I was at a hospice recently to attend a service.  It was my first time there although my sister has been there a few times.  We were there to attend a remembrance service to honour those that have passed away recently.  The service was held at the front lobby which the emcee described as a sacred place.  There were names of those who have passed on a large banner against the wall.  While my dad passed away at home, the hospice provided support for us.

After the service, I chatted with someone who lost her husband.  She told me this was a very special place.  It was small (only 1 floor) and there is a volunteer staff that cook homestyle meals daily.  She talked a bit about the wonderful staff and referenced back to the lobby as sacred and special.  I thought about all the names on the large banner and figured that was what she meant.  She then said the hospice’s philosophy could be summed up with this: “You come in through the front door and you leave by the front door.”  When someone dies at the hospice, the body is carried through the front door.   The staff wait at the front lobby with candles and there is a simple ceremony.   There isn’t a back door where death is quietly ushered away.

I never thought about death in those terms before.  It’s not an easy subject to write or to read about.  Maybe there’s a lot more on my mind than I want to admit to myself.

I can't describe the state of my mind lately.  Detached is probably a good word for it.  It's as if my body is a shell.  I'm aware of what is going on but my body is on autopilot.

A few days ago, I was at my sister's birthday dinner.  My brother and sister in law were hosting it at their place.  But they were too busy hosting and we didn't really get a chance to chat.   While everyone was nice, I couldn't really relate to anyone and just made small talk.  The only time I connected with anyone was when a 5 yr old boy sitting beside me asked "Do you want to colour with me?"

He was working on his colouring book.   He looked at me with his big blue eyes and waited for me to answer.

I replied "Sure, I have to stay inside the lines right?"

"Yes.  Why don't you colour his eyes?"  and pointed to a Star Wars character on the left side of the book.

I reached for a crayon.  It wasn't Crayola and it didn't smell like the old Crayolas that I remembered.  Meanwhile the kid was layerd colours all over a light sabre and not staying within the lines.  I carefully coloured General Grevious' eyes red to give him a bloodshot effect.  I stayed within the lines (retina?).

That was the highlight of my evening.

Maybe I need the Force to be with me.... or better yet, to jump start me.

Either I have new neighbours or one of them now has a healthy sex life.  A couple of weeks ago, I heard the orgasmic groans from one of my neighbours.  It sounded like a guy but all my neighbours (left, right and above) are women.   So one of them has a new partner?   Tonight, I heard a guy going “Ooohhh…. oohhhh… ooohhhhhhhhh”  I hope there’s no round 2.

Why can’t my neighbours be mimes?  Then they can have all the sex they want and be quiet about it.

This is not helping my insomnia at all.

It’s been incredibly busy at work.  I typically work every weekday evenings and half days on the weekends.  The other night, I was helping out on a proposal.  I finished at midnight and sent my version to someone on the west coast.  It was still 9PM over there.  He worked on it for a few more hours and sent it off to someone in Manila.  That person will put all the finishing touches and send it back to us first thing in the morning.  It’s a crazy world.   Most nights I just stumble into bed and immediately fall asleep.  I even woke up one morning with my shirt and jeans still on and my bedside lamp shining brightly.

The year actually started off well.  I got reacquainted with the small gym in my condo.  I started to look for writing courses.   Then work sort of just took over as it usually does.  In the middle of this, I managed to survive another round of job cuts.  The myth of the work life balance.  Part of me wants to leave.  Part of me is too scared to.

Tonight is bigger than Super Bowl.  Walking Dead comes alive again.  I can only hope the writers don’t kill off Steven Yeun (Glenn).  If they do, I will unleash some bad ass Asian ninja zombies on those writers.

There are a few things I never understood about zombies.  How do they digest their food?  I mean, it’s all meat and don’t they need a bit of fiber to get it through their rotted digestive systems?  How do zombies poop?  Maybe they don’t really care.  Of course, curious people like me want to know about zombie sex.  Won’t the body parts just be pulled right off or twisted off while they are being groped and caressed?  Are there gay zombies?  I haven’t seen the rainbow flag yet but I remain optimistic.  And I haven’t seen an Asian zombie on the show yet (please don’t let it be Glenn).  Maybe this season, we’ll see some gay Asian zombies. I haven’t found a zombie that I can identify with yet.

Now I hear Jack Bauer (24) is coming back.  The last couple of seasons of 24 were a bit far fetched.  But won’t it be neat if we had Jack Bauer going up against the zombies?  How would he torture the zombies?  I mean, breaking off an arm and a leg doesn’t do anything to them.  They can’t talk either.    I want to see some terrorist zombies going against Jack Bauer.

One minor update on my life.  As you can see in the picture below, one of the wheels to my bedframe broke off.  I can only
conclude that it was from repetitive horizontal shaking of the bed.  So now, I sleep with the bed tilted slightly to the right.  I haven’t rolled off the bed yet.  But my politics seems to have shifted slightly to the right as well.

(Ed. note:  our fact checkers have concluded that the wheel broke off when Matt moved the bed during vacuuming and not from any rigorous horizontal shaking of the bed.)

1.  Some people seem to have an easier life than others?  They seem to have an easier time making friends, being wealthy, better family life, good looks, more friends, etc...   But for others, it's a one day at a time existence; life is a struggle and one has to work hard to get what you need.  It can even be lonely.  What advice would you give others who are part of the latter group?

2.  How do you stay positive and not give up when life can be so unfair?  How do you stay strong?  How do you keep your dreams alive?

3.   Adversity in life can make someone stronger.  Do you agree or disagree and why?

4.  Where do you draw inspiration and hope from?

I found out the other day that my god father passed away in 2012.  No one told my family.  He was one of my dad’s closest friend when they were young.  He gave me my first camera (along with a few red pouches).  My brother was just a wee bit envious because his godfather never gave him anything.  So my brother made up a picket sign demanding a new godfather.  Over time with illnesses hounding both my dad and my godfather, they just drifted apart.  Neither of them used email or regular mail.  Even the phone calls became scarcer as my godfather’s hearing became impaired.

Then I thought about my online friends that I’ve developed on Xanga.  If something happened to me, none of you would find out about it.  None of you would know who to call if my blog becomes inactive for a long period of time.  The opposite would probably be true too.  Then I wondered, why it was easier for me to find acceptance here.  Well – it’s easy to hide my faults when I am very careful how I present myself here.  You just see my good side.  When I talk about my faults, I usually minimize or trivialize them.  Would you accept me if you got to know me in real life?  The optimistic part of me remains hopeful.  But the fact is, my circle of friends really are really online.  If I’m not online, then it’s harder to maintain that thin, ephemeral thread of relationship here.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this.  I keep thinking a lot of you have an extensive network of close friends to lean on.  But I know that isn’t necessarily true for everyone.  Maybe there are more changes I need in my life.

My dad’s funeral came and gone.  My siblings kept it light rather than dark and somber.   I made it through my speech as did my siblings.  We all sprinkled some humour in our speeches.  None of us consulted each other on what we were going to say.   I hugged and kissed people I didn’t know.  Small talk, as expected, dominated most of the visitation and the reception afterwards.   I haven’t cried during this time.  I was like that at my mom’s funeral too.  Maybe it’s just my way of coping.  I’m more relieved that dad’s illness is finally over and he is free from the pain.  I also felt  a weight was lifted off my shoulders.  I know that sounds selfish but it’s true.

A few days ago, I started to check on work as I’ve been away.  I could feel this veil of gloom and despair closing in on me.  My mood changed and the contrast was too much for me to handle.  My stomach started to churn.  I had to stop for a moment and then slowly resume.  The time off for my dad’s funeral coupled with Christmas break actually helped.  I knew work was strangling me and I was feeling miserable.  Now that I don’t have to worry about dad, maybe it’s time I do something about it rather than keep writing about the need to change.  Change will not be easy.

It was Christmas dinner with my brother’s extended family.  He somehow managed to stand next to me while I was chatting away.  I looked at him and nodded.  A moment later, there was a discreet nudge at my knee.  I looked at him again to see if this was really happening.  And it was.  We stood there, our bodies in contact.  No one in the room seemed to notice this PDA.  I decided to raise the stakes and moved my hands slowly up and down his back.  He looked at me and we connected.

He must have sat at the other table during dinner. No one  seemed to notice us, if they did, they were probably too stunned or polite to say anything.  After dinner and while the tables were being cleared, everybody dispersed.  He sat down beside me and lowered his head to my knee, nudging ever closer to my ahem…  His curly hair was soft to touch.  After a few more minutes of this, he went away again.  I was hard  mesmerized.

Dessert was cake and ice cream.  But it had an odd smell.  Then I realized what that smell was.  It was his scent.  I could smell it each time I raised the fork to my mouth.  It was all over my hands and sleeve.  Dog breath.  Stupid dog -  you some breath mints if you’re going to do anything with your mouth.  After I got home, I could smell that dog all over my jeans and shirt.  I stripped off all my clothes and threw it into the washing machine.  From now on, no more PDA with dogs.