Like this:

I thought of writing out a long awesome post about my Philippines trip, but something major cropped up unexpectedly to my friend. I hate when life is not carried by a flowerly carriage driven by the 12 ponies of destiny and real world problems kick in. I wish for so many things, but these things do happen to the best of us.

My friend only recently told me his father was diagnosed with cancer AT A TERMINAL STAGE. Having cancer is bad enough, but terminally? That sucks royally, I can’t even begin to describe how majorly stoned I was when I heard it. I have never had to deal with this kind of things from my friends because we weren’t at that age yet. Now that we are, it sucks because I know it will only get more and more. People grow old, people don’t live forever, sry2say.

I remember it was my second year in poly and in the middle of having lunch with my classmates, I was told by my parents to hurry to the hospital. It was so surreal, having to skip Dimuthu’s Programming class (Partly because I have never skipped class in my life) and having to experience such an event. How much of a fool I was to think that this would never happen to me. There laid my Grandmother, with tubes all over her body and the breathing aid pumping air into her body. It was such a gruesome sight, I couldn’t think properly. All any other normal human being, I wanted to do something. Something that might be of use, like saying something useful. But I couldn’t. I’m just not that kind of person, does that make me evil?

Few days in, my father had this awkward session of “expressing our feelings” to my grandmother. It felt so forced and uncomfortable for me and from an outside view, it looked like I didn’t care at all. I do, I really do. I did what I could, I obeyed any request that was given to me and did it in half the time anyone did, because that was how I expressed myself.

Almost 4 years on, I still have that traumatic aura over me. I still can’t express myself fully to my friend who definitely needed my concern at that point of time. I felt like kicking myself in the face. I always strive to be someone that people can come to when they need emotional support because I shamelessly go to others for that. Maybe one day it will take another life-changing event to make me realize I don’t have my whole life to tell people what I feel. Maybe.

Even though I always say how much I detest my father, I cannot truly imagine what would happen if something were to happen to him. I don’t have the courage to accept something like that so easily, much less not feeling emotional about it. Some people talk about the measurement of love. How is that humanly possible? How can love be measured by mere constants like self-perceived volume and time? Love does not need a measuring tube.

Entries like that make my heart heavy. I need a good rest.

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