Things I thought of today.

I thought of how much a mastectomy removes the feminity of a woman.

I thought of what would actually happen if I decided to disppear.

I thought of my self mantra that I would kill myself at the age of 40 to prevent the crippling sadness of growing old and sick.

I thought of my desire to leave and yet stay.

I thought of you, my dear.

I thought of how my growing hobby is getting more expensive than I would have liked it to be.

I thought of how much I miss home. My friends. My brother. The heat. Laughing like crazy. Like how I used to.

I thought of how I am a working professional now and I need to maintain that facade. That's right, facade.

I thought of how I really would like home internet but they're quoting me three hundred on the wiring fee. B|tch.

No, not really. Its not her fault. She's just doing her job. Its the money thats horrible.

I thought of how perfect we would be. Its you. And me. Let me take the lead role in your wildest dreams.

I thought about the fact that this is my 12th day straight working in a row. I am officially tired. A steak and a salad is guaranteed tonight. And a straight up serving of carbs too, I should think.

I wonder about being here. Whether this is my calling. My place to be. My final resting place.

Or am I meant to be somewhere else across the ocean. Start life anew. Afresh.

I thought of why I keep wanting a fresh new start. As though I always seem to be running away from my old life. My old ways. Myself.

I thought about how fickle the human mind is and how easily we are appeased by money and the fact that we all seem to dream of making it big and rich and live life just the way we want to.

I thought of every single person up there two storeys above me, in their hospital beds. And I wonder what kind of life they are living now. Hacking, coughing. The usual, isn't it? Getting around on their frames and walkers and crutches and just living out life the way they do. Hoping to go home. Get better. Taking an extra sniff of oxygen and hoping it would saturate their lungs a lot quicker.

I thought of the man that died in ICU a few weeks back. Of how peaceful he looked. Of how the nurse assistant told me that parts of him are still warm and parts of him are cold. That he is dead, not asleep, although he looked as though he was sleeping. Of how I declined to help the funeral directors put him into the bodybag. I don't think I can get to grips with holding a body. A dead one, to boot.

And funny that, he was a person 30 minutes ago but now, he's just a body. He's nothing else but flesh. And blood. And guts. And nerves and tendons and muscle and organs and all that other bits that make us, us. And now, he's just a body. He could be my little finger. Doesn't make a difference.

I thought of what he was thinking of in his last few moments. Did he pray? Did he smile at his loved ones and kissed them goodbye. I saw the family. They huddled together, tearing, hugging, consoling, backpatting, dabbing away tears. Saltwater is emitted when a person dies. It is a emotional reflex.

I wondered whether he made it into Heaven. Or as in the old stories of people being condemned to Hell, whether he saw a dark hold appear right next to the vital signs monitor and a clawed hand reaching out to grasp his needle riddled arm. Whether the family gasped and wondered what was going on as he backed away in his bed, trying to avoid the devil himself. And then he went still.

Hm.

I wonder what you have seen. And heard. And ate. And said. And walked.

I thought of you. And what you thought of today.