Here I am, Zalfa Nurima, a 13-year-old writer who is being gripped by confusion about my own world. What other world if not this one? Yes the world wrote me which I can not get from where. I tell 1001 stories about my world. The world that takes me on the edge of my life's adrenaline blade. In this story I tell you about my solitude in a world that many people hate.
Today, whatever day I can describe, the day that I think becomes my storehouse of moods. Today I'm happy, happy because the various competitions mandated to me. I'm happy, but happy not all. My friend hates me today. Previously I will tell you. About a world that no longer cares about me, about friends who stay away from me, about myself always. I hate it, as they hate me. I hate, hate the world that never supported me.

A world that always puts a lot of trials in this life, as well as my friend who started to walk away from me, after I dove into it. That's why I'm all alone, without friends. Just a piece of black paper and ink that stays true to me. Today, my favorite teacher came to me. Inform me about the races. All he gave to me. From poetry writing contest to my anniversary to writing short stories and articles. Jealousy and hatred began to appear in the hearts of my comrades.
Today, exactly at this hour. I was taken by him, my teacher into a special room for the students, yes the learning space. Giving him hours for me. In this room, I sit and write. A gentle breeze drifted from the air conditioner that swept my brown skin softly. It did not take long for me to write the poem. Just 20 minutes of time I need. "Good Zalfa, now copy it in this colored paper! When you're done you can put your fine work into your classroom wall magazine! "Says my beloved teacher. Without a second call, I copy the poem in a colored sheet of paper. I'm a bit hesitant about his last order. About my work and wall magazine. This will cause big problems.