Y2kk Update: I thought I was fine, mostly. I thought I was alright, but I was wrong...

I had thought the funeral was a nice sense of closure, and that writing everything I did about my grandfather and these past few weeks gave me back some sense of self and security as well. I was just lying to myself though, I'm not alright. This past week at work for me has been hell, not just because I don't give a damn about any of my coworkers, not just because I hate my job and everything that it stands for, but because I just wasn't ready to be away from my family. I missed my parents, I missed my sister and brother, I missed watching over my grandma, and most of all, I missed my grandfather. These past few weeks, as devastating as they have been for my family and relatives, it's all brought us closer together than we have ever been for years. And now that it's all over, now that life is returning to normal, I realize once again that I have nothing of value in my goddam existence whatsoever. I am alone...

After spending three days by my grandfather's side as he was on his death-bed, my sister has gone back to being a distant gripe as always, simply planning away her departure to Hong Kong without asking any other family member for their input. My brother, I miss living with him in this household, but I understand why he chose to move out in the first place and why he had to return there last week. I just wish I could've spent more time with him first though, I wasn't ready to be alone again, that's all. And my cousin, the one who moved away to Queen's University? I can't help but feel ignored and shunned, considering he's now too busy with Orientation Week, as if he was a freshman all over again, to even respond to any of my e-mails except to claim he's too busy to respond. I've been left alone to watch over my grandmother, but even she hasn't wanted to stay in this house for long, asking to go back to the nursing home where she claims she won't be bothered by us anymore. I realize she wants her private time, but I couldn't help but feel saddened that she hasn't wished to stay amongst family. I mean, we love her, we're here for her after she lost her husband of seventy years, but it seems that she's still too proud or simply too hurt to accept our care...

Being at work certainly hasn't helped, especially with upper management being the complete assholes that they normally are. I understand that they have their own concerns, with their millions of retirement funds washing away thanks to the recent economic recession. But really, can't I just be left alone then without some big wig breathing down my neck on my first week back? As a result, my threshold of tolerance and patience has been so goddam low, and I've been an asshole myself to peers and colleagues who don't deserve my "clamshell wrath". I need my private time, but I just can't get it surrounded by so many coworkers who I simply do not give a damn about...

Normally, I try my hardest to care about their feelings, to actually listen to their grievances and concerns about the problems in their own lives. But this past week has just shown me that either they never got the impression that I do try to listen to them, or that they simply take me for goddam granted in the first place, because they have yet to show me the same kind of patience and understanding that I try to show them. I mean, my goddam grandfather just passed away a few weeks ago, and my coworkers still have the nerve and audacity to get angry at me for being short-tempered with them? Can't they just cut me any sort of slack? Can't they simply go beyond mumbling, "sorry to hear about your loss", and actually try to seem like they care about my feelings? Apparently not, as they just shake their heads, roll their eyes at me, and ignore me for the rest of the day with a cold shoulder, as if their problems were more important than mine. Now sure, I realize that everyone has their own issues, I realize everyone does live in their own world at the end of the day. But goddammit, my own grandfather just passed away. Really, these people still have the nerve to argue that their lives are more worse off than mine right now? WTF?...

I miss my grandfather, I do. Every time I look through the old family photo albums and I see his face, I feel like I'm about to cry. I feel like I'm going to fall apart, but I never do, I never goddam do. Why is that? Why can't I cry? The other day, after I was so goddam infuriated with a coworker scoffing at my problems yet again, I chose to go out alone for lunch and went to the same place where I would always stop and think over things in life as a student at U of T. And while there, while I was eating my lunch, I felt so miserable, I felt so goddam alone, that I could almost feel streams of salt choking my throat and enveloping my eyes. I swear I could feel the tears coursing down my cheeks already, yet every time I would touch my face, it would turn out to be goddam dry. I couldn't cry, I couldn't even shed a tear for my own grandfather. Why is that, why couldn't I honour him in such a way? I just sat there that lunch period, more miserable than I think I have ever been before. All I wanted to do was cry. I tried so hard. I tried so hard to shed one single tear. Why couldn't I just goddam cry?...

I am alone. I feel that now more than ever before. I know it's so selfish, I know it's so self-centered, but the whole time when my grandfather was dying, throughout all the nights of seeing my brother comforted by his girlfriend, of my sister being protected by her husband? I know I shouldn't be thinking of her, I know that she is my utmost weakness, but I can't help but still dream of the girl I used to know and love at work. She hasn't talked to me in two months really, but I couldn't help myself, I couldn't help but give her one last chance. It was so selfish of me really, how my own grandfather was on his deathbed, my mother and grandmother were shedding their souls' worth of tears, and yet all I could really think of whenever I closed my eyes and went to bed was how I wish the girl at work was by my side throughout this whole goddam ordeal. I wished she was there for me, I wished that she could have been the shoulder that I could finally cry on. I had to be so strong for everyone else around me, why couldn't she be there to have been strong for me? I can't help it, I can't stop thinking about her. One night, I was dreaming of the pain and suffering my grandfather was going through. And the next night, I dreamt once again that she was there, holding my hand, by my side. She smiled at me, all she had to do was smile. It was so fucking selfish of me, but I guess it was just a dream, for I am still alone and I am so miserable...

I keep trying to convince myself that it's just wrong how I am so lonely and merely trying to get this girl from work, simply because she was the only woman who ever showed any interest in me. Yet, deep down inside, especially throughout the past few weeks with my family and grandfather, I really do realize that there's more to her than just the hope of comfort and companionship. She's all I ever think of, she's all I ever care about. It's always about the girl at work and her alone, I never dream of anyone else. Why is that? I can't help it, I don't know why, but I just can't help thinking of this woman. I need her, I need her and only her. I don't know why I know this, I just do...

On the final day that my grandfather was alive, I took a walk around the hospital by myself, with a newly minted muffin to replace the one my dad had gulped down on the first night when I wasn't looking. It was such a beautiful day, coincidentally so, considering it had been raining for the past two or three fucking months straight until my grandfather fell ill. As soon as he did, the Sun started to shine, and the weather became so beautiful until the very day he was buried, I don't know why. As I was taking a walk that afternoon, I realized how alone I was, I realized that I so desperately wanted someone to be by side. But I never thought of calling my brother over, I never thought of having a heart to heart talk with my sister, I never thought of my cousins or my mother or even my grandmother at the time. All I thought of was her, the girl at work that I still care so much for. And I knew, that's when I just knew, that I had to give her one last chance. I had to give us two at least one last chance. I don't know if it was right for me to contact her again, I don't even know how she will respond, or if she will even care about my situation more than my goddam colleagues back at work. I just knew though, that there's simply something about her that I cannot forget, that I cannot replace, that I cannot lose. There's just something about her that I care so much for, there's just something about her and her alone...

I'm lost right now, I really am. I'm so miserable, I don't know what to do. I miss my grandfather, I miss him so much. How can I face another week at work? I was honestly so fucking close to just walking into my manager's office and quitting right then and there. I couldn't take it anymore, I felt I couldn't breathe, I felt my heart stop. I was so fucking close...

I just want people to care, you know? I'm so selfish that way, I'm so self-centered. But I guess, that's just who I am. Like I care for my mother, like I care for my grandmother, I just want someone to care for me and for how I feel, you know? That's all I really want...

And these past few weeks, ever since the day that my grandfather died, I've realized that I have no-one. I know what I want, I know who I want, the only one I need, but I really am alone. I really have no-one any longer that I can trust with my feelings...

I thought I was fine. I thought I was going to be alright...

... but I was wrong...

Y2kk Update: I visited my grandfather today...

... not the one who passed away, but my other grandfather, that is...

Funny thing is, both of my grandpas, they share almost the same birthday. We were supposed to celebrate with the both of them this year, until all this happened. For the past couple of weeks, I had not visited my other grandpa in the nursing home. Today, I made sure to see him, if only because I should've a long time ago for his own birthday. His mind has been in a fog ever since the stroke years ago, yet strangely enough, my grandfather seemed so alive and lucid this morning for the first time in months. He kept smiling at my parents and I, we're not exactly sure why. He kept asking us about things that had happened in the past, we even started to reminisce about his wife who passed away when I was just a newborn. I've never been close to this grandfather of mine, much less so than the one who passed away the other day. Even so, now I'm more afraid than ever about when it will be his own time of passing. I don't want to lose anyone anymore. I'm selfish that way, I suppose. I shouldn't try to worry over things that cannot be controlled, I know. I just don't want to lose anyone again, that's all...

My grandmother, she burst into tears today, asking us where her husband was. She remembers his death, she simply does not remember the funeral we had this past Wednesday. She had cried twice there, both times as I held her close to my heart as she gazed upon the open casket. It seems though, she doesn't remember that day. It was funny actually, she actually let out the first smiles I had seen in weeks from her, when she actually accused my mother of lying to her that she was at the funeral. We keep telling my grandma that my grandpa is in a better place, and she returns back to us some hard questions that we simply cannot answer. "How do you know? Has he told you?" I just want her to feel better, but only time can heal those wounds. I wish I could heal her, just like I prayed I could help my grandfather as well. I shouldn't worry about things that simply cannot be controlled, but I just can't help myself. I love my grandmother, I'm closer to her than any other grandparent. I don't want to lose her, I don't want to lose anyone, not again...

It wasn't just both of my grandfather's birthdays this past couple of weeks. Friday was also my own mother's birthday, just strange and sad timing with the death of my grandpa, that's all. I can't help but imagine that it's something more than coincidence. If my grandpa had died before his birthday, my sister would have still been in China, my brother would have been in Thailand, and the family may not have been able to get back together soon enough to say their goodbyes. How would my siblings have felt then? My grandfather, he died just a week after his own birthday, and a week before his daughter's. Something just feels so strange about these circumstances, along with the final moments before his death. I shouldn't look into synchronicity this much, I should just accept the facts of what I saw, but I just can't help but hope that there was something more, something real to this right of passage of his. His strength, his determination and the timing of it all, it gave his death some meaning to everyone he loved in the family, you know? It felt like his death had purpose, like it was meant to bring us all together as one once more...

My sister, she had some bad timing of her own. During the celebrations the weekend before my grandpa fell ill, she admitted to my parents that she and her husband were planning to move to China. I knew about these plans long ago, in fact her one and half month stay in the country was pretty much to see how she would like to live there on a permanent basis. After she enjoyed Beijing so much, I knew it was only a matter of time until she would reveal to my parents the truth behind her vacation. It's just that, my parents want to be there for my sister and brother-in-law when they have their grandchildren, and they can't really do that if my parents are here in Canada and my sister is overseas. Until my grandfather fell ill, this was what was causing all the commotion and panic within the family, and unfortunately it did not quell much even after my grandpa passed away. There was a night where my sister burst into tears, not just from the loss in our family but also because she couldn't handle the pressure from my parents and relatives about the choice she was making in her life. I may not agree with her decision, but this was neither the time nor the place to be battling and berating her for her beliefs. This was the time to bring the whole family close together, and I swear I tried my best to do so. I only hope that I had helped...

It was bad timing for my aunt and my cousin as well. My aunt was not nearly as close with her father as my own mother was, but that's not to say this whole situation did not affect her. She never burst out in screams, of crying for her "papa" like my own mother did, but her tears were more than just real, she merely tried to hold back as many as she could. My cousin though, congratulations to him, was scheduled to be moving out of town to Medical School this very weekend. It had been in the plans for over a month now, and since this was the first time that he would be leaving the house to live on his own, and considering he was the first child in that home to do so, my aunt used to call my mother almost every morning this past summer with tears drowning her throat. Her entire life was centered around her family, and just when she was finally ready to accept the fact that her children will not always live under the same roof as her, that's when my grandpa fell ill. I only hope that the funeral this past Wednesday gave her enough time and closure to heal as many wounds as she could, because today was the day that her first born son would leave the house for medical school university. I'm proud of my cousin, I'm happy for him, but the timing sure was strange. If my grandpa had not passed away when he did, if my cousin had been in Kingston at the time, I don't know if he would've came back during the final hours to say his goodbyes. It was such coincidental timing on so many accounts, it felt like this death had weight and real meaning to us all...

My other cousins, they've been more supportive than I expected of them. My female cousin, it was kind of funny actually. The previous Saturday, after she heard the news that my grandpa had passed away Thursday night, she actually called my brother and I with tears streaming down her cheeks. It was remarkable actually, we were the ones who had lost a grandfather, yet we were the ones comforting her that afternoon. Funny how things work out, that's all. This whole situation, these past two weeks that felt like an eternity, it all put my life into a new and proper perspective that I wish I had before. My cousins, they had lost their grandfather ten or so years ago, much in the same sudden fashion as my own grandpa left this world. He was healthy one moment, and then his soul was taken the next. Nobody saw it coming, and the problem was, back then, I don't think I cared enough. I wanted to be there for my cousins, but I wasn't except for a phone call. I wasn't sensitive and caring enough to actually go to the hospital and speak to their grandpa on his deathbed, I didn't even ask to attend the funeral. Looking back, and seeing just how supportive and thoughtful my cousins have been to me and my family throughout this whole ordeal, it seriously puts my conscience to remorse and shame. I should have been there for them when their own grandpa passed away. I honestly don't know why I wasn't. I wish things were different, I wish life didn't have to be this way...

I will be returning back to work this coming Tuesday, and to be honest, I'm kind of worried for how I will feel and react. I know this sounds a bit callous and inappropriate to say at a time like this, but I almost feel like I'm going back to school after a long summer break. It's almost a surreal feeling, how close it is to how young and terrified and naive I was back in high school or before. This summer, I had taken a week off from work for my trip to Charlotte, and now I haven't been to my office for two weeks since I first heard the news about my grandpa. I've been staying at home with family, watching my grandmother while helping out my mother as best I can for the past two weeks. I don't know if I'm ready to go back to my old life, I'm not sure yet whether I can at this point in time. My grandfather just passed away, and now it feels like the entire world has changed, that I'm looking at things through new eyes, through a stained looking glass even. I don't want to leave my family, it still feels too soon, but what choice do I have? Life goes on, it has to go on, it has to return to the way it was. It just doesn't feel right, it just doesn't feel like I'm ready yet, you know? I don't want to forget, I don't want to begin to forget my grandfather...

My brother and I, we were in a Chinese supermarket the other evening. I forget why we were there, just to buy some groceries before he would return back to his own house, I guess. While I was walking through the snack aisle, I couldn't help but reminisce. There were the Ovaltine biscuits that my grandfather used to love every time we were around. My brother then commented, "yeah, and he took a month to finish even one box." I took a good look at the other foods in the supermarket. There were the Haw Flakes he used to feed us as the cheapest snacks he could possibly find. There was the exact blend of tea he used to serve us, in that dingy and small kitchen of his that never smelt clean until I vacuumed or did the dishes. There were the rabbit candy snacks, the ones he fed us that tasted like paper, simply because they literally were. And then there were the lucky money packets that he would always present to us. Whenever he did, he did it with honour and a smile, with a sense of genuine pride of being our grandfather, a feeling deep down inside that I simply cannot forget or describe. When a man passes away, when you lose someone close in the family, it's always the little things he did for you that touch you most in the heart. That's what defined him for who he was. That was what made him my grandpa...

My parents and I, we'll be visiting his grave with my grandmother later this week. The gravestone will be erected soon, it's common Chinese tradition to pay him respects on the day that it happens. I don't know how my mother will react after speaking with my sister, I don't know how my aunt will be after my cousin has left, and I don't know how my grandmother will feel when she doesn't even remember the funeral we had. As far as she can recall, her husband of over seventy years passed away just the night before. How do you live with yourself then? How can she possibly live without the man she has loved for over seventy years? What can I possibly do to help? Really, what can I say?...

I try to be there for her, I try to be strong, but the truth of the matter is, I want to cry. I want to be able to shed a tear in honour of my grandfather. The only problem is, I can't. I can't seem to weep, I can't seem to cry, I can't seem to grieve. I feel nothing but a hole in my heart that simply cannot be filled. I miss my grandfather, I wish he was here...

How long will my grandmother live? How long until my other grandfather passes away? I'm so terrified now, I'm so selfish, I know. I don't want to lose anyone though. I don't want to see another loved one leave. I wish, I wish things could be as they were...

I don't want to even acknowledge that my grandfather passed away. I don't want to make it final, I don't want to make it real...

I like to believe that he's still with us, watching over us all as I write this now. I wish, I wish I had more faith in my beliefs...

... goodbye... grandpa...

... I miss you...

Y2kk Update: My grandfather, he passed away...

Two weeks ago, my grandfather passed away. I miss him. Really, what can I say? I love him. I miss him. I wish we had been closer...

Looking back, it all happened so fast. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to write. For the past two weeks now, I've just been wondering what to write. What can I possibly record on this website of mine that can do the life of my grandfather even some shred of justice? All I can hope for now is the best for my grandmother and my mother. What can I possibly say or do to make them feel better? Really, what can I say? My grandfather, I wish he was here...

It feels like a lifetime ago, when I returned home from my trip to Charlotte. That was around the same time that my sister arrived back in Canada from her one and a half month stay in China, and my brother had just flown back from his three weeks over in Asia himself. The entire family was back together for the very first time since June, and that was what my download update two weeks ago was meant to be about, if I had written about it at the time. We had all gotten together to celebrate my sister's birthday that we missed back in July. I even bought cupcakes, cheapass ones that tasted like shit, but cupcakes nonetheless in nostalgic remembrance of her wedding back in February. It's been an important year for my family, with my sister getting married and with all of us children now consolidating our work and even traveling abroad by ourselves. It felt like a lifetime ago that we all last met up to celebrate, now that I think back. It's been just two weeks, but it feels like so much longer...

I remember that following Tuesday so vividly, so damn well. That was the night I was going to write my download update, if everything was indeed fine at home that is. My grandfather though, he had been feeling ill for the past week or so. It was the week of his birthday, his 93rd birthday, and we couldn't celebrate because he simply had no appetite. I should've gone over to his place to see him anyways, it was his goddam birthday for crying out loud. And yet, even though in the pits of my gut, I knew that something was not right? Even though waking up that Tuesday morning, I knew from a feeling deep down inside that something would go wrong that day? I just shrugged it off and went to work anyways, as if nothing was the matter. I knew something was wrong though, I couldn't ignore the feeling, so I left the office early to figure out whether my gut was right...

When I arrived home, I noticed that nobody was there. My parents had planned to take my grandfather to a specialist doctor that morning, but they should've been back by then. As soon as I got into the house, I heard the phone ringing. It never stopped. It was my grandmother. She had been dialing and leaving messages nearly every five minutes for the past few hours. I picked up the phone to respond. She asked, "where is your grandpa?", and I didn't know what to say. I told her that he was at the doctor's, and I promised to make my mother call her back as soon as she could. That didn't stop my grandmother from calling again five minutes later. She had Alzheimer's and probably didn't remember what I had said. Even still, she was worried, she was so very concerned, and she would not forget that my grandfather was not there by her side. Something was wrong, and I had to figure out what, I had to figure out why...

It took something like three or four phone calls to finally get through to my mother. I didn't know that her cellphone was off for a reason. I didn't know that she had to keep it off in the hospital in case it would interfere with the equipment. Finally, I got through to my parents, and on the other side of the speaker, I heard my mother sobbing uncontrollably like I had never heard her before. She said to me, "it's your grandfather, he's dying. His kidneys, they stopped working. There's nothing the doctors can do. They've asked us not to keep him on life support to prolong the suffering"...

I knew something was wrong that day, but never in my worst nightmares could I imagine that it would finally come to this. I have been so afraid of my grandparents passing away that I never even acknowledged to myself that it could happen at anytime, or that even at the age of 93, that we should let it happen without a fight. I didn't argue with my mom through her tears, but I swear I was so angry at the time with her, for not forcing the doctors to do all they could to keep my grandfather alive and well. Why can't he get a kidney transplant? Why can't they keep him on life support until then? Why must they let him die as if there was nothing they could do, when there are obviously options left to try? I was so angry then, I didn't know what to think or say. How the fuck could they just give up? This was my grandfather they were talking about. I did not want him to die...

My grandmother called back. Five minutes later, like clockwork. Now I knew the answer she was seeking, now I knew where her husband of over 70 years was. What could I possibly say to her? How the hell could I possibly relieve her anxiety? I didn't know what to say, so I really didn't say anything. She asked me where he was. I told her, he's with the doctors, and I'm going to go see him now. She told me to call her back as soon as I did. I promised her I would. I don't remember if I kept that promise...

I arrived at the hospital. My grandfather was in the CCU in critical condition. He looked so old, so pale, so frail and in pain. I didn't want to see him suffer, but I did not want to see him die. I came to him, I tried to say something, but nothing but garbled words would leave my mouth. I wasn't crying or anything, I just didn't know what to say, so I simply said my final words to him, just in case he wouldn't last the night. I knelt down beside him on his deathbed and whispered to him these words, "Grandfather, I love you. We love you. I will miss you. Please, don't leave us." I don't know if he heard or understood me through the pain and morphine. I did see him nod his head, I did see him recognize that I was there. Did he know who I was? Did he know how I felt? I wish we had been closer. That's all I could think about at that point...

At that time, he was still my grandfather, the man I knew and loved. He looked so weak, so helpless, so terrified as he clasped the bed sheets he had been given throughout all the torment he was suffering. He has always been a proud man, and he's always been a healthy man. As I sat down in the waiting room next to my brother and sister and cousins, I couldn't help but reminisce about my sister's wedding back in February. I would walk with my grandfather and grandmother as they held hands. He seemed so vibrant, so joyous and so happy back in those days. Sure, he complained about everything, from the food to the lighting to even probably the chairs. But that was always his own personal way of showing how proud he was, to be there at his granddaughter's wedding. Like I said, he's always been a proud man, and it hurt to see him gasping for air as his lungs filled with poisons from his own body that night. His pride, it hurt more than the pain...

What did I talk about with my siblings and cousins? I don't remember. It was probably the most silent I've been in months. There were no awkward silences, it was just understood quiet and remorseful reflection. We were all concerned for our grandfather, and I'm sure I along with others did pray for his safe recovery. We bought him cranberry juice, his favourite drink, to try to keep him comfortable, but we all knew that this was it. We all knew that this was his time to go. It had all happened so fast, I never saw it coming. I wish we had been closer, I wish I had just goddam visited him for his birthday this year. He told us to stay away, but that doesn't mean I should have. This was going to be the last year he would live. I didn't know how much longer he would last. I should've been there for him, we all should've been there...

My father then arrived with my grandmother. She had continued to call my house every five minutes even after I had left. We were all afraid of how she would react when she would finally see her husband of more than 70 years on his deathbed. We were afraid she would die of depression then and there, and we still have that fear to this very day. She deserved to be there though, I know in my heart she did. When she came to him, when I brought her forth, I remember exactly what she said. She kept asking him over and over again, "why are you like this? Why are you in this bed? You were fine this morning." I didn't know what to say. I chose to speak through actions and love instead. I took her hand and placed it on his, both of them shaking and sharing as one. I then took his other hand, and I remember exactly what she told my grandfather then, "this is your grandson, he's holding your hand", and my grandpa nodded and tried his hardest to smile. He was in pain, but he loved his wife so dearly. They had been together for 70 years, and yet they still hold hands...

My mother was crying all night. My aunt was not much better at all. I still remember how silent and how scared I was when just getting some dinner at the hospital Tim Horton's restaurant. I bought a muffin for myself, then realized that perhaps it would be better to give it to my mother and father, since they had been at my grandpa's side all day. So I left the muffin out for them, I didn't even tell them that I had bought it otherwise they would've left it for me instead. I came back five minutes later after checking on my grandpa again, and what did I find? Ha, my father had half the muffin stuffed in his face, looked at me in astonished embarrassment, spat out a portion, and strangely asked if I wanted any. I politely declined, and with probably the only smile that I wore that night, I returned back to the Tim Horton's and got myself a soup instead. It came with bread and butter, and much to my chagrin, in my infinite nervousness and stupidity, I actually spilt the goddam butter on my pants in the worst spot possible. My mother wouldn't have liked that, I thought, although now was definitely not the time to tell her I screwed up again...

My grandfather remained in critical condition all night, but he was conscious and he was still the same old grandpa that I've known and loved for all my life. He was still smart, still intelligent, still aware of everything going on around him. He nodded when he was baptized that evening, he spoke to us about how much he loves the Chinese Beijing Olympics, and he was even complaining to my mother about all the usual nitpicks he has with us in life. He was still my grandfather that night, and he was still holding my grandmother's hand. She couldn't stay there and sleep in the waiting room, even though that was what she wanted to do. It was my assigned task to take her back to our home and watch over her all night...

That's exactly what me and my brother did, since my mother stayed with my grandpa in the hospital. I didn't get much sleep that night myself. My grandmother, instead of lying down as she normally does, continued to sit up despite my protestations. She told me, "I don't want to go to sleep." She was so worried about her husband, and kept asking me why he was like this, why is he staying in the hospital when he was fine that morning. What could I say? That he had been slowly dying for the past two weeks and we had not even noticed because we were too busy with our own lives? All I could do was take her hand, and stay up with her all night as long as I could. She eventually fell asleep from exhaustion, at least for a couple of hours, and so did I. She didn't want to sleep, and I suppose, neither did I...

I don't remember much that happened the following day. I returned to the hospital with my grandma, where we stayed all day. Some of my other aunts and uncles arrived to pay their respects, and my grandfather was still sound and alert enough to greet them with the best grin he could, and still talk about politics and sports as if he was perfectly fine. His condition was deteriorating though, his heart beat was beginning to grow faint and his breaths became harder and harder for him to breathe by the second. What could I do, really? I simply sat there by his side, refusing to move except to help my grandmother with whatever she wanted or needed. I remember that I kept thinking to myself, I didn't want to see my grandfather die, but I could never forgive myself if I wasn't there for him the moment he left this world. I wish we had been closer, and this was my one chance at redemption. I would be there for him to the final seconds, and I would be there for my grandmother for hopefully a long time after that...

I got some sleep that second night. I forget why or how, I think it was because my mother was home to watch my grandma instead of me. I was still so dead and tired in the morning though. I actually had nightmares that night, although now I can't remember what they were about. My brother shared in the same experiences. I still can't forget what he told me in the car ride to the hospital that third and fateful day. He told me he woke up with "a bad feeling", and I couldn't help but agree. I didn't want to say anything, I didn't want my words to be a curse, but I knew in the pits of my gut that this day was it. That Thursday, August 21st would be my grandfather's final day on earth. I just didn't want to say it. I didn't want to acknowledge it. I didn't want to make it real...

When we arrived back at the hospital, my sister was already there. My aunt and cousins had left after staying the evening, so it was just my immediate family there that third day. My sister, I had never seen her so tired and so worn out before in my life. She was trying her best to hide how she was feeling, but I could tell from her eyes, she was on the verge of tears. My grandfather had essentially slipped into a coma, he hadn't woken all day. Perhaps it was from the morphine, or perhaps the pain was simply too unbearable for him to open his eyes. I tried to say something to him like I had done the morning before, I tried to tell him I loved him and that his wife was still so worried, but he couldn't open his eyes. He simply laid there on his deathbed, sleeping with ever slowing breaths and small streams of tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. It was like his tears were made of blood, and perhaps they were. He was sound asleep, and I knew this was it. His heartbeat was so faint, so dangerously low. I knew this was it, I knew this would be the day that I would lose my grandfather...

With nothing I could say to my grandpa, I began to reminisce about old times back at the house he used to live in. I brought up some nostalgia with my brother, how we used to play in the treehouse out back and our grandpa would watch us from the window in his room, always extra concerned that we'd somehow fall out and break our legs and that he would be blamed. We talked about how we used to mow the grass at our grandparents' old home, or clear their driveway of leaves in the fall or snow in the winter. My grandmother would always slip us some money behind my grandpa's back as a reward, but I could always tell my grandfather knew what was going on. He knew everything that was going on in that household, and made sure to point it out every time we would sit by that old black and white TV they had as we watched soccer. That dinner table of theirs was so old, so musty, their basement dwelling have a draft like a ghost house, their shed out back smelt like a damp forest at best, and the porch to the doorway felt like it was always going to fall off. My grandpa never was one for aesthetics or housework, but he certainly did love his electronics. His entertainment system was so old, yet he never let me touch it, he thought he honed the wiring to perfection and believed that I would ruin it. I still remember him always watching me closely even as I unravelled the extension cords for his lawn mower. I'm sure he trusted me with his things, but he was always so concerned about that one time I would eventually screw up...

My grandfather was ever slowly dying, asleep in his coma, but for the most part his vitals had stayed stable all day. Some of my other cousins arrived to pay their respects. In that time, we touched and held my grandfather's hand, I tried calling out his name, but he never responded. He simply stayed silent, asleep as his vitals ever slowly decreased downwards closer to death. I was almost sure at that point that he would never wake up again, and see his children or grandchildren or his wife ever again, not until the afterlife at least. I was reassured by the idea that at least he would die painlessly in his sleep after the two previous days of suffering. He deserved to rest. He was my grandfather, I didn't want to see him in pain, even as his breaths become more and more shallow as the seconds wore on...

Evening came, and that's when my grandmother and her two daughters finally arrived back at the hospital. Like I had said, my grandpa had remained asleep in a coma all day long, no matter what I told him and no matter how harshly the callous nurses had treated him there. I remember so clearly, I took my grandmother's arm and walked her ever so slowly over to my grandfather's side. I figured he was about to die, I knew that this was the night, I expected him to go soon in his sleep and I thought to myself that this would be the last time my grandmother and I would see him alive. I took her hand as I have done so many times before, and she looked at me with such a sad gaze in her eyes as I did. I brought her hand close to his, and I swear to God, the very moment that their two hands touched, it was like a miracle. It was something that I never would have predicted, that I never would have imagined. My grandfather awoke. My grandfather, he rised...

I will never forget that look on his face. I was there, right there in front of my grandfather. I will never forget what I saw. I told my brother and sister later that I saw a brave man, that I saw our grandpa try his hardest to say goodbye to his wife of 70 years. I'm not sure, it may have been a lie. What I saw in his face was not courage and not acceptance of death, but fear. He was so afraid, he was so scared of dying. His eyes, they were so pale and misty, as white as a ghost. He didn't see me, he couldn't see me, he looked right through me, as if he was already gone. There were tears in his eyes, he was so scared of leaving, he didn't want to go. I didn't see a man of courage, I didn't see a man who accepted his fate. What I saw, I don't even know if it was my grandfather. I don't know how to describe it. He looked like he was already dead, he looked like he had already seen the other side, and I feared, I was so afraid, what he saw scared the very last moments of life out of him...

I did tell the truth though, that he was trying to say something. I watched his tongue, he was trying so hard to say even a word, he tried to scream something from the top of his lungs, but nothing would come out. It was like his tongue had been cut out, we were deaf to his sounds, and he was speechless, he was helpless. His face, his mouth, I felt like he was in such pain and torment, almost as if he was burning. That was what I saw on his face, his visage I mean, it was like he was on fire, it was like he was burning in fire, and I became so scared. He was trying so desperately to say something, I think to say goodbye, I think he was trying to tell my grandmother goodbye and that he loves her. I couldn't think though, I didn't know how to react. He had been silent and asleep all day, and yet the very moment that my grandmother had touched his arm, he leaped forward with more strength than I think I have ever mustered before. I used my own strength to rest him gently down, I didn't know what else to do, but he simply got up again, and tugged at my hand with a morbid sense of desperation as if he never wanted to let go...

I will never forget that look in his eyes, I was right there in front of him as I pushed him down again back onto the bed. I didn't know what I was doing, I just wanted him to go back to sleep where he seemed so at peace. But for the third time, he rose again, with that same look of terror in his eyes that I simply cannot begin to fathom or forget. I should have held him, I should have given him a hug, I should have let him say goodbye to his wife of 70 years, I will always regret not doing so. It was my fault, I didn't let him say farewell, I didn't let him show just how much he loves us. Instead, I laid him back down to rest for the final time on his deathbed. I'm not sure if I was even gentle, I was so scared, I was so terrified of where he was and where he was going. He closed his eyes for the final time. He never rose again...

... his heart stopped...

... as did mine...

... time froze...

... I held my breath...

His heart started again. He took another gasp for air. This was it though, this was the end. I was so overcome with fear, and I became so overwhelmed with guilt. What had I done? I didn't know how to react when he suddenly woke up, it never occurred to me then that it was his final wish to simply hold his wife in his arms. How could I have done what I did, what was I thinking? My grandfather had stayed asleep all day, no matter how many times I called his name, no matter how many times I took his hand or wet his lips with water. Yet the very moment, the very literal second that I rested my grandmother's fingers on his, he sprung to life and put forth every single ounce of energy and life he had left just to say goodbye. The message got through, I'm sure it did, but it could have been so much more if it was not for me. What have I done? Why didn't I leave them be? Why did I react the way I did, and deny him his final wish in life? Was it because of fear? Was it because I was so afraid? Why couldn't I recognize this miracle for what it was? Why couldn't I see my grandfather saying goodbye?...

Over the course of the next two hours, the rest of all our relatives became arriving at the room. We had called them in, because we all knew that this was the moment, that this was the time of passing. We all got our chance to say goodbye. We all got our chance to take his hand and pay our respects. I remember exactly what I told my grandfather that night. "I love you, we all love you. You are my grandfather, and I'm so thankful for all you have done. I'm sorry that we weren't closer, and I'm so sorry for tonight. I wish this wasn't happening, I wish things were different. We love you, I love you, and I'll miss you, but I know we'll see you again. I know too, that you will see us first. I am so sorry. Please, don't leave us..."

That night, my uncle said a prayer in Chinese for my grandfather, and it was like at the end of every verse, my grandfather's heart would stop beating, only to start again at the next chorus of words. My heart would freeze every time that his did, my breaths would pause every time his would cease. He stayed alive for two more hours, until finally the last of the family did arrive. It was almost too coincidental to be just random, to be a fluke. It was almost as if, the very moment that my brother-in-law arrived, the very moment that the last of my relatives entered that room, that was when my grandfather stopped breathing. That is when my grandpa passed away...

I was there right by his side when it happened. My mom was in tears, screaming "papa" at the top of her lungs between sobs of anguish. I was holding her, I held her in my arms, but I wasn't looking at her, I wasn't thinking of her at that moment. All I could concentrate on was my grandfather, as his gasps for air became so short and so small, that his chest didn't even move. I watched his tongue as he slowly inhaled, slowly exhaled, every movement and every moment becoming less and less pronounced, less and less real than the one before, until it was all no more. There was nothing left, not a soul any longer, just a body. Lifeless, he was now at rest. He was gone. My grandfather, he passed away at 10 pm on August 21st, 2008. I felt cold, so cold, as I held my mother in my arms...

My grandmother, that was when she arose out of her seat, and placed her hand on his heart. She didn't cry then, she didn't even seem to acknowledge what had happened. I came over to her, I placed my hand on hers. There was no heartbeat. Those were her exact words, "there is no heartbeat". She touched his hand, my hand followed. I had never seen death before, let alone felt it or touched it. I was cold, but my grandpa, he was so much colder. I felt a shiver down my spine. He felt so lifeless, he didn't feel like my grandfather any longer. His touch, it was just so cold. I had never felt death before, I had never felt a body. I cannot even begin to explain how it feels to touch the hand of someone you care so dearly for, and realize it's not even him anymore. One second, he was warm, he was my grandpa. But now, before me was a shiver, a corpse, a body...

I never thought death could affect me like it has, but this is my grandfather we're talking about here. I didn't cry. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. It was just a body, nothing more and nothing less. My grandfather, he was gone. This body, it was so cold, it was not him, not anymore. How could he feel so cold? My grandmother, she put her wilting hand on his still heart one last time. She turned to me, she said she felt nothing, and then she wept. She broke down in tears, my mother joined, they cried together, over the body...

It's been hard for my family since then. My mother, she tried to be strong. She never cried once while preparing the funeral arrangements, she always put on a strong face when telling my grandmother again and again what happened to my grandfather. My grandma, she kept asking me where did her husband go, why can't she see him anymore? I didn't know what to say. What could I say? They had been married for over 70 years. What could one possibly say to their grandmother at a time like this? She has Alzheimer's, why couldn't she forget him? My grandmother, she had seemed more alive these past few days than any other time during the past few years. Why could she not forget?...

The funeral was beautiful. It took place in a Church, the priest was Chinese, though unfortunately he conducted the English mass in an accent I could barely understand. My mother finally wept again, she finally let her feelings all out when the casket was opened, she screamed out for her father one last time as I held her in my arms. My brother and I, along with our father and uncle and cousins, were the pall bearers. I was so terrified of seeing my grandfather again as I held the casket in my hand. I almost felt like vomiting, I was still so ashamed of myself for what I did the final night that my grandpa lived on this earth. When the casket was opened, I did not cry, I still did not break down in tears. I wanted to again, I so dearly wanted to be with my mother and share in her grief, but I felt nothing. I don't know why. The casket was opened, and there again was the body. It looked like my grandfather, and yet he was not there. It was just a body, it was not my grandpa. My grandpa was gone...

My brother and sister and I, we all did the Eulogy together. I had contemplated talking about my grandfather's final day, when he so miraculously awoke from a coma and put all his remaining strength into saying goodbye the very moment that my grandmother touched his arm. I was questioning whether to bring up how strong my grandfather was, for lasting until the very moment when the last of our relatives arrived through that door. He made sure we could all say goodbye, he made sure to show us how much he cared. I was indeed the last to look in his eyes, and I was ready to lie again and say my grandfather was ready for life after death. I never got the chance though. My brother and sister and I instead chose to celebrate the grandfather we knew and loved as small children. We talked about soccer, we talked about his house, we talked about how he kicked our asses in Chinese Chess, and we talked about how much we all love and miss our grandfather. I wish he and I had been closer, but I know in my heart that I will never forget him. I can still hear his voice now, calling my name. That was probably the only time I saw him genuinely smile, when I showed up at his front porch one day, called out his name as a child, and he laughed as he called out mine...

The day of the funeral, the night before we buried him in the cemetery nearby our house, I had a dream. I know it was just a dream, I've experienced these lucid hallucinations so many times before that I'm not going to fool myself into thinking it was something more. Still, for a dream, it gave me some closure. My grandfather came to me that night. I called out his name like I did so many times as a child before. He gave me that smile of his, he ever so slightly nodded his head and called me forth. He looked me square in the eye, and I gazed into his. Gone was the fear I saw, exorcised were the pale ghosts of white and terror. What I saw was my grandfather, the man who cared for me all my life, the man who loved my grandmother and mother more than anyone else. In his eyes, there was life, there was a soul, there was my grandpa...

I don't think I can forget that dream I had. He told me, "look out for your grandmother, you all need to watch over her." I wanted to respond, I wanted to tell him that everything will be alright, but the words eluded me. He was speaking Cantonese to me, and I didn't know how to respond back except in English. That was when my grandfather laughed, much to my chagrin. He chuckled, "don't worry, I understand you". He then shook his head in jest and joked that it was embarrassing for me to not know Cantonese even in a dream. I couldn't help but hang my head in shame and laugh too at the irony of it all. I then asked him, in English of course, "are you in a better place? Are you happy?" And he said yes. He nodded his head, and he said yes. And then he was gone. That's when I woke up. That's when he was gone, for the last time in my life...

My grandfather passed away. He was the first family in my life to die in my memory. He was the first person that I ever saw pass away in front of my eyes, for life to become a corpse, a cold lifeless body...

It was his birthday just two weeks ago. Looking back, it feels like such a lifetime ago. For three days, I was by his side. For three days, I watched my grandfather die. I held my mother as she cried. I cradled my grandmother as she held back the tears...

My grandpa, he was a good man. He led a good life. He raised his family well. He was my grandfather, and I love him, I miss him, I wish he was still here. I wish he could tell my grandmother that everything will be alright...

I wish, I wish I could tell him all this. I wish I could look him in the eye, I wish I could hold his hand and for everything to be warm once more...

I wish, my grandfather, he could be here. I love him. I miss him...

... my grandfather...

... he passed away...

Y2kk Update: Well, I'm an idiot, but a proud one, in more ways than one...

Today is 08-08-08 day, the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics, and supposedly the luckiest day in the life of a Chinese guy like me. But apparently, I have no choice but to make my own luck. I've had a horrible week, all thanks to my own stupidity. Perhaps tonight will be the starting point of something new for my life. Then again, I just got this motherfucking huge mosquito bite on my left arm that is ripping my sanity to shreds. So much for that former theory of mine then...

I still pretend in my HTML title up above that this blog of mine is a news site for S3, Matrox and PowerVR cards. To be honest, that's only because I'm too lazy to think up a new title, but that's besides the point. It's been years since I last reported any video card news, but that's not to say that I ain't still obsessed with that kind of technology. I still have my S3 Savage 4 card preserved in a plastic frame in my room, I still do the same with my first ever 3D accelerator of the Matrox PowerVR M3d, and I'm still using my Matrox Millennium G200 in this very computer of mine that I'm typing this shit into, simply because it will forever stand to me as the most beautiful 2D video card ever made in history...

For some odd reason, despite all logic arguing against it, I have an obsession with buying old PCI video cards. That's right, video cards for original PCI slots, not that bastard format of AGP or the PCI-E interfaces that the ATI 4850 or the nVidia 9800 GTS boards rely on. I never play PC games, or at least I won't again until Starcraft 2 is released sometime before the end of time, but I just love wasting my money on old PCI video cards for some goddam reason. My collection so far that I can recall consists of that aforementioned Creative S3 Savage 4, a nVidia TNT2 from some random company, both the ATI Radeon 7500 and the 9250, and the Mad Dog nVidia 5200 FX that I was using in my old AMD Duron until this week. Ha, wish I could get a Matrox G450 or Parhelia or some shit like that to boot. Obviously, none of these video cards are good enough to run anything but World of Warcraft, if even that. But whatever, I just love stock-piling old PCI boards, for whatever goddam reason compels me to do so...

I've been itching for a new one for a long time now. I was tempted to go for the Visiontek X1550, until I read about its power consumption requirements and its price, so I set my eyes on the lesser eVGA nVidia 6200 PCI from Canada Computers instead. Problem was, I'm too cheap to take public transit, and the store was about a twenty minute walk from my current workplace, and maybe a half hour walk away from the trains at Union Station that I need to take back home. On any normal summer day, that wouldn't have been a problem. But for those of you two readers out there who know Toronto in 2008, it hasn't exactly been the luckiest year for us in terms of weather. July broke the Pearson airport record for most rainfall in the General Toronto Area ever for the month, and August already seems to be on pace to outmatch even that...

Monday was a total bitch in terms of weather. It was raining and pouring cats and shitty ass dogs, and any normal sense of logic in a human being would've lent me to take the underground pathway safely from work back to Union Station, preventing me from getting wet and cold from the torrential downpour. But for some odd reason, I just wanted to "feel" something for a change, you know? For some damn reason, after all the shit that has happened to me that you two readers know about, I just wanted to experience something goddam real, something goddam painful, for a real fucking goal no matter how pathetically illogical or whimsical that goal may be. I wanted my fucking 6200 PCI video card, even though it would make no difference from my 5200 PCI for internet browsing purposes, and I wasn't going to let some fucking god-awful weather stop me from attaining my goal. Not this time at least, to the distinct echo of "I Would Walk 500 Miles" in the recesses of my mind...

... ha, I immediately regretted my decision...

By the time I got to Canada Computers, bought the video card, and then returned to Union Station by foot? My fucking God, my entire body (umbrella be damned) was soaking wet from tip to toe, with my shoes and socks making worse squishy sounds than if I had jumped in a goddam pool of mud. I was freezing cold in the clothes I had on, and I was shivering from my underwear being more wet than a teenager getting a blowjob for the very first time. And yet through all of this, no matter how sore and bitter my body and mind had become, I was still pleased with myself that I had braved the cold against all logic, just to get the trophy that I felt I deserved. I was far more pissed off at the price of the damn useless device ($52, if you two readers need to know) than I was about my present physical condition...

Ha, that opinion quickly changed over time. My shoes were still soaked to the slippers by the time the next day arrived, so I had no choice but to wear my new dress shoes to work instead. Problem was, I made a gross miscalculation in terms of size. I had bought these cheap ass dress shoes to wear in case of emergencies, and I had bought size 8 because a) they felt alright to walk in at the store, and b) I was sure that my dress shoes from my sister's wedding were size 8 as well. Well, these shitty ass shoes were decent for walking, but as soon as I tried to run through a yellow traffic light? That's when the entire back of my fucking heel was ripped off and bloodied to shreds. And when I got home, realized that the 41D size that my Feet First wedding shoes read was really 8 and a fucking half in US terms? That's when I also noticed my toes had white, bubble blisters on them the size of my fucking thumbs. And this was all because I was too damn dumb to properly buy shoes in the first place, and then followed up that brilliant blunder with walking a day earlier for a full goddam hour in the fucking blistering rain...

So now what? To summarize all the physical failures I now have thanks to my sheer stupidity on Monday, I still have two painfully sore feet thanks to a laceration on the back of my right heel and two pinky toes squished to the width of my pinky fingers. Making matters worse, my teeth have been hurting all week long, probably thanks to all their incessant chattering when dealing with the cold on Monday, and now I have this goddam giant and possibly infected mosquito bite from tonight to boot. Add all of that up, and combine it with the fact that the long walk on Monday night seems to have blessed me with a goddam cold as well, makes it all sound like so much goddam fun, now doesn't it?...

But does it really matter? Because hell yes, I got my fucking useless video card. It didn't help any performance out on my old PC whatsoever, except now it shuts down about two seconds quicker than before. Go figure, I guess...

I got my trophy, I attained my goal, and I did it all just to feel something, to feel anything again. I'm sick, I'm tired, I'm itchy, and I can't walk properly anymore. But at least, for one hour of this week, I felt alive...

And that's the true spirit of the Olympics, now isn't it?...

... to get that trinket of a medal, no matter the cost...

... and then later regret thy decision, oy...

Y2kk Update: A week long vacation always helps to clear the mind, although I would feel a lot better off if I had just taken two weeks...

My time off of work started last Thursday, although I didn't do anything much that day except treat my parents to lunch and Kung-Fu Panda. I returned to work today, exactly one week from when I left, although it was a goddam mistake to have come back to the office so fucking soon. I'm definitely not in the mood to work, not like there's anything to do but talk with my managers about projects that will never get off the ground. And besides, when I had first booked my vacation time, I completely had forgotten that the coming Monday here in Ontario is the Civic Holiday of Simcoe Day. If I had taken today and tomorrow off from work, I would've had a grand total of twelve fucking days off straight to clear my mind of the shit that you two readers know all too well about. But oh well, I guess I'll just have to take an extra long lunch-break tomorrow before the long fucking weekend, that's for sure...

As for my actual vacation? I went to Charlotte, North Carolina this past weekend to visit my old friend from high school. Whenever I tell people at my workplace of what he and I did in the 'States, namely just watching movies (Dark Knight twice, once at IMAX) and hitting the golf driving range, they raise their eyebrows at me and simply don't know what to say. My colleague at work, he even went so far to criticize me (albeit half-jokingly) that I'm like an old man when traveling, that I should've acted my age and gone clubbing and grinding at bars or some shit like that. That's just not me though, all I wanted was to spend some long overdue, quality time with an old friend of mine, doing the same kind of things we did way back in high school. Sure, I paid a lot of money to go down south just to do the same things as I normally do every weekend I'm up here in Canada alone, but I for one don't put a price on keeping close the people that I most trust...

Okay, well, so maybe that's partially a lie. I do put a price on everything, I'm goddam Chinese and cheap that way afterall, so I only really chose to go down south to North Carolina after I got a pretty damn decent price on airline tickets in the first place. If I had taken Air Canada for a direct flight to Charlotte, the total round-trip would've cost me over $520 with taxes included. Somehow though, NorthWest Airlines was offering a round-trip trip to the same American City (albeit with a three-hour stopover both ways in Detroit, uggh) for just over half that price, at only $270 CDN after all taxes and surcharges were included. For the most part that's an amazing deal, and it wasn't even a special promotion or sale. I had checked what the price would've been if I could've taken a car down to Buffalo, New York and flown to Charlotte from there, but at a cost of $220 US or more, it just wasn't worth it to put my parents through all that trouble. What was even stranger to me, was that if I had not listed myself as a goddam Canadian on the NorthWest Airlines website, the round-trip from Toronto to Charlotte claimed to have cost over $400 US. I mean seriously, from the same fucking airline and website? How does that make logical sense? WTF?...

The only terrible thing about my trip was being stuck in goddam Detroit for more than three hours each way. And trust me, I knew I was in goddam Detroit (the armpit of fucking America) the very moment I landed and needed to take a leak in the washroom. Now, I must admit, the Detroit Wayne International Terminal is a pretty clean place, with tons of washrooms and stalls for both sexes all over the massive building complex. And when I went into the toilet area, everything was nice and pristine and obviously well maintained, even by the best of Canadian standards...

But then I took a look at one of the urinals in front of me, and you know what I saw? I saw a giant blast of shit spread all across the goddam urinal, as if a urinal cake covered in horse shit had suddenly imploded from searing heat all over the goddam place. The stench was terrible as well, and I literally could not stomach the sight of it whatsoever. Who the fuck would leave a dripping and giant stain of running diarrhea in the goddam urinal, when every stall and toilet was open and available and fucking clean to the public? It must've been an Asian squatter or some shit like that, and I certainly do hope he brought his own toilet paper to wipe his fucking ass dry...

I wondered though, why didn't he at least try to flush the goddam urinal with the manual button, or perhaps the shit was simply too huge for the automatic flush to pull it down all the way through? I couldn't help myself, I just had to do my civic duty, even in a foreign terminal washroom, and I held my breath ever so sharply as I tried to flush that goddam disgusting shit down. And you know what shocked and flabbergasted me even more? The torrent of goddam fucking shit actually managed to flush all the way down on my first fucking try. Which means, whichever fucking squatter had actually had the audacity or stupidity to shit in this urinal, didn't even try to manually flush his goddam crap down the drain? And how the fuck did he manage to avoid the goddam automatic flushing capabilities as well? Seriously, he just left all that shit there right in front of his face and for everyone else to see? WTF?...

Besides that sort of shitty ass sight-seeing of mine, there really wasn't anything to do in Detroit whatsoever. There's an automated tram on the upper levels for those who are too lazy to walk across the massive terminal, and there's this interconnecting bridge of some sort with flashing coloured walls and goddam elevator music all over the place to try to brainwash pedestrians into working for Pinky and the Brain. There was pretty much absolutely nothing to eat in the place, so my lunches and dinners consisted of Big Macs and ice cream cones from goddam McDonald's. My coworker commented that I'm such a fucking boring lame-ass, that I should've went to a bar there and just drank for three hours to pass the time. Sadly though, that's even less of my idea for an ideal good fucking time. I had more fun pacing and walking around in goddam circles in the place than I'm sure I would've by actually spending the money on goddam booze. I'm that damn NorthWest cheap afterall, and no amount of alcohol can change that...

Charlotte itself was a very nice looking city, and the weather wasn't nearly as hot or humid as I had feared coming off of that plane. The one thing that really stood out to me though, was the fact that I myself was sorely sticking out, that I was essentially alone in this state as a goddam Asian. Seriously, I think I saw maybe only two young Chinese women in the city the entire time I was there, and both of them were blatantly white-washed, surrounding by buffed looking Western guys. Then again, there's always certain pros in places with absolutely zero cultural diversity, as in there were some really, really ridiculously hot looking white girls there that I simply cannot forget. The one that I can't get out of my mind right now, was simply a brunette standing about six feet tall, who wore the sexiest high heels in a free-flowing green dress that I think I've ever seen in my entire fucking life. Plus, there were just so many amazing blondes there with butter faces and stream-lined legs, that it almost made me believe I had accidentally booked a flight to Sweden or some shit like that...

Arriving back in Toronto? Well, to be honest, women here just don't look that hot to me anymore. The Western ones specifically look a lot more dull than they seemed before, and even the South Asian women here now just look more spoiled than hot in my eyes somehow. But then again, there was this one Chinese girl (escorted by a white, rich-looking asshole though) that I passed by today, who somehow seemed familiar to me. Not sure where I remember her from, maybe I had actually hit on her one time or another in the past, but she indeed was amazingly cute as a button to me. I had an instant attraction to her, actually. And she seemed to somewhat recognize me too, I saw her eyes turn to me and they didn't flinch away at all until after we had passed each other by. Charlotte may have had some of the fucking hottest women in the entire world, but what can I say, I'm still into adorable little Chinese girls. It's simply in my genes, along with having zero tolerance for terminal alcohol and being cheap as fuck with bloody hell airplane tickets. Ha, I do wonder who that Asian girl was anyways, and why I had the strangest sense there of deja vu...

Guess there's not really any more details about my trip to North Carolina that I do want to divulge. Truth be told, I didn't do much there, I just did my usual routine of movies and internet and spending time with my friend. But to be perfectly honest, that's all I really want from a vacation, some time to be alone and to be myself, and for plenty of time to stay close with those whom I most goddam trust. My colleagues at work may not understand what I want in life, but I most certainly do. I just wanted a week to relax, and that's exactly what I got, with Dark Knight twice as an exclamation mark to boot...

And like I always say, sounds like fun, now doesn't it?...

... well, it definitely was for me, though I'm not sure when I'll do it again...

... guess it depends on how cheap I'm feeling next year, afterall...