn't even buy a cent of what I was selling. Because, really,

"Cikgu, saya dah betul-betul siap kerja saya, tapi kawan saya pinjam folio saya semalam, hari ni pulak dia tak datang."

Can that excuse get any lamer? It's probably one of the oldest excuses in the book, and since so many people are using that, teachers don't seem to believe it anymore.

But how could she not believe me? I was on the verge of crying, my eyes were getting prickly and the tears were really starting to annoy me. And plus, I didn't have that cheap muka 10 sen, so how couldn't she believe me? I was breaking apart. Shattering, right there in front of her eyes.

I walked around the class for a bit, blinking back tears. Sometimes, when something heavy lands on your shoulders, it doesn't move you. But then, even the smallest things can break you apart, just within the snap of your fingers.

I went to some of my classmates, already crying. They were shocked, yes, to see me crying.

Iman, eh kenapa ni?
Are you okay?
Iman? You sakit ke?
Eh, kenapa you menangis ni, Iman?

I fell apart in front of my friends. I cried for the smallest reasons, because those reasons were like a great impact with full force. It happens, you know.

I went to the toilet. Stayed there for about ten minutes, with one of my classmates with me. She was nice, to go there and comfort me, while I just stood there, not feeling so good. This? This whole crying thing? Yeah, I guess you could say that my "cleaning up after every stinking person" and "being treated like a slave" would be one of the most probable reasons.

I even punched the hard, wooden door of the one of the cubicles. It caused a loud bang, which I was so grateful that nobody (especially a teacher) came to see what happened. The punch made my knuckles red, but I didn't feel any pain. I just felt like as if my knuckles were going to break, and the deep frustration that was boiling in my blood. I was just so aggravated and frustrated. I wouldn't have thought that I would shatter just like that, because I believed that I was made of steel. Turns out, I wasn't. Nobody is.

So, tell me, if you get everyone telling you what to do, and you have no choice but to clean up after their own mess, would you eventually crumble just like I did? After all these past few weeks, you have been nothing but nice, and all you get is . . . nothing? And people just don't seem to realise what you've done for them, the energy you forced on them from the bottom of your soul? Would you break apart like me?

God gave you brains. Heck, He even gave brains to animals. Tell me, are you a human, or an animal? To say you're not a human, would be a complete lie. Because, obviously, you can walk and talk different languages and can do many things that animals don't. And, humans have logic, too. But, to say you're an animal wouldn't be much of a lie, either. Uncivilized, no sense of logic, not using your commonsense and always being selfish.

I'm sure God gave humans commonsense and logic so that they would think of others too, instead of just themselves. I'm wondering, where are all these humans?

On the other hand, I could've said you're a human, with no sense of humanity whatsoever. Yes, that would be the perfect thing to say.