I have this really strange feeling that I'm going to die because of brain cancer. I don't know why, but I think that's how I'm going to die. Even when the fortune teller sitting along Faura told me that I was going to live long, I don't think he's quite right.

If I trust my instincts, I do believe that I am going to die because of a tumor in my brain that would block all my capacity to think, to move, to live. As I wouldn't be able to lift even a finger, either out of depression or out of the fact that my nerves aren't responding anymore, I think I would consider euthanasia as a better option. I don't want to die slow. If life had to be taken out of me, I'd rather go fast, in a snap of a finger, in a blink of an eye kind of fast, rather than watch the seasons pass me by with the feeling of being so useless getting heavier as I desperately try to breathe.

Ah, breathing. I've always thought this was a pathetic excuse to go through life. I mean, we wake up each morning. We go to work or school. We do whatever it is we think that would make us happy, contented, fulfilled, even at peace with ourselves. But, heck, does life revolve around these alone? What more if I knew my days were counted, and the only way to spend them was to lie down in a hospital bed...how unfulfilling is that?

You know what's ironic? This is. Here I am writing about my death, complaining about my life being meaningless, yet I am not doing anything to make it more meaningful. I know that there are a lot of things we can do to attain completeness, and if I am just patient enough, I'll get to obtain them. However, there are moments when the pull of not moving on is stronger than the will to continue. Tell me, why is it always easier to give up? Or better yet, tell me why do we always want the easiest way out?

I won't be a hypocrite, though. I do want the easiest way out.

- written 09/28/2005