As the world’s buried in the Olympian excitement, I sit in my room drafting up this nonsensical entry. I’m a poor kid at present. With a bank balance that’s dangerously low, I dare not dream of tomorrow. It’s an eye opener sometimes to marvel at how civil service manages efficiency at workplace. Coming from one myself, I often had to battle with high ranking military officers who are generously paid to do nuts.

My allowance is due, two weeks ago to be exact. Problem is, the clerks are the ones getting all the crappy reprimands while their superiors get free with their well versed responsibility shifting skills. It’s the nation’s loss because these officers could have been the exemplary candidates to perform in the Beijing Olympic Opening Ceremony’s Taiji segment.

I’ve spent the last few days doing some serious self reflection, speaking to the many advisors I had. I must say that reflection and deep conversations were among the many things I enjoyed doing, it never fails to unveil several concerns which I never had known when doing alone.

This particular reflection, as with those I previously had, was a journey of self discovery. I get to know myself more today than I did two years ago. I realised that most of us had very diverse notions of what a friend should be. I’ve always believed in the power of reciprocity: you receive whatever you give, albeit not immediately. But I was mistaken; not everyone subscribed to this idea of friends.

I began to notice that my report card not expressing the grade I would have expected to. I didn’t know where it’d gone wrong. I was failing. 

Friends are not a form of barter trade; we’re not obliged to return a favour though it may seemed the right thing to.

In order to get along with people, I’ve eventually turned passive while allowing others to triumph on the side of aggressiveness. I agree readily when asked upon, even offering help before it was asked. I had no definite answers whether if this practice is correct.

What’s an A+ friend to you?

Just came home from the hospital, a place where not many find it pleasant to visit. Well, we had to, or at least for dad and I; dad’s having several bouts of puking and crappin’, one coming after another. I’m not at all complaining, I can’t, and I know I shouldn’t.

Visiting the hospital makes you feel sick, even when you’re not. It’s partly the atmosphere and conditions at fault. A glance around you and you’ll see several others whining in pain, crouching the leg, bleeding profusely or suffering from aftershock from their appalling episodes. The scene makes me sick.

I saw one young lad, looking perfectly fine to me on the exterior, laughing and smiling, but sitting on a wheelchair, and he seemed to be lovin’ his ride. His friend enjoys pushing his god-knows-where-injured friend around for occasional milo breaks, performing the wheelie once in a while getting both of themselves an inch nearer to another accident, not forgetting getting a earful from the angry nurses.

Another trio came by and sat at the waiting area with us, awaiting for the doctor’s calling to be examined. It was apparent that these fine young teenagers were serving their national service. One pale looking fella struck a conservation with his pal, listing the usual disdain about army and the guard duties, occasionally punctuating his sentences with Hokkien vulgarities. Wonders if they’d attempted to feign illness to escape booking in. Sure they look ill, but altogether?

It’s only after two hours when we gotten our turn. The excruciating wait at the hospital sure drained my energy. It turned out that Dad’s gotten a virus infection, not the food poisoning which I suspected earlier.