Kata Kata Curhat Di Buku Diary Novels & Stories

The leather cover was worn at the edges now, pages filled with scribbles of thoughts I could never say out loud. I flipped through it slowly — old notes, random doodles, tiny confessions written in the middle of the night when everything felt too heavy. Then I found one dated almost a year ago. October 18. The page was messy — smudged ink, uneven handwriting. I must’ve written it right after crying, because the words looked rushed and raw. I started reading out loud quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I hate him today. I really, really hate him.” I paused, exhaling through my nose. Yeah. I remembered that day too well.

NATALIA CARTER –that’s my name. First of all, I want to clarify some things. This is not a diary. You can call it a journal or whatever it is that you want, just please... Spare me the word “diary.” That kind of name was for the girly girls, like some of my classmates. They talk and write to their diaries like it’s their secret keeper or like their life depends on it.

She chose Thyago over her friends, she brought this to herself and that's the price she has to earn. Every time she was sad and alone, she always find herself writing in her diary and putting all out her frustrations and pain there. She has to let this feeling out or else she will explode. She has no one to confide in but her diary, it might be one good reason to feel better somehow even just for a while. But that night was different. Pulling out the drawer and searched for her diary, it's strange because it was not there. She tried searching it in her bag, under the bed and pillows, in her closet and almost in the whole room but she never find it. Feeling agitated, she tried to composed her

Nanny Rita said it contains some cute stuff from her high school days – a phase in her life that brought her so much trauma. She breathed deep before opening the bag. It contains old slum books and a diary with broken lock. She smirked thinking that her mother could have forced to open it. She must be disappointed to see nothing juicy about the things that she wrote there. Her younger life was boring and predictable until it wasn't. In fact, each page of her diary contains almost the same events. As she randomly went through each page, she noticed a paper inserted within its pages. She almost dropped the diary upon seeing that paper from way back. It's still obvious that it was once cru

He said, “Kate, I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you-” “It’s okay,” Kate sat up promptly, crawling next to him. She tried to grab her diary, feeling embarrassed by whatever he found out. Forthwith, she understood what he was sorry for. “You fell into depression? And you had to seek treatment?” Carlos asked, his brows meeting as he sought. “It was just for a month. Shortly after you left - give me that. It’s my personal space,” Kate said, reaching for her diary. She did not want Carlos to feel guilty. To her, it was all in the past now.

It will be a long time before anything changes. There are a lot of other people who are more disabled than I am and in worse pain, which is truly appalling. Does it give them any consolation to open up a diary? Or, on the other hand, would they say they are adequately ready to keep everything in their spirits? — I used to want to read, but now I find that all books bore me. I can't check out anything, and more importantly, I hate myself. My spirit is furious. Again, Nina returned, to a lunch get-together this time. It was a horrible day with a heavy downpour. She told me of her connections—as a

I looked at my men watching me and stood up, pocketing the book. " Make sure you keep any of her belongings, photographs, and portraits. Place them in my storage area. Anything else, destroy it along with this house. " Then I got into my limousine, heading back to her. I reached into my pocket and took out the book. On the cover it read, Princess Katarina's Diary written in child handwriting. I turned the page and smiled. She was so innocent. I read about her first day at school and first crush and chuckled at some of her posts. Then I grew angry when I read about how he treated her, her mother left her due to his abuse, how he was when he drank. Her fears, her sadness, her despair were comi

Everything that she hadn't told me or she couldn't have the chance to show. I sat on the bed beside her and opened it. I wasn't ready actually for what I saw. The first page had her name, written in a toddler's handwriting with crayons. Undoubtedly, she wrote it. The diary itself looked so old. The first few pages were filled with her childish demands like "Why do we need to study?" "I hate school" "The math teacher is a witch" "The principal is also a witch. She scolded me because I broke that stupid girl's nose. She was bullying me. I want to break her legs too"

Listen to Outlaws by Alessia Cara. Do yourself good to keep distance from the midst of people you're supposed to hate. Or, you sure would forget about your hatred for them and start getting used to their company. P.S: That's if you want to carry on with the hating. - From the diary of Katherine Amelia Jones - - THE NEXT DAY, I start feeling like one recovering from inner several bruises, plus I sustained hypothermia and a running nose even, my throat feels sore too.

I calmed myself and went to sleep even it was still daytime. I write on my diary. I started my diary since the time Hero started making moves on me because I have no one to tell my feelings about him. I can't tell my problems and worries about him to my father, so I bought a thick notebook and a small box that I can securely keep it. In my diary I write everything about him, my feelings, hatred, anger, happiness, worries, and funny things we did. It made me smile so crazily when I wrote about our sex escapades, his insatiable sex drive on me, how I love him, his weird allergy to women.