This year was a year where I met quite a few people whom I believed would become increasingly important to me. When I first got to know them, I was filled with hope that maybe they were different, that maybe we were strangers then but in future we wouldn't be anymore. This doesn't necessarily refer to boys or romance, just in case you've got the wrong idea.

But I wish someone could have reminded me that people are never who you expect them to be at the start. Unrealistic expectations make you feel as if that person is slowly becoming someone you don't really trust or like anymore, when truthfully you're just getting to know the person's "real side" and not the tailor-made persona you've imagined her to be. It feels as if your make-believe fantasies have been crushed, and there's no one you can blame but your own over-zealous mind.

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother reading. Fiction transports you to an alternate universe where you can escape reality and become someone else for a few hours, but what about that moment when you finally reach the epilogue? A story ends when you close the book, but your life continues and nothing has changed; no matter how much you want them to.

This year was a year where I met quite a few people whom I believed would become increasingly important to me. When I first got to know them, I was filled with hope that maybe they were different, that maybe we were strangers then but in future we wouldn't be anymore. This doesn't necessarily refer to boys or romance, just in case you've got the wrong idea.

But I wish someone could have reminded me that people are never who you expect them to be at the start. Unrealistic expectations make you feel as if that person is slowly becoming someone you don't really trust or like anymore, when truthfully you're just getting to know the person's "real side" and not the tailor-made persona you've imagined her to be. It feels as if your make-believe fantasies have been crushed, and there's no one you can blame but your own over-zealous mind.

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother reading. Fiction transports you to an alternate universe where you can escape reality and become someone else for a few hours, but what about that moment when you finally reach the epilogue? A story ends when you close the book, but your life continues and nothing has changed; no matter how much you want them to.

My name is Felicia and my dearest ambition is to bounce on clouds while eating Twix.

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