Journal
The Oyster
Yes, it’s me PaperOyster, and I’m going to tell you about the worst person anyone—even an Oyster like me—could possibly meet.
His name is…Poh Zi Hao, and yes, he’s a disaster everywhere he goes. Whenever he enters a room, you could practically feel the life sucked out of it, and the whole place becomes as dark and gloomy as himself—which is quite something seeing as he is the living definition of negative thought and angst. I swear at least 90% of the time he is nothing but depressed, and the other 10%, I can’t really tell, he is a little crazy after all. I doubt anyone could figure him out. What’s more, he’s a spoilsport, always making sarcastic comments and cracking lame jokes.
He’s 17 but he freaking acts like a 70-year-old, and has got a generation gap with his classmates (and, well, generally anyone close to his age). He’s got the worst timing and talks nearly all the time when he’s out, and absolutely acts like a mute when he’s at home. All he ever does is read, play games, do housework or write fanfiction. When flamers flame him, he gets depressed again, and when he gets depressed, he writes more fics, and more flamers flame him, and the cycle continues.
What’s worse? He’s my freaking creator, yes, and you know why I’m a PaperOyster? It’s because of his freaking name: “P” for the initial, and his Chinese name’s direct translation for “PaperOyster”, as stupid as it sounds. Ohhhhh, I’m pissed, he’s going about it again, the stupid depression thing. This is it, I’ve had enough.