I was listening to the news on radio this morning on my way to work and one piece of the news was on the last words of the poor lawyer who had youth and a bright career but was forcibly taken away by the stupid slaves of the Devil we called terrorists.

In her last few moments in this world, Ms Lo called her husband and sent an email to her closest friends via her Blackberry. She told her husband, now made a widower, that she loved him, and she ended off her email to her friends by saying, if I don’t make it out of here, I love you all.

That last bit almost got my tears.

I wondered what I would have done, who I would have called, what I would have said. No matter what, I would be certain, that these people who have come to my mind at such a critical time, would have been the loves of my life.

But why wait until a moment like this to tell them that you love them?

Why only do so when there’s nothing more you can give to them but words?

If you know you are going to die tomorrow, you will do it today. But you never think that tomorrow may really be your last, do you?

But what if it is? Who can say for sure that it won’t be? Then are you going to be one of those who go with remorseful regrets? Man is silly. We do not know how to cherish it until we lose it. We do not see it until it disappears right in front of our eyes. We wait until it is all too late. We fight every day. Yet we do not know what we are fighting for. Or we are fighting for and wasting our time on what ain’t really important, instead of spending it on more meaningful things.

I don’t know about you, but I live every day as if it is my last. Because it just may. Don’t name me pessimistic because I am far from it. As I’ve always said, there’s nothing more certain in life than death. Because no matter how much you try to avoid it, it will definitely arrive at your doorstep one day. Yet of course, there’s nothing as unpredictable as well. When you have accepted death, only then will you know how to live. Death itself is not scary because you know that it will be both your and my final destination; to die with such regrets is probably the scariest.  

“Regret for time wasted can become a power for good in the time that remains, if we will only stop the waste and the idle, useless regretting.”
– Arthur Brisbane


Today I was watching the news on the tragic death of young Singaporean lawyer Ms Lo Hwei Yen on television and her sister described her as someone who “made everyone around her really happy, because she’s a very driven, very passionate person”. I read the news and friends described Ms Lo as “bubbly”, “bright”, “confident” and “outgoing”.

Then I wondered.

What would friends, ex-classmates or acquaintances have to say about me if I died?

When the reporter pushed the microphone to them, would they open their mouths and find no words coming to them? Found themselves so dumbfounded that they let their jaws hung embarrassingly?

*sigh* That sounds even more tragic than my death. That is if anyone would find my passing tragic and regrettable at all. Fortunately I would already be dead, so I would not have to find a hole to bury my head in shame. My whole body would have been buried deep down underground by then.

Come on, this is not a morbid thought. Anyone would have given a thought to this matter.

You mean you have never? *gasp*

Singaporean hostage killed in Mumbai

The most unfortunate and feared has finally happened.

There is no longer anything I can do but hope that her death was at least dignified and as painless as possible.

May her soul rest in peace.

On the fifth day, which was a Sunday, it rained very hard. I like it when it rains hard . It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.

– Chapter 157, Page 103, line 20

I like rain too.

The heavy downpour outside when I am comfortably indoor, preferably enjoying a cup of hot Ear Grey and watching the big raindrops spattering mercilessly on the grey pavements, the dull buildings, the soulless glass windows, threatening to erode everything they can lay themselves onto. I like it when it is so noisy that it blocks out every other sound. There is actually a form of tranquility in which I can seek calmness and peace and yet surprisingly no melancholy of any sorts.  

I like lightning too. The bolts slash across the sky like some Picasso painting, decorating the dark gloomy sky, bedazzling everyone in sight. They can be so beautiful. Unless you are struck by one. Then again, death will fall upon you so fast that you won’t even know what has hit you literally. And if you believe in Heaven, then don’t worry because you will be in somewhere even more beautiful. That is if you really die from the major electric shock. If you survive, well, I will suspect plenty of pain and you will probably need shots and shots of morphine like a drug addict.

I hate thunder. Okay, maybe I am a bit scared of thunder. Not the shriek-cover your ears-run away kind of fear, but definitely the involuntary shrinking kind. Everytime I see a pretty lightning bolt flash across the sky, I am so lost in its beauty that I forget the same electrical discharge that produces one of Nature’s greatest sights also produces a bloody annoying shockwave heard as thunder. That is why the sharp, loud crack always takes me by surprise and scares the shit out of me. Fortunately, sound travels so much slower than light (340 m/s vs 3×108 m/s), so sometimes I do remember and prepare myself for the rude break of the serenity.

Most people do not like rain. They adore the sun. They pray for sunny days and loathe it when it pours. That is unless of course they live in Africa or on the deserts where they can’t wait for the rain to arrive. Singapore feels like a desert sometimes. Especially when you are on an outdoor volleyball court training. I never knew how I survived all those years under the sizzling sun. We used to call our court the Gobi Desert because it was always so bloody hot with no shade at all. I loathe the sun. I cannot stand the heat and I hate how sunlight is too-in-your-face kind of glaring. It damages your eyes and the UV rays increase your risk of skin cancer. Rain is good. It cleans up the atmosphere, washes the dusty roads and pavements, lowers the temperature and is soothing to both the eyes and ears. And mind and soul, if I must say. I like rain (and I am not refering to a particular Korean popstar).

I guess people don’t like rain for the same reason they don’t like sleeping with all the lights off, tunnels, cementaries, mortuaries, hospitals and the Hungry Ghosts’ Festival. They all signify darkness. Death? Maybe. And that’s supposed to be bad because we are supposed to learn to see the light.

But what if I say, to see the light, you must first learn to embrace the dark?

Socrates once said that “Nobody knows, in fact, what death is, nor whether to man it is not perhaps the greatest of all blessings; yet people fear it as if they know it to be the worst of all evils.” I think people fear death because they do not understand it. Just like homophobia. People mock and feel disgusted because they are ignorant. However, in reality, it could have been you. You just happen to be born heterosexual. What if you are the gay one now? Would you still feel like laughing? Genitalia is just the Creator (used very loosely here)‘s way of accessorising, baby.

Death is even better. Because it will happen to every single freaking Homo sapiens on this earth. You can’t run away from it and it’s not going to say “here I come” when it hits you hard and fatal. Well, not most of the time anyway. I seek solace in death in a way or two. There is certainly nothing in this world, nothing at all, that is as definite as death and as inevitable. There is nothing under the sun or moon that you can take for granted other than death. From the day you were born, it came with a day in the future, maybe near, maybe far, when you will eventually die.  

If you can accept your flat nose, negligible boobs, far from impressive stature, insignificant paycheck and bonus, ERPs and inflation all over the globe, what is so difficult about death? Personally, I think the ERPs are worse because I will never be able to afford a car.

Death, the most dreaded of evils is therefore of no concern to us; for while we exist, death is not present, and when death is present, we no longer exist.
                                                                                   – Epicurus

The life support machines say he’s still alive.

Poor guy. 

What about us? 
We don’t have any beeps, or wires, or little white dots telling us we’re alive, so how do we know? I guess we just take each other’s word.

I suspect that is why sometimes I actually like pain. It reminds me of the fact that I’m still alive. As scientifically proven by my beating heart, flowing bloodstream and firing of neurons in my brain.

It’s so much easier to ascertain death.

Bought something really 屌 last week:

Oh yes, it’s a small beetle in a cool metallic dark blue hue (though you can’t really see that in the photos) encased in, well I don’t know, probably some kind of polymer that solidifies to form a clear transparent tough plastic-like prison for the poor dead beetle. The idea resembles the use of amber as a fossil resin to hold small insects since ancient times. Except that amber is in a deep yellow color that spells antiquity with a capital A.

It’s cool right? And the band for the ring is actually colorfully weaved together. Very cheery indeed. It also comes with ants, big red ants, instead of cute little beetles, but I hate ants (-.-). I mean, who on earth will buy an ant to put on their fingers when they can have beetles, right? Don’t you agree??    

I love specimens like this haha. I actually have 2 keychains similar to this ring, which I think I bought from the Singapore Science Centre when I was in primary school during a school excursion. The keychains are much bigger, so of course the beetles are huge haha. I treasure these so much that I’ve never bear to use them because I’m afraid that a knock might chip it.

I also remember when I was young and my mum would bring us to visit the Butterfly Park and Insect Kingdom whenever we went Sentosa because she loves butterflies (which I’ve a gut-wrenching phobia for (T        T) ). I would always try to swiftly run through the park where live scary butteflies in all shapes, sizes and colors fly around freely (eww that spells HELL for me) and run indoor where there’s the museum of specimens of insects of all kinds. (^_^) I don’t know why but I truly enjoy seeing dead bodies of the insects all dried and nicely preserved pinned onto the boards. I seem to find a tranquility in that haha. It might be because I know that these won’t move and can’t scare me in anyway by jumping onto my face suddenly. In this way, I could look super close and examine them carefully. And despite popular belief that insects are ugly and disgusting creatures, most insects come in absolutely brilliant colors, definitely a pretty sight most of the time. (^_^)

Or I might like specimens because I’m just a plain sadist.

Well, that’s for myself haha. Because my blog has been B-O-R-I-N-G, boring!

*sigh* My life has been quite a bit of a slum lately. All energy has been sapped out of me alive. I can hardly squeeze any creative juice out of my pathetic shrinking brain to blog. Yet I can still wake up early on Saturdays, put myself through the whole tiresome morning routine of prepping up, walk 15 minutes under the sadistic scorching sun to the CC for my yoga lesson and spend the next 80 minutes pushing myself to the limit and sweating my arse off. I guess I’m up for anything that can distract me from negative thoughts. Sleeping is also one good way, except when I dream about them and this had to happen just two nights ago. It was such a godamn depressing feeling – it’s worse than thinking about it when you’re awake because you can still control it, but when you are asleep and dreaming, you can’t force yourself awake and have to see your worst nightmare coming “true” right before your eyes.

Blogging is also a big no-no because you stop and think, and that’s bad because you’ll only be more susceptible to it. I speak of it just like how the people in Harry Potter’s world speak of Voldemort as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named haha. Look, I’m not even making sense anymore. I think I’m really losing my balls over here. My sis’ currently doing a Psychology module in school and I saw her lecture notes on her desk yesterday. It was about the different kinds of disorders, like personality, eating, anxiety, mood disorders etc. We discussed and both agreed that I can’t be suffering from bipolar mood disorder since I don’t experience episodes of manic. I can’t be schizophrenic either because while I suffer from occasional delusions, I don’t have hallucinations. Her lecturer showed the class this interesting video of a patient who kept twirling his hair at the top of his head with his fingers as he talked to others. Apparently, he thought there was an antenna up there and he needed to keep adjusting it so that he could hear the “people up there” (aliens?) talk to him. *roll my eyes* Honestly! I don’t have that problem! My antenna’s working just fine! So she thinks I’m a case of dissociative identity disorder. Half of me agrees and half of me don’t. Could that be a sign??!! Anyway that day I read in the newspapers that there was a woman who had 17 different personalities! It’s so crazy! BUT she was actually cured eventually. There, I’ve hope!

Perhaps I just need to keep myself busy, keep myself moving, and hopefully just drop dead and die.

Ok, that last part was a joke. 

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