Too intense

"Hou mij vast,

Leg mijn hoofd licht op je schouders.

Hou mij vast ,

Steel me zachtjes door mijn haar

Hou mij vast,

Soms wordt het eventjes te veel,

Bij jou zijn is dan alles wat ik wil..."

I was in a store, some kind of boutique selling unique and Japan-imported goods. I was there just browsing. 

Mum and I frequented such stores often when I was younger. She loved walking around and seeing and being amazed by how fine and well designed, how practical and consumer-friendly the goods are. And I enjoyed those moments with her (though at times is get annoyed for it takes hours and id get bored...) for sometimes she would buy me little treats and candies, or the store owner would give me something to play with or eat.

I seem to recognise this particular store and the elegant middle aged lady who ran it. I looked intensely at some good that looked like  some kind of soft animal but had a useful application(I forget what for now).

The lady recognised me and greeted me warmly. "Ah, it's you! Did you come back from abroad? Where are you living, the US?" She smiled so friendily and asked me to take my time browsing. I didn't really have a chance to reply. She continued. "How's your mama doing? Haven't seen her for the longest time!" I didn't say much, just smiled weakly and continued to go around the store.

I looked around a bit more. Then I picked up a few goods for her to scan. "Oh, if you buy two more you can get a little toddler's bag!" I said that would be perfect for my little nephew.

"Oh, and your mum has store credits of some NT$6000! You can use them up!"

Then, I don't know why, I broke the news. "Mama left last year..."

Perhaps I was too quiet when I said that, so i repeated again. "She left already..." The lady's expression did  change  the first time, and now it as clear her smile disappeared completely. 

"How? How is that possible? So soon..." She cried. Big tears fell down her cheeks. And I began to cry too. I couldn't help it. Here was another lady who knew mum. And I cried more as the lady recounted how often mum used to go that store and what a pleasant and warm hearted person mum was. I cried even more...

I woke up in one of those experiences when you are crying in the dream but also begin to cry in real life. I sobbed so loudly that my cat who was lying by my feet became so scared she jumped off the bed. I buried my face in the blanket, allowed the tears to soak the blanket. The wail, the sobbing sound, the tears and saliva seeping out were so intense and powerful... "Mama... Mama..." I cried out. 

If she could see now.

She can see me now. 

She must be hurting. 

I am hurting. Tremendously, all by myself. 

Another great way to start the day

It's a just a phone

I came home, ten to twelve, and I began to cry. My cat greeted me and showered me with affection. I've been gone the entire day, she must miss me much. I couldn't help but cry when I saw her. It's been such a long day at work and trying to keep emotions at bay after a very vivid dream. And everything culminated with the three hour opera I sat through. To top it off, I went to help an "auntie" with something, and we suddenly started talking about family and loss...

She said even after all these years, she still thinks and misses her parents. She said sometimes sitting in the metro, she imagines the parents here and being able to give them a better life here. But that could never be. Even after so many years, she still falls sad and cries. And how long has it only been for me?

No, it's not that I dwell and I linger and wallow in pain and grief. I don't. I get up, try to go about my day, hope to work and be productive, but then everything just falls flat. My mood, my energy levels, my motivation, my drive, my life force... all just deflates, without reason, without warning. What is the purpose of doing all these mundane things? Where is the meaning behind anything? Why live if there is no one to live with you, to share with you in your pains and joys, your triumphs and failings? Life loses meaning after loss, and it is hard, so very hard to find meaning and yourself again.  It is hard, the auntie said to me, because she knows and understands. And hearing her say that she knows made me cry...

She reminded me of what mum said to her when they met back in 2010. Mum's greatest worry was me, not my brother because he's got a family now, but me. I'm "weak", in the sense that I'm sentimental and easily affected by what others say...

Today was a prime example. I bought a new phone, something I've been planning to do for over a year, a brand I've been eying for even longer. A beautifully made and very functional HTC One, that according to the reviews gets higher ratings than anything Apple or Samsung has been able to bring out (or rehash...). I posted a picture of my new phone online, within a short time my brother commented all outraged that I bought the phone without consulting him and making me like I'm a fool for buying something substandard when there are (according to him) so many other better ones out there.

We've not spoken in three weeks. I never receive a word of encouragement when I  am doing something challenging, like that ride for cancer or when I'm slaving for my exams. I do not receive any words of concern when I post sad songs or pictures that capture my mood and sentiments. Not even a thank you from my own brother when I bought a very special (and pricey....!) gift for my nephew for his second birthday. And yet when I post a picture of a phone that I'm personally proud of because it's my personal (and I believe informed...) choice, and made in the very country of my birth (instead of in China where people are paid peanuts and working standards are sub-standard...), I suddenly receive word from him.

It made me so sad to read that message, and I felt like answering or deleting it. But in a way, it shows to the public the relationship we have. Guess I definitely will not be spending Christmas and all that end of the/new year hype with family.

But I cannot be too hard on him, and should probably reflect on myself... being too gullible, being too hopeful and dreamy about how my family would be after both parents are now gone. I never really wanted to heed the message when people told me that we have split up now, that he has his family, and that I have...well, me.  For so long, I thought we could be there for one another, support one another and be encouraging for one another as we both deal with loss and grief. Maybe he's hurting in his own way, maybe he's suppressing all his emotions. Despite all I've written, I do care about my brother, do think of him and his family often... And perhaps I am being unfair because I expect too much and am only setting myself to get hurt and to cry.

Cry because I know and am reminded again life will never ever be the same again, and that, like that note I wrote to myself upon my return to Canada last September and stuck to the kitchen cabinet door, I am on my own now.

Lakmé

I've only heard pieces of the opera and never realised what it was about or what the name of the opera is. Lakmé, named after the daughter of a conservative Hindu Brahmin in the times of British India, the story is one of love, beauty and tragedy. 

Perhaps the most famous score was made more famous by the British Airways "boarding music" in the late 1990s. The "Flower Duet" is only one of the dozens of poetic and melodic pieces of the opera about unexpected and forbidden love between people from two different cultural backgrounds whose thoughts and souls are so intricately linked yet whose backgrounds, duties, families tear them asunder. 

The original lyrics is written in French, and simultaneously displayed along side the english translation as the opera singers sing on stage. Again, I discovered what a rich and profound language French is, fueling my desire to want to continue improving it. The words are clear, flowery and flow smoothly to touch you deeply and enrich your senses an passions and very core as a human being. 

Tragedy it is, and in the end one  lover must die. But this is preceded by countless exchanges and declarations of their love for one another. I sat there and watched and teared at some points, terribly moved and yet also terribly reminded of my own love tragedy, one that seems to drag on and on and have no end in sight-- a tragedy and constant source of distraction and haunting that I cannot dispel and seems to affect only me deeply now. And that is tragic to be tangled in emotions that do not die, be tormented by memories and hopes that do not fade, and to seemingly be the only one left who feels this way and knows how it feels to be afraid to love again, to be distrustful of everyone, because the hurt was too deep, because the hurt comes from within and comes from myself.

The opera ends with the male lead clinging onto the limp body of the heroine. He mourns her death, suicide because she wrongly thought that she had lost him to honour and duty of serving his country temporarily. She is no more. But he too cannot live any more. Only the priest, the gorl's father sings out loud: may the heavens take her and welcome her to eternal life away from the sufferings and miseries of the world...

Sous le dome epais ou le blanc jasmin 
A la rose s'assemble, 
Sur la rive en fleurs, riant au matin, 
Viens, descendons ensemble. 
Lentement glissons, sur le flot charmant, 
Et d'une main nonchalante 
Ridons doucement 
L'onde fremissante ; 
Viens, gagnons le bord 
Oil la source dort, 
Ou I'oiseau chante...

Dream

I suddenly woke up, almost an hour before my alarm was to go off. The sky was still dawning. 

I sighed and closed my eyes. Images of mum lingered on my eye lids.

I saw her chatting on the phone to a phone. She used to do that, sometimes for hours. There were a few people who used to call every day to check on her and her health, and they would talk about family and life, talk about news and stocks sometimes. To these "aunties", an to an uncle in particular, I am so grateful...

In the dream, mum sat on the edge of her bed. She sounded excited, but there was a point when the conversation became intense. 

In the next scene, mum was lying next to me, stroking my hair the way she used to do (I miss that now, even though before I sometimes found that to be too much, too intimate and "clingy"...)

And she began telling me about dad. For some years dad didn't go home but moved out. It was never clear where he went or what he did, and we suspected he had an affair...

In the dream, mum said he admitted to her that he met this woman at a bar be frequented, a place downtown called "Three Moons", 三月Somehow I saw and knew the place in my dream. She apartheid to be calm and had accepted it. Things are ok now between dad and mum, she suggested.

She continued to talk and I lay next to her, looking at her face the way I used to... She stated talking about fengshui, about the importance of finding a good house suitable for me to live in. She spoke quietly about having a family, and her regrets not being able to be there...

It was as if she knew. She knew she was leaving me. She knew. She knew their would be one of our last talks. She knew. It felt likethe last time I talk to her, hear her voice, hear her motherly advice.

I buried my face in her side, teared softly. I did that before, a few times those brief few week she was home between being discharged after her spinal surgery and being readmitted for excessive vomiting.

Those days she was home we spoke often, we struggled with whether to return to the hospital for more treatment or whether to stay home and prepare for the "end" at home. It was a painful struggle, and I don't know how we survived and went through all that... In the dream the conversations, those sentiments and that motherly affection and 

 

Loss and moving forward

 Just days before mum left this  world, I sat next to her and held her hand. Even though she was in discomfort, even though her bones and organs were sore and on the verge of giving up, even though she had trouble mustering the energy to breathe, let alone speak, she told me how worried she was about me.

She was worried about my life, about the lack of any significant other in my life, worried about who would care about me and care for me. I smiled and said I couldn't change that.

Closely related to life, at least in our culture, is having a home, and mum was worried I didn't have a home a place where I can call my own. "Compared to your brother, you have nothing...." she said.
I said, and promised I will try and do something about that.

But for the past 15 months since she left, I have done very little about it. I am tired, so tired so much of the time, it is nothing anyone can really understand. And I have been so lost as to where to start. Until three months ago, a friend referred me to an agent she said I could really trust. We spoke once on the phone, emails a few times, and for two months nothing.

Until today. We finally met and sat down at a coffee shop. And that sit down lasted for over three hours, three quarters of which we talked about everything else other than househunting and my plans.

We exchanged life stories and experiences, and though she is so much older, we share many similar sentiments towards loved ones and life. This was my experience also with people in my bereavement group, everyone of whom were so many, many (many!) years older.  But death and loss is not about age, it's about the personal experience, the personal connections and attachments. And truly, as I have learned again and again, and again today, when someone has not experienced death up close and personal, when someone has not seen a loved one die in front of you, it is hard to imagine what loss really is about, and how one can move forward (not move on, but move forward...)

There's no right or wrong way, never too many or too few tears. As I read somewhere recently (even 15 months after her passing I'm still learning about the process of loss...), we don't move on from loss, we move forward with it. Every day passed, every memory recollected, every tear shed, we are one step closer to coexisting with loss and trying to find a "new normal" in the changed circumstances of our lives.

She sat and talked about her dad, who passed eleven months ago. Just the mere mention of "dad" brought back memories and tears she could not contain. I recounted my graduation, those final weeks at the hospice trying to comfort mum and seeing her suffer and trying to be strong for visitors and my own brother, and I teared too. We spoke about the way things were, about the love that was and is now lost forever and can never, ever be replaced. The smiles, the childhood memories, the arguments, the trips together, the hugs and touches, and very idea that the other person is just a phone call (or plane ride...) away. No more. No more. Life and loss are such personal, personal experiences, such personal, personal feelings, emotions and reactions come from life and loss. 

And we learn so much about loss and life from loss. You realise who "real" friends are. You realise that those who only want to be there for the fun times and merry moments and shun you or call you strange or say that you have changed are not really people you can lean on in friendship or in anything. I hear this from every one I've met who has lost a loved one. And it is sad, because people who are grieving are those who need understanding and compassion the most, yet often times receive the least understanding or time from those who are prepared to be there. The lady echoed my sentiments, and shared her own frustrations.

Loss teaches you many things, about yourself and about others.  You realise life is so much bigger than money, career, degrees and prestige, pride and winning over little battles about who is right or wrong. Life is, life can be, so much more. Only if you try, only if you allow yourself to be fully who you are. Life is not happier slaving away at some desk or trying to please difficult bosses and clients. Life is not happier with six figure salaries, trips around the world or tonnes of possessions or the latest gadgets. Life is richer with love, richer when you can give and when you can smile and laugh at yourself and at life. Life is richer with passion, with a loved one you truly, deeply and passionately care about and cannot let go off, not because of the physical attraction or emotional attachment, but because you know a significant part of you will die if you do not know about the other person's wellbeing or whereabouts.  The lady shared with me a poem "The Guy in the Glass", which deals with who you should measure yourself against and who can best be the judge of your character.

For the few moments we talked about the housing market and what to look out for, she shared with me some tips and showed me a few places we could start looking at. It was exciting, like a new assignment, mission, that has been given to me. And it was comforting too, that after all these months, after the promise to my mum that I would find a place to call my own, I am taking steps to realising that promise. It is comforting and exciting that yet another one of my promises and life dreams is going to be realised.

It means that despite all the rough moments, the terrible, terrible anxiety attacks and lows I have experienced, despite the loneliness I feel in my daily routine,  I am trying to be strong and better.

And if you really knew how difficult life has been after loss, if you really knew how meaningless life has become after death, you would know how brave have been, and how brave I am trying to be to be still standing.

Blood test

I sat at the health clinic for close to an hour. I felt sick, and sicker seeing all these ill people around me. Worse was this girl opposite me sneezing and coughing. I so wished I had a mask on...

Returning to a health clinic after a silent vow not to return to any institution related to health/sickness was overwhelming. I sat and waited and watched the number inch toward my turn to be seen. Twelve hours of fasting, and I was extremely thirsty...

I entered the examination room, and my body tenses up. The lady tried to make conversation to help me relax, but I couldn't. She took out the syringe out the plastic wrapping, and I turned away. She rolled up my sleeve. I closed my eyes. 

Ingest the prick, one that lasted for over a minute as she drew tube after tube of my blood. I dared not look at the red dye. I looked away. All the time, I thought about mum and all those times she went to the hospital all by herself to get her blood test done and to see the doctor. How difficult it must have been all alone. Today, I felt the difficult and heaviness of going in to have your health examined... 

Oh mum, what have you gone through by yourself all those years ago...

Oh dad, what did you have to face...? 

I so wished somewhere were next to me. Someone to keep me company because hospitals and health are such scary, scary things...

I walked out and was almost in tears. This heaviness descended over me, this tiredness and pain that weighed on my heart. I did not get to see a psychologist as I had planned to. I was shaking a bit as I dragged myself to the office. 

The blood test results will be out in a week or so. 

Mum and cat

I was just talking about her, my lovely cat. I don't think I appreciate her enough and take her for granted too much...

I was just saying how she brings people together with her quirkiness, her cuteness, her soft fur and beautiful, beautiful colours...

Perhaps the most touching scene was when my  mum, at the end of a three week visit and stay with me in my apartment, bent down to stroke my cat and bid her farewell.

 Who would have known that would be the last time mum saw my cat in person? Later in the two year or so mum would see the cat on Skype often. mum also saw my cat who took on the alter persona, a cat with kind, wise soul who could write and give out good health advice like: "Eat well and exercise!"; "take good care!"; "go out and you'll feel better"! In the photo slideshow mum's funeral, my cat also had a picture of two, for she was/is a great part of life and a source of strength during times of weakness and struggle.

Sutty, my lovely, how you have touched so many hearts and brought so many people together...

At the clinic

It's been almost two years since I last went to see a doctor.  I am long overdue for a visit. 

But I've been petrified, been dragging my feet despite dozens of reminders thy I really should go seek help. Doctors (and hospitals) scare me, remind me of those hours and days I sat waiting with mum in crowded corridors or cooped up in the corner of a ward next to mum's bed while she lay there languishing...

But my body has been giving me warnings. Something is wrong, and if I don't find out what it may get worse. Cancer has never been too far from my life in the past ten years. 

It's the tiredness, the terrible tiredness and general lethargy. And for several months, dizziness and nausea, poor and disturbed sleep as well as indigestion. I it malnutrition? Serious Depression verging on suicidal tendencies? I don't know, but I should know. 

I woke up two hours or so before the alarm was supposed to go off. The night was again disturbed, and the computer, which was still on showing an episode of a show I've watched over and over again,  lay on my side while my cat slept at my feet. I don't know what prompted me but I just decided today would be the day I finally go see a doctor, which is literally around the corner from me. 

It was a walkin clinic and I only had to wait a little while till the doctor saw me. She was kind and we talked about our family history. Cancer and death came up, obviously. She looked at me with such compassion. She could easily have been my mother. "You're still so young...." She said. 

The doctor took my blood pressure and listened to my heart, touched here and there, looked into my pupils, eyes and ears. Things should be in check.

She wrote down a note and told me to go to the hospital for a comprehensive blood test. It should reveal whether something is wrong. Before i left she told me a number to call. "You've been through so much, you must be tired..." She understood. And I rely like crying in front of her. 

Sometimes all I need to heal is understanding. Acknowledgment of the difficulties I have been through. A simple word to show that the person understands and can empathise. Silence or not asking, even after a year (and counting...) is the most terrible form of neglect and in a way betrayal. It shows how little they know, how little people care. Even worse is telling the mourner to "get a move on" with life. Even worse is to accuse the Mortimer left and right of having changed and become negative and withdrawn, self-absorbed and antisocial. It is staying the obvious and adding salt to wound. Anyone who has really lost anyone will know loss changes you, consumes you, and will understand how much energy and effort is required to "grow out" of loss and the trauma and pain of loss...

She put down her pen and pad and looked intensely at me. How many people have come before her and complained of ailments, whether physical or mental? How many have expressed sentiments of depression, maybe even suicide, after losing loved ones? How many have experienced multi traumas and grown so wary and so exhausted of life?

I left the clinic with a piece of paper. Hospital tomorrow. That will be another experience...

If you still read this, I hope you are not crying. I hope you realise how much you mean to me and how I cannot let you go even though I must.

Self destruction

I seem to have embarked on a path of self-destruction. Letting old ties go, distancing myself from the world, trying to insulate the rest of the world from my feelings, my grief, my pain.

I have become obsessed with pain and grief and loss. I have been blinded b pain and grief and images of loss, loss, loss. I have neglected people around me, and those who say the care about me and love me. Especially one who says I matter more than I will ever know or care to realise.

I continue to slide into splendid isolation, continue to see the world in warped ways.
I am destroying myself, cutting myself deeper than I have already been hurt, and in the process hurting others.

What is wrong with me? Why have I become so negative and so love-less? How did I slide from the constant and selfless caregiver, who was there for mum through and through, to this isolated, anti-social and self-absorbed being (barely a human being!) is so skeptical and critical of the world and all its people?

How much of this is because of how grief has changed me?
Is this all because of grief? Is this wariness with life and people is due to me experiencing people die in my arms (something that I occasionally still see in (day)dreams...)?
To what extent and for how much longer can I use death and grief to "justify" my own failings and poor behaviour?  I cannot. I should not. I promised mum moments after her last breath I will be a better person. I will grow and nourish myself and spread kindness and goodnness.

How I have failed... How I have failed terribly when I can drive someone so close to tears and break his heart. How I have failed as a decent human being when I am unable and no longer(?) able to see people are all trying to be happy and trying to make the most of what they have?

No amount of regret or "sorry's" can take away the feeling of guilt. No amount of tears that I shed and shed now can wash away the pain and numbness I feel...

For once I wish to remember what it feels like not to have a guilty conscience, not to be plagued by dreams and images and imaginations, not to be disturbed by grief, jealously, ,longing and disappointment... God, being sane and human is so difficult.

Rainy night

I don't know why I even try, why I even hold onto hope.

When someone leaves you, things come to an end.

But I don't seem to get that. I keep on hoping, keep on dreaming and imaging that the way he looks at me, the ways and words that he says to me mean so much more. When all the while I've become replaced and mean so little.

So he's happy now. I can see it now.  He's happy now.

I should let my love and feelings die. 

Why torment myself further? Why keep the dream alive and think or imagine just because he's asked you go to on holiday together it means so much more than it really is? 

I left a friend's and walked home alone at night in the rain. It was a beautiful evening in the end, but the way it ended is so abrupt and so anticlimatic What is worse than having an evening surrounded by people than going home and realising I am all alone? Is there anything worse than hearing about what wild sex and intimacy people are having when I long nightly in bed for another person to touch me? 

 What is worse than going home alone when before, in an era perhaps only I can still remember, we used to go home together and chat till we were so dry in the mouth and sink into one another's embrace? 

月圓人缺

It was a silent ceremony. Just me, and my cat who darted back and forth on the corridor and was unusually excited (or agitated?) the entire morning. I cooked in silence, my head was spinning from yet another rough night of sleep. In the background, I played that beautiful song: 但願人長久 "may we be together for ever".

L

The song describes the moon, a metaphor for life for it has it's shades, waning, moments of brightness and fullness, moments of hiding and invisibility. Today, the moon may be full, but I am sadly incomplete, lacking, and so empty. 

I stayed home today, and only told my colleague I wouldn't be going to work because its a "special day". No need to explain why, no news to say how I've been shopping for tonnes of food and am going to cook for invisible people. No need to expose myself to ridicule. Who in this day and age, and at my age, still gets up to cook up a whole spread of food to offer to the dead? 

Bbq Duck, roasted chicken were staples, something I know both my parents (especially dad....) would enjoy. Then I made some snowpea leaves with shrimps, egg with turnip, leek (a vegetable symbolizing longevity), and turnip soup and red bean soup for dessert. Not to mention the dozens of canned foodstuff and drinks I had on offer. I laid it all out and knelt before a portrait of mum and dad together. Who would have thought this day would come so soon? 

What to say? This is the moment when people say something to the dead loved ones. I was lost for words, numb and dumb just as I have been generally these past two weeks. It's like so kind of trauma silenced and hurt me, but I don't know what trauma. I don't know what... I really don't know what, and I didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to say to my own parents. I ended up simply telling them about the offerings, and asked them to look after my brother and his family, especially my nephew. 

I sat on the floor and closed my eyes. At times I wonder to myself why I put myself through this, why I go through these elaborate ceremony and make so much food I have to stuff myself for days on end afterwards. It affects m every time, though admitted perhaps less emotionally. Who will do it for me after I am gone? Who will remember me still? We will see. We will see.

And i remind myself Mum did it, even when she was in poor health, even when she was living alone. And I promised her I would continue to remember and make offerings, more the reason  now because she and dad are no longer around. Maybe one day I will stop doing it all. Maybe one day the significance and me memories will become faint and all will have been a distant, distant people I once knew... 

I was exhausted, truly exhausted after it was all over. After a quick lunch, I went to lie down. My body was heavy and I fell ill and quickly fell asleep...

A friend wrote me and invited me to go to her place to have dinner with her "friend". They both know the significance of this date, the date when the moon is full, the date when you gather around a table and share a meal and good company. They knew I would be alone tonight.

I was truly hesitant at first, just wanted to avoid seeing and being around people, but they insisted (and have been telling me to go for some  time). And in a way I was glad I left the confined of my house and spent the night with friends.

We ate, had hot pot and grilled chicken, which are two fond memories from my childhood. We talked about foods back home, about traditions and family, about travels and growing up. It was a nostalgic trip down memory lane, and felt pleasant as we share the same culture and know what it really means (what it really means and what it does to you...) to lose a loved one. 

My friend brought out a pack of moon cakes. I looked at the name and address of the pastry shop, which both seemed so familiar. 

"Tamshui...?" I asked.The town where mum used to work. The street was the one she used to take every day going to and coming from work. I know that pastry shop. It's the same one where she and I bought dozens of pastries for brother's wedding to gift to the in-law's side of the family (per tradition). 

I tasted that soft, sweet taste of lotus paste and red beans, and my mind brought me back... Mum loved this pastry shop. She loved it. She never was a real sweet eater but made an exception for this shop (and another one in downtown Taipei...). The pastries are handmade, delicate and so fine. They are not greasy and not heavy to the stomach. They leave you with the taste of yesterdays, leave you with memories of the past and childhood. And I tasted that all again tonight. I tasted and remembered again what it feels like to be in the warm embrace of another, to be held by another. It's been far too long. Far too long. In the soft sweetness of that pastry I tasted freedom, and sweet memories of warmth and that rare, rare but wondrous effect of how another human being can touch you, and hurt you. 

I looked out the window at the full, bright moon. The moon is full, but I am incomplete. I feel so incomplete, so lacking, so listless, even in the company of people. I excused myself and hid the washroom to unleash tears that have long been overdue. The moon may be full, but many parts of the love and life I held on to and at times took for granted so, have long died. 

Meaning, I need meaning in my life. Love... as a dear friend told me merely days early on the phone, I need love, a partner who can be true and honest, who can help me fill that void left behind by loved ones who have left my life. 

Otherwise, what is life but an empty and repetitive cycle of  breathing, eating, sh*ting and sleeping? 

One day. One day.