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“The attic” Laia Aibar i Vidal / 1r de Batxillerat LLENGUA ANGLESA_2n PREMI As I'm curled into a ball under the window, head buried between my legs, I look up, a beam of sunshine intrudes into the dusty room, reflecting little flecks drifting in the heavy air. It is the only source of light. Yet, it is enough to cast outlined shadows of the numerous stacked up objects which fill the room. Any item forgotten here will melt away, never to be found again as the dust takes hold of it. Perhaps, it might be the reason why I'm drawn to this particular place in the house whenever I feel restless. Vanishing into thin air is indeed an enslaving desire I hold whenever I feel the urge to cry my eyes out. By virtue of the regularity in which these bitter emotions present themselves, I have learned to hide them deeply. Scarcely have I failed to do so. However, when it has come to pass, I loathed every split second. Not only does it bring uncalled-for attention, but it also arouses a tremendous vulnerability in me, regardless of the people by whom I'm surrounded. My acquaintance with these feelings is old, and as per usual, they come to me by spouting off my most concealed insecurities. Admiration is easily transformed into self-doubt, new projects become icy mountains from which I am helplessly doomed to fall off, and a constant hunch indicating all my friendships are destined to be broken, much like a base that was dropped once the owner comprehended it had no use. I'm unable to pinpoint which was the intrusive thought to ignite today's reaction chain. I can only recall going down the spiral. I struggled to hold it in until the loud thud of the entrance door reverberated across the house announcing my parent's departure. I brought myself
