I'm still the emo kid who writes using her blackberry during car rides.

My parents found out about the ongoing 265-paged novel I'm working on, along with a dozen more manuscripts and drafts and separate chapters.

I'm very disappointed with myself for not hiding it well, but I curse the fact that they are very disrespectful to my privacy. I should've known this is coming, after all I always find their praises on my writings quite fishy, but I didn't expect them to have ALL of them saved in their computer.

And to tell you the truth, that story wasn't exactly the kind I'd love my parents to read. It's an attempt on crude humor and black comedy, with a little spices called sex and lustrous affairs. I swear it's not a teenage literature with some romancy stuff like Twilight, in fact I think it's pretty good and I had given my all for that story. It's just... having my parents to read my little parallel universe, is beyond awkward. No it's more than that actually, it's far worse. They're the least persons I'd like to have my novel read by.