Only the occasional car hums past on the 101, headlights cutting through the blinds. The page loaded, spun for a second, then: “Your submission has been received.  No confetti, no sound, no one texting “you did it.” Just silence and the faint buzz of my laptop fan.

I should feel free, right? Three thousand words turned into six thousand, rewritten six times. Supervisor comments in red ink that made me want to disappear. Late nights in the library café, surviving on iced matcha and sheer stubbornness. CAS hours, TOK essays, mocks, predicted grades breathing down my neck. And now… done. One less thing chaining me to this desk.

But the high never came. Instead, a weird hollow opened up. Like finishing a marathon and realizing the finish line was just another starting block. University apps still pending. Predicted 38? Maybe 40 if miracles happen. Still comparing myself to that kid who got 45 and posted it everywhere. Still wondering if “good enough” will actually get me anywhere.
Closed the laptop. Walked to the balcony in socks. Cool air, city lights smudged by marine layer. Brewed instant coffee I won’t drink. Sat there thinking: this essay might gather digital dust in some IB server. But I wrote every word. I cried over sources. I hated it, loved it, survived it.

Not a grand victory. Not the end of the world. Just… over. Tomorrow I’ll probably panic about something else. But tonight, I let myself breathe. One less weight. One more sunrise coming.

Thought about death again tonight. Not the dramatic kind, just the quiet one that sneaks in when everything else is too loud.

Balcony door cracked, cool air mixing with leftover coffee smell. Phone dark for once—no scroll, no notifications. Just me, the hum of the air conditioner, distant freeway drone like white noise for insomniacs. Mind wandered to how fragile this all is: one wrong heartbeat, one bad intersection, one silent night that doesn’t end. Not scary exactly. More… strange. Like realizing the game you’ve been playing has an exit you can’t see.

Remembered my friend’s last call—voice thin, saying “don’t worry, it’s just like falling asleep.” I nodded through the phone, but inside I panicked because what if it’s not? What if it’s nothing at all? No fade to black, no dream, just… off. Switch flipped. All the small things I chase—better job, more likes, another coffee run—suddenly feel like scribbling notes on water. They’ll vanish anyway.

But then a car passed below, headlights sweeping the street, and for a second I felt oddly grateful. Grateful for the ache in my back from bad posture, the half-finished draft on my laptop, the way the city light catches dust in the air. These tiny proofs I’m still here, still running the loop.

Death isn’t coming tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. So I’ll keep breathing this borrowed air, keep typing nonsense, keep feeling the weight and the wonder of it all.

Today I decide to learn English well. I know it is not easy, but I really want to improve my English level. I spend almost two hours on English study today, but I feel it is much harder than I imagine.

I read some English articles and try to remember new words, but I forget them quickly. Sometime I just look at the word list and don’t know how to use them. I also practice speaking English with my friend online, but I make a lot of grammar mistake when I talk. My pronunciation is not very good too, and I am afraid to speak in public.

It’s not only study tired, but also feel frustrated. I want to give up sometime, but I tell myself that I must keep going. I hope I can speak English fluently one day. I believe if I work hard enough, everything will be better.

Screen light stings. I’m tweaking the same presentation slide for the fourth time—adjusting margins by half a millimeter because “perfection sells.”

Timeline scrolls past: someone’s already at the gym posting sunrise selfies, another announces “just wrapped my third freelance gig this week,” a third shares their new Notion setup for “peak productivity.” I close the tab, open it again, compare, shrink.

I thought I was the only one still running this hard—alone in the quiet panic of falling behind. But dig a little: hidden replies under polished posts say “I’m so tired,” late-night WeChat voice notes confess “can’t stop or I’ll lose everything.” The whole generation’s whispering the same thing behind the flex. We chase the same narrow ladder—better score, better job, better rent that never stops rising—while the space at the top gets smaller every year.

Shut the laptop. Stepped onto the balcony. City hums below: distant freeway, neon flickering out. Brewed instant coffee, sat on the cold metal step, let it cool untouched. No notifications. No guilt for five whole minutes. Realized the “only me” ache is the cruelest lie—the system wants us all feeling isolated so we keep pushing harder.

Tomorrow the wheel will probably pull me back in. But tonight I’m just here, breathing the same tired air as everyone else. Not ahead. Not behind. Just one more person quietly wondering why we’re all still running.

Spent the afternoon mopping the outdoor basketball court.

It’s this cracked, forgotten patch behind the apartments—barely used except by a few kids on weekends. Yesterday someone dumped a whole Gatorade bucket during pickup; sticky purple streaks everywhere. I figured I’d clean it before ants took over or it just looked sad. Bucket of soapy water, borrowed mop, slow strokes under the rim. Sun was out, warm on my shoulders. The rhythm felt good—swish, rinse, repeat. Sweat dripped, arms ached pleasantly. For a moment it seemed like real progress: erasing mess, making something better.

Then clouds thickened. First drop landed cold on my hand. I glanced up, mopped faster like speed could beat it. No chance. In seconds the rain came steady—soft, inevitable. Soap foamed gray, purple stains dissolved and ran to the drain. The hoop dripped, net darkened and sagged. Sneakers squished. Shirt clung wet.

I stopped. Leaned on the mop. Watched the rain finish in minutes what took me forty. Instead of frustration, a small laugh escaped. All that pushing to control one small square of ground, and nature just shrugged it away.
Stood there soaked, oddly light. Chest loosened. Not because the court was spotless (it wasn’t), but because I didn’t have to win the fight. The mess got handled without me. Relief, pure and simple.

Walked back dripping, mop against the wall. Tomorrow it’ll dry, maybe stain again. Doesn’t matter. Sometimes you step back, let rain do the rest.

Yo, if these subjects make you wanna cry like they did to me, here’s the real short version that actually worked.

First, don’t memorize—understand the story.
Why does derivative show change right now? Why F=ma feels true when you push a heavy box? Why elements in periodic table behave in families? Get the “why” first, formulas stick automatically.

Second, do problems daily, no excuses.
30–50 minutes focused > binge studying. Easy ones first to build confidence, then harder. Fix every mistake immediately—that’s where learning happens. I did this consistently and went from failing quizzes to solving finals okay.
Third, when stuck, use videos fast.

Fourth, don’t study like zombie.
Sleep, eat, move. One sharp hour beats four tired ones.

Last, be patient.

Progress slow then boom—you suddenly “get it”.

I improved from B to solid A just doing these simple things daily.

Try for 30 days. You’ll see.

It’s raining again. Woke to gray, endless dizzle—like someone ringing a never-dry towel. Blanket warm, but group chat pinged: “Hot pot?” I replyed “Rain’s too much,” then stared blanky.

I like rain’s sound—it hushes my brain, makes the world just water. But I hate the wet shoes, soaked jeans, soggy everthing. And it always pulls up old crap: senior-year fever + failed exam in the downpoor, or that “let’s get roasted sweat potatoes” promise that never happened.

Noon takeout. Delivery guy: “Can’t see the road—come down?” He was drenched, helment dripping. “Thanks, stay safe.” He shrugged—“Used to it”—and vanished into the grey. Felt a quite ache watching him go.

Afternoon curld up, mindless scrolling. Rain hammered the AC—clang clang. Cars splashed hard. “How’s your day?” “Fine. Just raineding.”

Rainy days crank the emo: memories loop, rebot button missing. So I sit, listen to drops, AC hum, my sighes.Hope tomorrow’s dry… though it probably won’t madder.

Good night.

Recently, the situation between Iran and United States has become very serious. After face military attacks, Iran has send an important message to international community. This message is not just about politic or power; it is a sincere call for world peace.

In every conflict, the bigest losers are not the goverments or the leaders, but the ordinary people. When bombs falls, life changes instantly. Schools close, hospitals struggle to help sick people, and many familys lose their homes. We must remember a simple truth: War only create shadows, but peace create a future. No country can truely grow if its people is living in fear.

Many experts believe that “talking is bridge to peace.” Instead of use weapons to solve problems, countries should using diplomacy. History show us that most conflicts come from deep misunderstanding. To fix this, we need mutual respect. Building peace take a long time and a lot of patience, but destroying it only take a single second. Choosing to talk instead of fight is not a sign of weak; it is a sign of great courage.

We all live together in a “global village.” In modern world, we are all connected by economy and technology. If there is a fire in one house, the whole village is in danger. Iran’s call for peace is reminder of our shared responsibility. To create a stable world for next generation, we must follow international laws and choose kindness over anger.

In conclusion, peace is more than just absence of war; it is the presence of safety and hope. We hope the leaders of world can listen to this call and stop the cycle of violence. It is time to put down weapons and pick up tools to build a better, more peaceful earth for everyone.