Thanks for all the love and dedication you put into caring for Jurong Mama.

I’m sorry we didn’t put more effort into helping you, especially when you told us what a difficult time you were having the past few weeks.

We now know better. And truly I wish we had freed you in this life. Thank you 大舅。一路好走。Be free.

I just don’t want to do any work. The problem is that I know what the next steps are to fix the situation I’m in, and to make it better. But if I’m being honest, I don’t see the point of it.

Last week’s unproductiveness could’ve been attributed to the grief and disappointment I felt from my family (and the family business), but I really don’t feel that way anymore.

No more grief or disappointment, I’m just blah and meh and languishing.

Stuck in a pit and too lazy to pull myself out of it because it’s not like I’m drowning here anyway.

The walls are nice and comforting all around me.

A ton of bricks just on the insides. Black and blue.

Heavy and loaded on the down low. And I don’t understand, my bag of secrets no longer full.

So why am I still drowning, still here, at the bottom of the pool?

I’ve introspected, self theorized, and dug for truths.

But the answers are the same, and this chest is cruel.

500 tons, but why? I’ve haven’t a clue.

These past few days have been miserable. The volcano erupted and it was disappointing.

I will forever remember how disappointed I am in you. I will remember how disappointing the outcome of the truth is.

I wish you’d leave.

I recently attended a friend’s wedding where I recognized someone I went to secondary school with. I’d always thought this person was so pretty, her golden hair and large hazel eyes were something that was uncommon in a school full of dark, raven hair. We were in the same classes and had sat near (or next to?) each other for Chinese lessons and she was always kind and friendly.

So whereas ordinarily I wouldn’t approach and say hi to people I knew from way back when, I thought I’d say hi on this particular occasion. I was caught off guard when her response was polite and cool, when after a minute of saying hi and asking about her, she asked, “You’re.. Vera right?”.

Maybe I caught her off guard? This felt a little alienating. Perhaps my memories of childhood friendships are dimmed as I’m older now, as was hers.

Another friendship I remember in Primary school was one with the very first girl my parents identified as my “Forever Friend”.

We were close because of proximity – her house was close to where my parents’ business was. And for the first two or three years in CHIJ we hung out at her house after school, bought candies and played.

In Primary 3 or 4 she approached me in class and told me she wasn’t going to be my best friend anymore. I took the news coolly, because I really didn’t know what to expect or what a difference that makes.

Although as I sat back down in my seat and saw her walk back to her new cooler clique of girl friends, I guess I might have been a little hurt when I realized she didn’t think I was cool enough.

There were many more best friends to be had after that though, and although only one of them has stuck around long enough to be a “Forever Friend”, they have all contributed to fond memories from each chapter of my life and I hope I was a good friend.

“My life started when they said it was over,” is something I wish I could say. Except no one has told me that I was dying. My time is thus far unlimited. Or so it seems.

I could do that now. Just do whatever I want. Except this second round of Covid still seems much more like a nuisance at the moment because of how irritating and dry my throat is and the headaches that come with it.

So I guess this is what being terminally ill feels like. Not being able to do anything I actually want to do because I feel like shit.

Well.. it’s not terminal. My zombie life will restart again once the white strip displays a single red line once more.

Today while walking towards the car I wondered why I chose to do this. To go to the office. To run this thing with the family. To help these other business owners get their stuff out there.

It’s a constant internal struggle. I want so much to stop being involved in the material world. But the things I want to do and the lifestyle I enjoy is much easier with this safety net.

Except, I am giving up my life for it. I know this. I feel this so clearly. Am I a weakling if I stay here? Or am I one if I leave? I’m not sure.

If there’s a clear sign to say that I’m weak because I’m staying, I’d make sure to leave. If there’s one to say I’m weak because I want to leave, I know I’d fight to stay.

But there’s no sign, no indication of anything. Because this isn’t a story written about the past. This is the present I’m in and I don’t know what the future is like yet.

What would I regret more?

Have you ever stayed in a hospital overnight before? I asked C. What do you mean? He asked incredulously. Yes, when I went for my surgery.

Oh you were there overnight? Was that your first time? No. I stayed that time when my nose bled.

Were you alone? My mother stayed with me.

I just had this exchange with C because I started reading a book that had a description about how time didn’t exist in the hospital, much like in clockless casinos.

I’ve never slept in a hospital overnight, I told C. Choy! Dai Ga Lei Si.

This reminded me of when my mother had cancer and was in the hospital for a time. I remember thinking how we’re truly just alone in birth and in death.

Nobody else really understands the amount or level of pain that you feel, you can really only rely on yourself to get through it.

“Was it scary? I imagine it to be scary.”

“I guess I will know what it’s like in the future.”

Like being in the plane where they artificially dim the lights for night time and people speak in hushed tones, nurses or air stewards and stewardesses walk around doing their thing?

That’s what I think being in the hospital at night feels like.

One day I will look back and imagine what it’s like to be me now. To not have to go through sleeping overnight in a hospital, feeling all alone in the world.

So I thought I’d record this here because one day when that comes I’d like to remember what it’s like. To not know. There was once when I did not know.

Business. Busy-ness. The idea that success looks like your time is worth more than mine. People who think they’re smarter than you are. People who want to look or sound smart.

You may have more experience but you might not be better, more capable or smarter. Experience can be mined. You’ve put in the time but I can do that too.

Sometimes I wonder if I should act like a bimbo just so I can get away with things. But I like being honest. I like being transparent. I may look silly or careless or naive but at least I’m real.

So just be honest in business, because you should want everyone to win.