There are many reasons to argue.I don't think I am mad at you, whatever you might believe. But I am dissatisfied, I try to figure what for.It may be due to my disappointment with life, though I don't remember having felt such displeasure towards it, not during those moments when I lock myself in my room, trying to evade my own imperfect reality through books.I realized why I read so much, you know?At first, I just wanted something to do during our breaks at school, since spending time with the other kids was a torture and I felt ridiculous, or maybe pitiful, walking around school for half an hour. That changed when I started reading, I started having something to do without having to go through all that pain of trying to make friends. And I also enjoyed slowly discovering the stories, but it was only recently, when I read "We children of the Zoo station" (I think that's how it's called in English) that I found what can be the true meaning of my obsession with books.In the book, one of the testimonies said something about one of the reasons why the young drug addicts can't quit being the fact that they use drugs to abstain from their problems, for they are not used to face them.I believe I have a similar relationship with my books. Everything there is just so perfect! It's not as if they hadn't to go through unthinkable challenges and pain, but they always get to feel fulfilled, they always get to find love. I don't have anything happening in my life, and I still haven't moved from that stage when I wait for my life to get started, regardless of the fact that the first quarter of it may have already passed. No one writes a story about ordinary people, there is always something special in the characters. I often wish I had their lives, their perfect childhood, don't get me wrong, it's not as if my childhood had been a living hell, or as if I had been raised by abusive parents, had to walk for two hours everyday to go to school or anything like that. I am just completely ordinary. I used to think that I wasn't, I used to think that the others were the ordinary ones. But I now know that is not the case.I am getting off track, I should apologize, but all this actually kind of relates to what I was saying in the beginning.As I wrote, there are many reasons to argue. You just came to check on me, you wanted to talk. I heard you were watching that movie you wanted to see before we started arguing. I wonder why did you come in now out of all the opportunities. Maybe if you had come right after I returned to my room I would have talked to you. I was dying for you to know how I was feeling, but I couldn't tell you, I never know how to put into words what I am thinking and I know there are things I can't tell you, because they would hurt you too much, and there is nothing you can do about them anyway. So I decided to write this, I don't know yet if I want to show you this, but it's dedicated to you.I see I have written plenty already. And I still haven't gotten to do what I came here for.When I got back to my room, I laid on the floor. I didn't want to think about what had just happened, so I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn't. I thought about it, I tried to reflect on what had motivated the happenings.And that's how we got here.There are many reasons to argue.I don't think I was mad at you.It might have been a manifestation of displeasure towards my own life, but I don't that's it.I think it was about what is yet to happen.I don't want to be like you. I used to idolise your and my father's life, what you have achieved, your love, but that was when I still had illusions about you, about us.Your example motivated many of my objectives to when I grow up. And that's what I can't tell you, because it is not the way it's supposed to be.When we argued, I extended it on purpose, I know that. But, as I told you, it has nothing to do with what originated the argument. What you said truly infuriated me, but the actual point wasn't to debate who was right, I don't care who was right. I just can't give in. Giving in to this argument, calming my anger then would be like calming all of my dissatisfaction with the life you achieved for yourselves, like reintegrating myself back into the family, like accepting to follow in your footprints.I am going to reread this, then I will decide whether I show it to you or not. I just don't want to look at your faces right now, and I don't want you to know all of the things I wrote in here.I reread it, I am not going to show this to you.Maybe some years later, but not today.I was intending to post this on vigyaa, so that I don't feel like I am talking to no-one, that's why I wrote it in English. I apologize if the text is confusing or filled with grammatical errors, you are free to point them out, if you feel like it, but I doubt anyone got so far in the text.There are many more things I should write to really describe how I feel about all this, but I just don't care.