Spring 84, X008

I woke up early in the morning after hearing my father cough. I rushed to him, only to see him to be okay. I asked why he’s coughing, and he answered me with the usual reply, “You know, it’s the pollen allergies acting up.”

I don’t really get it, but he says it usually happens sometimes, but it’s nothing to worry about.

I saw him writing again. He always writes, but the thing is, when I took a peek at his books, the words are all gibberish, or some are kind of foreign language. It’s like makeup words. I didn’t see any of those words before, even when I visited the library to study writing and reading.

But there was one book that has some words that can be understood and looks like this at the start of the page:

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Naithwenin naithel:

Nin i eneth nîr, ar na nathron na. / My name is blank, and it is nice to meet you.

I can’t wrap my head around it. Who is blank? Why is it nice to meet you? What the hell are these makeup words?!

I didn’t even read the other part because of how ridiculous it was.

I also asked my father why he writes a lot, and he answered, “Sometimes when your mind becomes cloudy with thoughts, it’s better to write it down so that you can have a clear head.”

I don’t get it; perhaps it’s just that my head is empty, not saying that I am stupid or something, but my mind is always clear, so there’s no need to write down things just to think straight.

End.