Your Humble Narrator

Paranoid Android.

Well now, that's true.

Happy birthday, dear Lin Zixin: good neighbour, classmate, walking-home-mate, schoolmate, busmate and fellow treehouse-resider.

I hope you like your donuts.

... Why did that sound dirty?

This is very strange, but I'm listening to Collective Soul at the moment and Collection of Goods makes me feel like I live in a television show.

Or it could just be one of those I-have-an-affinity-with-this-song kind of thing.

But it really makes me feel like I'm living in a television series. It's the background soundtrack of my life.

Ah somebody call psych ward.

It could also just be the rain.

I realise my first encounter with death shoved in my face was when I was eleven.

My orthodontist died of cancer.

Cancer.

When she knew about it she quit practise immediately and went to doing something she liked.

She published a comic book. Days after, my mother said she saw her picture in the obituaries.

I think I was too young then to realise the gravity of the situation she was in. I probably didnt even know what the hell cancer did to anyone, except that they went bald. I was too young even to realise they went bald because of chemotherapy, not the cancer.

Isn't it strange?- it's been six years since this happened and suddenly, on a rainy saturday afternoon everything sort of comes back, more real than before, which is strange since...

Well, it happened.

I still have the book on my shelf.

Which brings me to the question: would you like to leave this place painlessly and quickly, in a fraction of a second or would you like to be told you had half a year to live, albeit in pain?

Which really brings me to my next muse: why do people commit suicide and others fight so hard on surgical tables, spending six-figure sums just to stay alive?

Which finally brings me to my last point:

All hail Edward Monkton. If you dont know who he is, do try googling him. I need an Edward Monkton in my life.

07042007; 05:35pm