Little Big Problems✔

Chapter 1

There are incidences in life that are just fated for failure.

Take for example: trying to write an English essay forty-five minutes before school commences. Unfortunately that is what I am currently doing. I know I sound disorganised right now but trust me, I am not. I had it all planned out.

After coming back late from the doctor yesterday, I decided to take a quick nap. I even set an alarm to wake me up precisely an hour later. It turns out the alarm decided to grant me what I have always been wishing, for it not to ring. I only woke up today morning from the sound of my school alarm ringing. The worst part is I only remembered I had not written my essay after dressing up.

So I am currently sitting on my chair, in my room, cracking my head, trying to find a suitable A+ worthy topic as we had to choose one for ourselves.

I think...

Let us all raise our glasses in awe at the concept of "freedom of Choice!" Yes, sarcasm and I are best buddies, in fact we put the 'S' in Sisters and all those other best friend goalie nonsense people come up with these days. Brain concentrate, essay topic come on! Maybe I should just title it: "Fated incidences" that way I can relate. So I jotted it down on my blank paper, only to crumble it into a ball, realising I had absolutely nothing to write about. So much for relating.

Come on memory, what was the topic? 'Memories are never erased' right?

"Camilla, downstairs, in two seconds!" When my mother yelled from down stairs in that tone, I knew I really should be there in two seconds. I quickly took my school bag and crammed all my books while I struggled to put on my white Nike sneaker. Where is my other shoe?

I located it right next to the full mirror at the corner of my room, and I quickly carried my bag, heading for the sneaker. Since I was next to the mirror I had no choice but to take a cursory look at my appearance.

Still 4 foot 3 short- check.

Uniform looking proper- check. Yes, we had a school uniform, so I did not need to carry out more introductions about Ridgewood high. Except the fact that our uniform consisted of pleated lacklustre Khaki skirts for the girls and a khaki tunic of light dungaree material which I was currently putting on. It reached my knees. You wore it with a maroon blouse underneath and maroon socks. The boys wore khaki pants of a thicker fabric than girls', with maroon shirts and maroon socks. We both wore dark blue blazers. Sports jerseys were explicitly worn by those in designated school sports teams like field hockey.

"I guess I'm taking you to school today!" That was my mother again.

That just got real.

"No need for that. I'm coming right up!" I reversed my mother's supposition by dashing out of my room. I raced down the stairs, while trying to zip my bag at the same instant. I had totally forgotten about my struggles of getting down the stairs and my inability to multitask until I missed the last two steps, and fell into a full-blown make-out session with my mother's spotless floor.

Ouch!

I hurriedly stood up and pretended as if nothing had happened, in an effort to have the last laugh (of cause?) I was not about to let those stairs win.

Okay, maybe it did hurt. My legs felt numb.

Our house was not little-people user-friendly. Why? Because I was the only little person in this family. Why? I had a feeling my mother fooled around with my egg cells just to get a designer baby, but I ended up with this disorder.

What's the disorder? Patience people, I will tell you later.

I got into the kitchen and, as per norm, my mother was preparing my school lunch while my dad was sitting on the kitchen stool next to the island. He was eating his breakfast while listening to my mother's progressive ideas of taking control of everything. I worry about her sometimes...