There was this time back in the high school when I wore shirts down to my knees and scarves three meters long, I had a 'no you can't see my eyes' haircut, I went to art classes, I read Jean-Paul Sartre, Kurt Vonnegut and Viktor Pelevin and thought that the world was a weird place to live in.

I'm glad I'm not a teenager any more. Eesh, never ever again!

But I went to my grandpa's place yesterday and there I discovered my old art class folder, just randomly lying behind a cupboard. So I rescued my precious paintings and drawings and took them home with me.

Maybe one day I'll put some of them on my wall. Just to remind myself that I made it through teenage years. And survived.