I Hitched A Ride With My Soul By The Side Of The Road Just As The Sky Turned Black

Wanna hear the saddest story, kids?

Here's one. And it's real.

I have a patient. Thirty plus. He has brain tumor. Now tumors are tricky sons of bitches, they are these ticking bombs waiting to explode in your body.

And it did to him.

He came in walking, smiling and talking to us. Then his tumor bled out. Now he drifting in and out of consciousness.

His wife was crying her heart out by the corridor when the surgeons told her that there was nothing they can do further. That western medicine was a cheap shot and there is nothing they could do. They could only make him as comfortable as possible.

That means loading him with inhumane doses of painkillers and sedatives.

The young wife stayed on. She was there for the entirety of the day and only went back home to shower. Eventually when she found out that she could sneak and use the patient's bathroom to shower, she gave up going home altogether. She wanted to be with him until his very end.

The cancer pain. It was a pain like nothing we have ever seen. The pain was so tormenting that it seems physically real. He would wring and groan to nightmares that were never there. He would pull his hair, his tubes and his wife, trying to defend himself from something.

The wife stood by him every moment of the way, called us up for painkillers, sponged him, messaged him and even once apologized when she has fallen asleep. That was four in the morning.

Every minute of his life, she fights to stay with him. Every single second she wants to be there.

What kind of love is this?

Today she was told that at best he would live for three months. She nodded her head and just went back to sat by her husband, pulling his hand over hers and slept on his shoulder.

Three months from now she will lose him forever. I kept thinking to myself that there are so many things I will be doing three months from now. I will get my house and I will be married.

And he will be gone by then.

Three months are just days away.

The Dreams We Have As Children Fade Away

I was doodling on the table while blasting away Oasis' Fade Away.

'What's that?' She asked about the music that bore clashing drums and crying guitars.

'That's Oasis.' I replied without looking up. I drew bugged out eyes, snapping my mechanical pencil leads in serial succession.

'So that's the band that you will be going to their concert this April?' She said, holding her mug to her lips. She was interested in what I do. That's rare.

'Yup.' I grunted without tearing my eyes from my doodle. I reached over for an eraser and decided to rub off everything.

'If you had like them so much, how come I have never hear you playing their songs before?' She exclaimed.

'What?' I spun away and looked at her. I'm offended, sort of. I'm like their biggest fan.

But she will never understand. My glaze soften and I returned my focus back to my drawing.

'Uh huh.' I grunted.

I have decided gingerly that I'm gonna elope with another female fan at their concert in Singapore this April.

Gutter Sex And Neon Thunder

I shouldn't be here. I should be working instead. Working as not in nursing but on the nursing newsletter I'm contributing. Actually I think I'm not supposed to talk about the newsletter because it's an official newsletter and my presence here might conflict against it because of my incessantly tactless journals at this site.

The point is I should be cracking my head on the lip of the glass bowl and hopefully bleed my yolk of wisdom, zeal and restrained humanity. But I can't. Given a cubicle in an office, the right picture would be that I will clicking impulsively on email jokes. Procrastinating indefinitely. The best hobby in the world - doing utterly surreal stuff that you shouldn't be doing at that moment. I'm struck in that zone where I cannot work or rest properly. Like when you have too much coffee and you cannot sleep, nor can you rest. Your world hop agonizingly. The human molecule. 

This is the result of insisting to sleep for only two hours after getting off night shifts.

This year is a big year. Was planning to get a degree initially but dived into getting hitched after much discussion with her. A wedding year is a busy year. We did everything on our own. We spent three months house hunting and went to every possible household/electronics/bridal fairs we could. We talked to many people for ideas for weddings and renovations. We been to endless websites for videography, catering and banquet services. It is namecards after namecards, handshakes and single serving beverages. It's smiling and asking and walking and sighing and fighting and sleeping late. There was even a twelve hour span we blazed the pouring rain to knock on doors of a dozen hotels.

We even went to the zoo to enquire about their banquet service. Seriously, zoo wedding rocks! At evening the guests could admit into the zoo with their wedding invitations where they will be ushered onto a looping tram. The tram would bring them to the wedding reception where they will be served cocktails beside a streaming koi pond. The couple will arrive in horse drawn carriage. How outrageous is that? In my opinion, horse drawn carriage beats everything any hotel offers hands down. Hands down I say! You can offer me free booze, luxurious bridal suite or even wedding at an evening poolside, but you ain't beating a grand entrance via horse drawn carriage. I will be so cool!

Well that aside, it will still not happen in the zoo.

But Chumbawumba will happen! Sort of.

'Never compromise. Not even in the face of Armageddon.'

The film stays very true to the book. But it has no climax. Alan Moore is right - not everything is meant to be presented on the silver screen. With the book, the climax is the saturated wisdom and craftiness beneath the panels of colors and colors of horrors.

But I have to give credit to the movie for at least making him right.

He is the coolest vigilante.

Because he is not locked in here with us.

We are all locked in here with him.

Losing My Religion

Because I can.

And I choose D.

It is written.

So fight destiny.

Pissin' The Night Away

It's only natural that I want it to be all me.

The wedding that we if not everyone else can remember for the longest time.

With rock bands, songs from the nineties, dancing, chinese kites, golden balloons, tapping shoes, movie quotations and flying pies.

It's only natural.

And then the lights go out and I wake up to an authentic traditional let-me-paint-the-walls-with-my-balls super dull wedding banquet. Yes. That all so familiarity in the soaking ten course substandard food that goes round on the table that sits ten strangers and they could barely see the bride or the groom on the horribly decorated stage. With a loud and chesty 'Yam Seng!', the forgettable charade will be over.

I cannot believe that that's no Chumbawumba.

The Thoughts That Makes Me Old

 

Night shift. Zero Two Twenty Six Hours.

Funny how I would always only write numbers in letters. Word for word.

I'm surrounded by ventilators and thrashing ceiling fans and suckling sounds of electronic beep.

And exhale.

Because we all need to breathe.

All we wanted is someone to run along and tell us that nothing is going to be the same anymore.