I can't wait. To see you. I can't wait to grow up to be a true, whole person. I can't wait to I get out from my hermitage. (And that's an allusion to Melville's Bartleby, the Scrivener.) I can't wait till I'm strong enough to bear all the burdens of my life alone, with a smile. I can't wait to be slim enough to fit into my old green pants. I can't wait until someone finally gives me a hug and tells me I'm truly his/her friend. I can't wait to learn Spanish and speak it fluently. I couldn't wait for this moment, when I'm finally writing a post fluently in English.

After re-reading it seems I waste a whole lot of time waiting. Waiting for something. Or someone. Instead of... I don't know. What should I do instead?

Should I just go out and live. It's that simple. And to Love. And to Pray. And not to worry all the time. Worry about school. About others' esteem. About my future. And not to wheep about my loneliness ceaselessly. Because I do. And it's futile. No one hears it. Neither I enjoy it. But it felt I have nothing else. No other feeling, except for homesickness, disappointment, sadness, depravity sometimes. It took me over. I want it to be over. I want it really badly.

Why don't I just let it go and let it happen? Enjoyment instead of worry. (And I bet a lot of the fellows here misunderstood my disposition to worry and took it for to contempt.) The misconception's in my head.