Mental Health Awareness Month 2017

It was a good day. It was a work day but I had the day off so I decided that I would spend the day doing nothing at all or anything I wanted. The food I ordered came and it was extremely delightful. The videos on youtube were funny and they made me laugh. Then I took a nap, gleeful that I could do this when everyone I knew was busy at work.

But then night came. I have a difficult relationship with nighttime. It gives me the most tranquil peace and the darkest thoughts.

People like to say, "You deserve to be happy". But in my case, happiness always come at a price. Happiness is an appetizer for the Demons to come and feast on later when all the dopamine is spent. So now I'm left with nothing- feeling nothing but the puffiness of my eyes and a hollow memory of a good day.

Tomorrow will be another good day.

The Lamentable Tragedy of the Death of Lexa

On March 3rd, "The Hundred" which had a stellar Season 2 last year, disposed of Lexa, a beloved character in a problematic way to push forward a what would have been a very fascinating plot. Many different analyses have already covered the different social implications, storytelling flaws and the ensuing furore that have not stopped. 

But seeing that the man who killed her is her father figure and his name is Titus here's what I'm going to focus on. The manner of death and how it relates to the theme of Tragedy for all three characters involved in that scene.  

It got me dusting off my Shakespeare notes from college to read up "The Lamentable Tragedy of Titus Andronicus" again over the weekend. Skimming through it quickly - Titus was a righteous and fair Roman general, who after wining the war against the Goths, was given the choice by the people to decide who should inherit the throne. The contenders - Saturninus (the first born of the late Emperor hence a more legit claim) vs Bassianus (Saturninus' brother who have the people's love hence support)

But before all this GOT worthy shit can start, Titus has held prisoner the Queen of Goths and to appease the Dead, he decides that her son should be sacrificed. (BLOOD MUST HAVE BLOOD ANYONE?)

Because of HIS particular set of actions, Queen of Goth, Tamora got so enraged she then sets in motion a series of events, which when also paired with Titus' own 'righteous' choices (choosing the 'right' king Saturninus although he is malicious towards Titus, etc, oh there's so much more) which led to the final act where Titus KILLS HIS OWN DAUGHTER though that's not the main focus of that act. (It's a pretty brutal play)

Before I jump into how this relates more specifically to The 100, lemme just put it out here the definition of A TRAGIC DEATH. In my point of view, it's a death that as undesired as it is, it still fulfills an emotional satisfaction for the audience for the character whose death is in mention. Also, in literature the definition of "Tragedy" is (ok it's from Wiki, bite me JR) "a form of drama based on human suffering that invokes an accompanying catharsis or pleasure in audiences."

Henceforth my argument as follows - the Death of Lexa serves as a tragedy for The 100's Titus because he thinks he's doing the right thing, for the person which whom he accidentally kills. We despair at his actions but the catharsis comes from the fact that he 'learnt' from his lessons or he had suffered just as much as the audience had, by his own actions.

The Death of Lexa also is a tragedy for Clarke because she was betrayed once by the girl (Lexa) who like/loves her and finally not only forgiving her (Lexa) but fully reciprocating emotionally and physically, only to have her (Lexa) die for her (again. may I add. *coughFinncough*) Plus, in 3x04 Lexa points out Clarke's tendency to 'fix things' while trying to make her accept that some things, like her death, are just not in her control. This gets revisited when Clarke desperately tries to save Lexa saying "I will fix you, just stay with me."

Now let me jump to some other past deaths that can be deemed 'tragic deaths' -

Death of Finn. Same as Titus. I can literally cut and paste the sentence with just some minor changes. We despair at his actions but the catharsis comes from the fact that he 'learnt' from his lessons and he has suffered just as much as by his own actions. Also fits into my argument of a tragic death, it's a death that as undesired as it is, it still fulfills an emotional satisfaction for the audience because it was done by the girl whom he did it for and for him to suffer a death less torturous.

Death of Finn for Clarke. Also a tragedy, she was the one whom he did it all for and she's the one who ended his life. Pretty straight (heh) forward here.

Even death of Anya (2x04) who died via stray bullet to the stomach (exact same spot and last words as Lexa too, mind you.) was tragic because if the radio balloon hadn't gone up, Clarke and Anya would have never found Camp Jaha. Yet it was the same radio balloon that had the Ark guards on high alert to shoot any and all grounders on sight. Final stab was the fact that Clarke and Anya had made peace and Anya agreed to get an audience with the commander after fighting and almost killing each other all ep long. Tragedy, Tragic Death.

But LEXA'S. "Tragic death - It's a death that as undesired as it is, it still fulfills an emotional satisfaction for the audience for the character whose death is in mention."

What catharsis did we get from her character's story when she died? What emotional satisfaction did we get in her death? That she died after finally having having the girl who she loves, love her back? That her father figure was after the girl she loves but ACCIDENTALLY shot her?

Where is the tragedy FOR her of HER death?

There is no tragedy for Lexa here. Her death doesn't even come close to tragic. Even Romeo's and Juliet's are more tragic than hers and theirs were barely tragic either. It's not tragic, it's just unfortunate and plain dumb luck. Even if she freaking cliched-ly jumped in front of the bullet slow motion style, it would have sufficed the tragic death requirements. LEXA'S DEATH DID NOT FULFILL AN EMOTIONAL SATISFACTION FOR THE AUDIENCE. 

And if someone try to interject with 'oh because she was such a warrior that's why for her to die such a banal death is a tragedy' then you really should really go take a Shakespeare 101 class. The word you might be looking for is 'misfortune'

Or 'oh the 100 is full of deaths and she's just one of the many' Excuse me. Even Sterling (oh who in the world is Sterling???? Well he's in 2x04 and he's the redshirt hero who tried to climb down the cliff to save his friend Mel from Factory station but tragically his rope tying skills were not that great) had a proper legit tragic death. How can Lexa, a fully fleshed out universally loved character, not have something decent? Her death was not a culmination/resolution of her character's story arc, she died as a plot device. At best, also to further the characterization of Clarke and Titus. But the point is, she was not granted the same death,the same respect as all the other characters in the show and plus the fact that she's so highly loved, it's a stab to the heart.

The whole scene was constructed as a tragedy for Titus and Clarke only. There's gut wrenching emotional satisfaction for Titus (serves you right asshole) and Clarke (poor girl not again and so soon after you finally let her in) And now reading up again on Shakespeare again, it's going to seem like someone who is the rightful heir (Saturninus/Ontari?) is going to give Titus more tragedy because Lexa did tell him to serve the next Heda well and yet she got him to swear to protect Clarke. 

Great fucking job Show, we would have cared/loved/gushed over this upcoming juiciness and your AI story if you didn't fuck up Lexa's death in BLIND pursuit of your need to prioritize your head over our heart as Lexa's Death was supposed to be her story, not Titus.

And THAT'S the real Tragedy of the Death of Lexa. 

Evil comes from within

Turn a blind eye so that you won't see the suffering,

feel the riches and your pride

Turn a blind eye so that you won't see the red

feel the warmth fading and the last sigh

Turn a blind eye so that you can close the other at night

feel the nothingness and the blackness

creep into your soul and mind.

How do you love bitterness?

How do you love someone, learn to accept someone and try not to judge them for who they are just because you made the decision to allow them into your life a while back with full knowledge of who they are? To be the light and the positivity in their life because they have so much good in them but it's buried under such disdain and bitterness. To not allow the ugliness rub off onto you yet to not let them feel resentful when you refuse to get sucked into the tirade of darkness.

I've cut people out of my life before, it wasn't easy or pretty but with someone I have so much history with, it's not an option. Yet every time when he belittle my experiences with madness I flinch. It's not a window I open to just anyone and for him to brush them off as 'looking for attention' hurts on so many levels, wrong on so many folds, all the Love I have for him gets infected by his pain, anger and hate.

And I have to stop. Breathe. And remember.

Strung together like amateur poetry

Was searching through old emails looking for a particular invoice. Instead, I found an old thread, conversations made up of short clipped sentences strung together into paragraphs, like amateur poetry. Back and forth, teetering on the edge of confessions of heartache and reeking of heartbreak.

We were young. We didn't know what we were doing. What we should do, what to do. Don't want to hurt each other while trying not to get hurt.

She saw through my armor and I called her out on her baggage.

Truth in words and truth can be cruel when you assume the worst in the intention. I didn't understand. Couldn't have understood.

Maybe I could have helped her if I had treated her as a friend instead of someone who had the power to break my heart.

Maybe then she could have found something she needed to live on for.

Maybe.

But now all that lives on are just her words, strung together like amateur poetry.

Night Sky

When I was younger and whenever things got bad, I used to sit by a particular window at the house to look up at the night sky because it was the only place in the house that had the clearest view. Well, not exactly, because there were window grills but it was the only place where I could at least see quite a bit out into the distance because it wasn't blocked by buildings or trees. But still it comforted me a little because as I looked up into the gray night sky, the bars in the way of my view were just a symbolic barrier that has to be there for me to overcome to be worthy of the rewards of being free and amongst infinite possibilities.

So I worked hard. And I was free. I moved out and lived in places where the sun shone brighter albeit hasher but the winds were kinder and the nights were like refreshing chill glasses of moscato after a beautiful day. Because of the distance away from the city, the night sky was brilliant and more beautiful than I ever saw in that house. The view was panoramically astonishing, stars danced brighter and the darkness promised a mystery of endless wonder. I looked up each night, as light from dead astronomical bodies travelled down millions of years after their death to this space and time where I just happen to peer up, looking for hope, meaning and peace.

But one day, I lost my mind and pretty much everything else that meant anything of value to me. Except my family. And their house. Now when I see the same window again, all I see are just bars.

Like clockwork

It wasn't all totally nonsense though. I could still recognize fear and puzzlement, especially in the faces of the strangers that came to see me everyday in the morning after breakfast, like clockwork. They came in their lab coats and their clipboards full of notes, scribbling while observing me as surely as how one observes a monkey in a cage. Some had kind looks, some blank and some with eyes darting, unsure as to how to maintain eye contact while I peered into the depths of their souls. It was just as much of a two way street as any other regular interactions in the Outside world. Just that in this scenario neither one of us knew how to pretend to be.

The Attending had hid his ID badge behind his tie and I decided that I shan't bring that up with him for by him doing that I knew that he already knew ID badges was my crux issue. It seemed to me that we were going to play a game of chicken about my unrelenting paranoia of badge-wearing hospital employees not being who they were. But as the questions unfolded, my smugness slowly dissipated as I struggled to answer what I think they wanted me to answer, just as I have always did even on the Outside. I was getting all the answers incorrect and I see them, one by one, shaking their heads and pens writhing furiously. This must be how drowning feels like for it was all going wrong, as how everything had before that had me landing in this strange and unsettling place. It was my turn to dart my eyes around desperately, hoping for some clue in the expressions of my captor's lab-coat-entourage. I slowly realized this was another failed day because my chest tightened with a familiar hurt as my breath stuck itself in my throat, festering into a lump bigger and bigger, surely enough to suffocate me. It was pointless. My persona cracked and split even further, like a line running down a wall of old paint that was ready to flake off into dust any second.

The Attending shook his head with finality and like a virus it spread to the others in the group. Pity filled the faces of each person I looked upon, all impervious to my imploring desperation. Judgement never felt as stinging as it did on the Outside as I pleaded fruitlessly while they left, one by one out of my door.

The best years of their lives

2010 was the year she was supposed to turn 25. Being twentysomething was supposed to be the epitome of a person's youth; the best years of their lives. The years with the most potential and where the future was the brightest, especially with the recent accomplishment of a proper degree from a proper university. She was living in a city which lived in movies and where movies were made. The vast pacific ocean just a 10 minutes drive away west and east was a town where boys could hold hands with boys on the streets without whispers or stares and a girl could fall in love with another girl. An actual possibility of a desired future unfolded itself upon her, letting her know that this was a city where an anomaly was allowed to dream about normal things normal people take for granted. This was a city where the dead stars on the walk of fame and the dead stars from light years away up above whisper the promise of rewards should the price of hard work, perseverance and good attitude be paid. She took heed but was wary of their whispering for anything that can't be said aloud will always have something to hide. She thought she knew the truth of the illusions painted by her desired industry - especially the one illusion that the years of being twentysomething was when life will fall into place.

She thought she knew the truth was that although life will fall into place, it just will not do so in the expedited timeframe as painted.

Instead the truth, her truth, was that her life would fall into pieces.

It happened that night

It was another night shift and I was driving to work. After I got off the freeway I was to merge onto the main road and from a distance I saw a stationary car in the middle, blocking traffic. Hm. Something must have had happened. Yet there were no emergency vehicles around and no flashing police lights. Traffic was moving relatively smoothly and it was just a singular car. However, as I got closer, I started to notice other things. There was a man, a regular joe, directing traffic. Firm and calm, he was doing a pretty good job. About three other people were around the vehicle and I started to wonder why/what it was doing there and not at the side of the road. Then I noticed a shiny object, a bicycle wheel, crushed under the tire. My eyes automatically tried to seek out the rest of the bicycle and as I was doing so I saw one of the people around the vehicle, a lady, bend down and looked under the car. So I tried to see what she was looking at. That's when I saw a hand right under the middle of the car. The hand was attached to a blue-sleeved arm and that's all I could see. Suddenly I realized that the pool of reflective liquid around the limb was blood.

There was no movement. And in my heart there was no hope.

So please, if You see it fit, grant a little mercy and grace for the poor soul.

How to destroy your life without really trying

Being a good girl and taking your medication makes you feel safe and reassured that things are going to be stable. Start getting into a daily rhythm and maintaining a regular sleeping pattern because they are what keep the swing at bay. (so the doctors say anyways)

And for a while, things actually are quiet and normal. And boring.

Then, slowly the body clock starts creaking. Able to only sleep later. And later. Oh and hanging out with friends which inevitably involve alcohol so having to skip a few dosages. Suddenly sleep becomes an elusive...female dog. Bipolar affects people differently and for me, once sleep decides to not visit me anymore, I'm pretty much screwed.

The swing comes. It goes high and it's exhilarating. Hm. Maybe it's not so bad! It's awesome! My stuff is all packed and neat! I'm buying this, eating that and going wherever that pops into my mind! This is so FUNNY! That is HILARIOUS!!!

Suddenly something small happens. And this trivial incident, that my friend could not understand why I just was not able to brush off, causes an emotional domino fallout. Despair. Hopelessness. Misery. Warning bells ring and the mad scramble to regain control starts. But when the increased dosage of prescribed sleeping pills does not work as well as it should, that's when one is royally screwed.

Monday is coming again and with that comes work. There is nothing left but the dreaded last resort - anti-psychotics. Maybe no one will notice the aftermath of a mind on the brink of destruction.

Thanks for the light

I believe there's a God. In fact, to be more specific, I believe there's One True God, a singlar power of pure goodness. However, I do not believe there's a Devil. Most people usually gasp disapprovingly at this 'selective' believing, insisting that if you believe in one manifestation, the other is a must. Like a bottle of wine and a wine opener, one cannot exist with meaning without the other. Don't get me wrong, I believe Evil exist. Evil, like Goodness, is a potential energy, a result of an act that people choose to do or an inclination of one's nature. I just don't think that there is a mystical individual who is the corporeal entity of Evil.

To me, God is a different story compared to those told by men. God is the creator, the watcher and the Judge in the court of appeals. God starts/create things and watches as it ends, as how all things must for new things to be begin. When we are at peace with it, we call it 'running its natural course'. When we are not happy about it, we call it 'bad things happening'. And sometimes, it's because the collision of humans' choices/decisions and nature's behavior just simply came to a head. It sucks but it is what it is.

However, I believe that whenever God intervenes, God only does so as the Judge in the court of appeals. In other words, when The Singlar Power of Pure Goodness intervenes, only good things happen and miracles are the result.

I know God exist because when things get bad, somehow something will happen, out of the blue and of a impossible mathematical possibility, that will shine a tiny light into the darkness. And that small ray of light sometimes is just enough for one to see the path, albiet full of rocks and hurts one's feet, but at least one notices the cliff one is about to walk over.

So whenever The Singlar Power of Pure Goodness intervenes, I give thanks for two things - thanks for reminding me that you are here and thanks for the light.

Magic mania

Imagine being on high alert all the time and the mind is racing, creating backstories and conjuring reasonings/explainations for everything. The kids from school going home at 8pm. The noisy group of gossipmongers. The too cool for school crowd hanging out till late in town. Notice everything and pretty soon it's information overload. Breathing gets rapid, need to close the eyes and plug in a foreign language song to de-stimulate and decompress all the speeding thoughts and rising emotions. But oh the creativity that comes with the magic! The beautiful high, the fast response of the mind during conversations and the hidden delight of seeing the matrix behind the dull surroundings. Who would want to take the stupid pills (not that the anti-psychotic pills are stupid, but that they make one stupid) when the mania takes over?

Psych Ward 101

I don't really remember much actually. All I do retain are bits and pieces of what happened the way I perceived it while it happened. So basically things were just outright confusing and scary from the get go.

I woke up in a unfamiliar room, with no clue how I got there, feeling all drugged up and paranoid. Where the fuck was I? How did I get here? Where is here? What's going on? Plus all the other residue paranoid thoughts that I already had running in the background of my mind before the hospitalization, I was a total train wreak that was all but just one station away from screaming bloody murder.

There's a door. I got up. Opened it, stuck my head out and took a peek. There's a hallway. I gingerly stepped out, taking in my environment. There's a paper pasted on the door directly in front of my room. It has "AWOL risk" on it. I turned left and walked down the hallway. There's a payphone on my right. Then comes a room with people and tables and chairs in it. I stand at the doorway, unsure what to do. This is where I stop remembering things in linear fashion. I remember being very frighten and moments from freaking out but willing myself to keep calm. Someone asked if I was "my name" and I nodded. Food appeared. I asked for a pencil. The nurses were old and wrinkled and kinda mean. They upset me. I took the food back to the room. There were other doors similar to mine which means there were other rooms. And from what I now can see from my admission documents, I then got myself busy scribbling all sorts of names, words, things down on those papers. A nurse came into the room, scolded me for bringing food in and took it away. I didn't touch it yet and I was hungry. I remembered her for that.

Time passed. Bits and pieces again. The room had a funeral feel to it. The bed was not a fancy hospital bed. It sinks when you lie on it and under the sheets the actual mattress was rubbery and felt melty. Above the bed was a big white box. (which was just a light box) Somehow my brain then decided that I was sent here to die. The white box melts whoever lies on the bed into the coffin-like solid but with drawers wooden frame. I had to sleep (sedatives). But I had to stay awake because I didn't want to die. Then I couldn't take it and slept on the desk. Mind you, I just had a lumbar puncture which means someone stuck a HUGE needle into my spine to collect liquid so my back was beyond sore. That means sleeping on a desk half my length was not going to be comfortable, I would be in more pain, more sleep deprived and remain just as paranoid.

They moved me out of the substance abuse unit to the ICU after just a few days probably after all my tests came back normal but I didn't really come out of the psychosis till like three quarters of my stay. Probably because I spent the early parts of it not understanding what was really going on and secretly thinking I can outsmart outplay outlast my captors by pretending to be getting better.

Time passed. Bits and pieces. Friends came and went, fellow crazy people made me even more confused or added on to my delusions, family flew into town, some staff made things worse, some staff made things clearer and I had another psychotic breakdown and two intramuscular injections of anti-psychotics. When you have to be dragged to seclusion, held down and injected, it's not a good thing but at least now I have a name to it.

Psych Ward 101, thy name is Bipolar I most recent episode manic with psychotic features.

The thing about madness

The thing about madness is that we live in a different reality from the rest of the people. We perceive things differently which leads us to react differently and naturally coming off as 'crazy'. If we can have a handle on it just enough to get by as normal for a little while more, the better. Or else things get real bad and that's when the anti-psychotic pills come into the picture.

Yet it's hard to stick to the pills because they make me so painfully aware that I'm stuck in a creative rut, colors get muted and words paint a duller picture.

So it's a choice and a sacrifice either way. I hope for the sake of my life my chemically off balanced brain makes the right one when the time comes.

Hiatus

This is a story that I'll keep short, but it will be lengthen in days to come. Something significant happened that caused this long break in between posts and really, I kinda had it coming.

I went...mad.

Ludicrous

Do you know how apathetic or insensitive alot of people in Asia are to "accidental deaths"?

I was 16. Out of a homeroom of 40 students, there were only 9 girls. Naturally, we girls formed quite a bond and got very protective of each other although we may not know one as well as the other. The school had around 10 or so homerooms per grade. There were only 5 grades. Basically, it's a damn small school.

One day there was news spreading around that a girl from one of the lower grade passed away. Accidentally fell off her high rise apartment building. But not from her home apartment, rather, just outside her unit somewhere along the open-air corridor. For that to happen, she had to on-purposely climb over the solid smooth concrete safety barrier which was to the height of my neck and had no stepping-stone design whatsoever as my eyes had observed. That's one hell of a determined climb, if not probably made easier by a conscious act of physically moving something there to prop oneself up and over the barrier. And the barrier was not designed to be sat on while enjoying the glorious horizon - unless you have a death wish. It had a long horizontal metal rod on it which would make it very uncomfortable and more importantly, unstable, to sit on.

She was the younger sister of one of us 9 girls. My classmate's childhood friend was a close guy friend of mine. In fact, both girls were his childhood friends. He was there with the family all throughout the crisis and the media circus that followed after. The whole damn world including him claimed it was accidental, ludicrously trying to explain the mechanics of how it happened. Obviously I wasn't there, it wasn't decent to challenge grief stricken people and the family did not need to deal with the added burden/stigma especially since it would be blown up as the media was involved. So I respected what I was told/heard and told my inner Sherlock Holmes to let it go.

Few days later we had a physics class and the teacher was ill so we had the Substitute. She was a middle-aged lady who I can tell have no malice in her heart whatsoever. Eager to be liked and is the definition of "not jaded at all". Half way through teaching about mass, acceleration and force, we took a break and she decided it was a good time to ask the class if we knew about "the girl in the news".

Silence. You could hear the eyeballs looking at each other and then at this female classmate.

No one said a word. Lady then wondered out aloud if we knew which homeroom the girl was in or what her name was or if we knew anyone who knew the girl. Erm. Wow. The lady, ever so clueless, thought that we as kids probably were not as informed because we ain't the news watching kind of demographic so she decided to dish out the 'details' of this case to us and comment on the matter with her media molded opinion. In her defense, the media had never mentioned that 'the girl' had a sister in the same damn school. Her ramblings started to become a little judgmental and presumptuous and a mutual friend (we're still friends for a reason and you know who you are) decided it's enough by requesting to return to the physics. Lady was so perplexed by our unwillingness to listen to this juicy gossip and unexpected desire for physics. She started a few attempts for our interest and maybe engagement in the topic but my friend would just simply reply on behalf of the class, "Yeah, ok, you're right. Interesting. Now let's go back to the work" every single time.

Lady finally realized that something is up and is about to get back into the physics...or so we thought. She looked at the the drawing she drew on the board to illustrate how mass, acceleration and force worked and decided that using 'the girl from the news' would make understanding the concept easier. I kid you not - she literally joked about how if the girl was XX mass and gravity/acceleration/whathefuckever was XX, we could calculate the force.

Now, is this just being apathetic or insensitive? Does it mean that if we did not know the person, or people related to the person, it makes it ok to for us to belittle what happened? So what if we didn't know the person or didn't really know if it was an accidental death? What happened to common human decency, empathy and basic respect for the dead? How did we as a people, as a society become like...this? And don't you dare brush her off as an anomaly. Because convincing yourself that there isn't a problem isn't going to make the problem go away. It would just make it as ludicrous as failing to recognize the epidemic that is happening to our society/people by calling it/them "accidental deaths".

It ain't a small world after all

When people say "I'm going to go find myself" they usually don't take a year off to do that. But that's what I did. And yes, this year of Sabbatical technically wasn't supposed to be but it just...became.

I've tried so many different hats, worn different identities. I guess the dress always looks different in your mind than when you are actually in it. Haven't found the perfect fit yet but at least now I have some ideas. Some things can be improved on and some things need to go. The practical part of me is pissed that I spent so much time with nothing to show for but the spiritual side begs, no, politely demands to differ.

Not really sure who I am...but sure as hell know who I'm not. It's not much but I think it might just be enough, for now.

If it's time for me to move on and try this new version of the dress somewhere else, so be it. It ain't a small world after all.

I get by with a little help from my friend

Let not this anger infect my heart,
let not this fear consume my soul.
Dear Lord, Father in Heaven,
I turn to thee,
down on my knees.
I yield to your wisdom
for you are God Almighty.
But if You see it fit,
please be gentle with me?

Hospital adventures of the treasured kind

Being hospitalized is like having a slumber party with strangers. Exciting like a slumber party because you get to spend the night at a place that's not familiar with parental units lurking nearby. Yet terrifying because it's a room full of strangers with pained looks on their faces even when asleep with tubes sticking out of them and fierce middle aged mother-like nurses keeping an eye on you like a disapproving hawk while you watch television till late into the night because you're supposed to be resting/sleeping.

It sucks being sick. It sucks even more when it's happening during the 2003 SARS outbreak and the whole continent is paranoid resulting in enforcing strict hospital visiting policies. Not to mention hospitals are already THE number one place to avoid. With friends not encouraged to visit and parents having to work, I was bummed and bored. So I spent my time being a translator for two lovely ladies who had been bed mates for quite a while but as one could only speak English and the other only Mandarin, their daily interactions consisted only of gestures, eye contact and an abundance of smiles. I must say, for 2 people who have never exchanged a single verbal word with each other, they somehow managed to form a strong friendship with an easy understanding. Me being bilingual and translating was just a small bonus for them and not surprisingly, their conversations reflected the bond they have formed. Family, husbands and current events were just the few topics they touched on amongst many conversations. When our fellow room bed mate started going dangerously crazy and had to be physically restrained to be transferred to Psych, the incident naturally became the focus of one of the most animated conversation for them and leaving me finding the whole predicament I was in very amusing.

Despite the strict hospital visiting policies, V surprised me by showing up. We were hanging out in the common room when my parents surprised us by showing up. She left and after much allaying of my parents worries, they left. I went to take a long ass shower as I had 2 huge ass IV line thing stuck in both hands. It was a painful operation that left me quite annoyed. When I came out of the bathroom the nurses chided me for being such a disappearing act patient. Not really their fault, I snuck out to 7-11 with V earlier (hospital food = yuck) and we gave them quite the nuclear panic attack. Oops. I got escorted to my bed by a nurse determined to make me feel guilty and I noticed that there was a note on my food table.

"Sleep well huh - V"

Being sick ultimately didn't suck that badly afterall.

That Day

The sound of pain echoed in his mind. It was a small car and the radio was on but over the forgettable pop music of 2005 was the unmistakable stifled quiet sobbing. "So this is how sorrow sounds like." The lights turned red in the distance just before the entrance of the freeway. He rolled the car to a stop, tormented over if he should turn to look at his daughter. There was so much he wanted to do but he couldn't. He knew why she would react like this and the difference between knowing and seeing was exactly how he expected - gut wrenching and visceral. He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, that this maybe shouldn't hurt as bad as it should but he also knew that those two choices would be thrown right back at his face. He just didn't know what to say to ease her pain. As a young man he knew this day would one day come, where something would happen which would totally destroy his little girl and there's nothing he can do but watch as she struggles not to completely fall apart.

A sigh. The lights are going to change soon. He would have to drive on the freeway, eyes straight ahead and mind occupied. With that, a father's instinct overwhelmed and he turned.

Her headphones was on and she was looking far into the distance, away from him. There was nothing he can say that she could listen. A brief false relief. Suddenly her body twitched. And then again. And once more.

Her heartache became his heartbreak.

If he gets rejected, so be it. He reached out and tenderly placed his hand on her shoulder. She stiffen. A squeeze. She didn't push him away but she also didn't react in any other way.

The lights turned green and a father and daughter went on with their day.