I went to prof today, very frustrated.

He's right. I can't hurry things, not when it comes to matters like that. There's no need to keep trying to cheer her up. Just let her speak her mind, and keep reassuring her. Talking and venting is better than bottling it up. Worrying about ironing clothes is better than worrying about the illness. And worrying is acknowledgement – it's better than laughing and denying reality.

I slowly calmed down and tried to see things his way.

This time, I guess, he just gave me a lesson on patience. And on the futility of certain acts when it comes to grief, or depression.

How should you react when a doctor tells you one of your close family members is carrying a time bomb in her body? In a more abstract sense, with life counting down to death, aren't we all?

How do you detach yourself from yourself so that you can seem strong on the outside for someone else? And deal with the problem as rationally as possible?

How do you swallow the lump in your throat when strangers offer you their help?

How do you stop yourself from snapping at strangers just because they speak English, a language your family member doesn't understand?

How do you stop pain?

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I’m touched by the way virtual strangers - the nurse and the support group volunteers - have come forward to lend a hand, even giving us their mobile numbers. Things would have been harder without them, or my relatives for that matter. I admire their courage for staring at suffering straight in the face day after day. And I realized their jobs are more meaningful than those who look at numbers all day, or who adorn themselves with a tie and shake their legs in air-conditioned offices.

Because at the end of the day, disregarding social propriety, demarcations and material wealth, aren't we all just a common bunch of pathetic creatures subjected helplessly to similar experiences in life? As the things we hold on to dismantled into meaninglessness, only love (even to strangers) steps forward.

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I think the medical treatment of major illnesses is premised on barbaric practices. Something wrong? Cut it off. Oh, or shall we try using injecting chemicals into you, or do you prefer electricity?

The management of physiological processes, even by yourself, is always messy. For minor events, think urine tests. For major events, think bloody operations. Think the helplessness you feel when you can't control your own body. Think the losing of independence.

Fighting an illness is like battling with an invisible enemy hidden within yourself.

The human body is more trouble than it's worth. And hope can be a very cruel thing.

Who is this speaking now? Fear?

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Don't say sorry, the fight isn't over. I'm sure she'll get better.

The most important thing now is to be strong, isn't it? Being depressed, anxious or excessively worried won't help things one bit.

For the question here isn't whether you can cope, or if you're struggling to cope. The question here is how you fucking cope.

nus

I was waiting outside Prof Tong’s office when I saw this outside an empty office room. Objects placed by a graduate student on a low coffee table.

Later, I realized, it’s been exactly one year since a teacher of mine passed away.

... The room may be empty and your nametag may not be on its door, but you are still remembered.

Thank you for your time, your approachable attitude and your smiles.

Musings on the extremely brand conscious

The sad thing about wearing clothes or shoes with brand names or logos splashed all over is that you can’t help but feel like a goddamn walking advertisement.

The funny thing about feeling that way is that you enjoy it.