**

The truth is, I have always been a good girl.

When I saw an old ma'am broke her back, I carried her from the stop light to her apartment. It is, by the way, a few miles away. Til' this day, I still don't understand why she had to go that far to buy grocery when there is already one nearby the apartment.

I live with my roommate who never cleans the room. I took on the responsibility to do so, but all I have ever got in return is carbon dioxide—which is quite inexpensive if you ask me.

My parents bid me to become a doctor, since I had a passion for health and wellness as a teen. Throughout my progress, I have realized that education is learning what you didn't even know you didn't know.

I followed their instructions until I attended college; I gradually grew apart from medicine because it just wasn't for me. It was then I decided to become a writer. I gravitated towards historical novels; you know, the kind that makes your heart tingle and make you chuckle like a twelve year old girl.

As a filial daughter, however, I still promised them I will study something close to medicine.. turns out, I chose to study plants.

You know what they say, never go to a doctor whose office plants have died. Botany was my best bet to study aside; I actually favored studying and experimenting with plants, although not as much as writing.

I question my decision now, of course, considering I am quite broke as a creator. Eating cup noodles and spending days and nights writing drafts have exhausted me to the point I seriously contemplate my life. Did I say it is difficult to pay for rent as a writer? And I have to constantly ask my parents for money?

The embarrassment!

Gee, I sure wish money grows on trees. Sure, money doesn't buy happiness. It does, however, pay for sesame Korean barbecue chicken wings and that is practically equivalent to happiness. At least to me.

And so when trouble knocks at the door, I greatly welcome it. After all, I am ready for a change.

But this is not the change that I meant.

Oh no, it is not even close.

I ended up being robbed in the streets. And it was under the broad day light.

Are you kidding me?!

This young man stole my purse out of my bare hands. But hey, it's not like I care anyways. I didn't even have any money left in there. I did have my food coupons in there though. Hopefully it'll be of use to him.

I found refuge in sleeping. I slept to relieve the feelings of inadequacy. That is the only way to escape my capricious life. I occasionally cried, which in response, caused my eyes to be swollen. The bags under my eyes become larger; I see a panda when I see my reflection in the mirror. Now, I am ugly AND broke.

How tragic.

My sheltering, perhaps conservative parents are growing grey, and yet I cannot even care for them. Such pitiful life.

I am such a loser.

And then something strange happens.

At first it is just a voice.

Then, I hear incoherent voices whispering to each other. I proceed to see faces— blurry faces.

The next day, it becomes more apparent. I even feel something warm and soft caress my cheeks. This time, I hear a cry. It isn't long until I smell fire powder.

Soon, I hear screams and yells loud and clear. It's unmistakable. Someone shakes me, hoping that I would regain consciousness.

The shaking is ineffective and to no avail, because everything went blank and I lost all my consciousness.