Entry #4: My 50 Shades
50 Shades of Grey.
That’s what I should write about. That’s what my flatmate tells me. People nowadays are more open and they are ready to read something erotic. They hunger for erotica. It’s like the world has been suppressed under this huge pot of pressure cooker of censorship and now, like all things, this pressure cooker has cracked. The world is now ready to accept such writings.
So why don’t I write about it? So says my flatmate.
I’m supposed to continue my story about Mr A, the one who offered me a room to stay. My flatmate is not Mr A. They are two different persons. I guess you might be a bit confused now. I should have continued to tell you about the jerkhead Mr A, and the bus ride to this new city. But I can’t helped it. I’ve never written anything before, other than those assignments in High School, or university, or whatever you want to call it. I was bored at high school, and I quit after the second year. And my thoughts are not organized here. It just occurred to me that I suddenly remember another reason why I’m writing this diary.
I took writing as a minor in the high school, and I guess it has helped me here.
“You have a wealth of talents,” my flatmate says. Note, it’s my flatmate, not Mr A.
Maybe I should tell you a bit about my flatmate since he would probably be in a huge part of my book. He is gay. And he is the nicest person I’ve ever met.
(Awww….see? He’s so sweet. He’s right here beside me and he has given me a nice peck on my cheek. Such a sweet man. Too bad he’s gay.”)
My gay flatmate likes to use the word ‘wealth’ a lot.
A wealth of talents? Me? I don’t know about talents in writing. I didn’t graduate. I guess all I graduate from the uni was losing my virginity, and having lots of sex.