My Huckleberry friend, please take my hand as we sail down the Moon River.

Crying A River Ain't Hard, It's Deciding Who It Should Flow For That Kills.

There's this octogenarian in grandma's ward that has her similarly wizened husband visit her everyday, from early morning till visiting hours end. From the way the husband winces with every step he takes, it is evident he's plagued by arthritis. And yet, he would travel all the way from Changi to SGH, from the room to the other end of the ward to fetch warm water for her, from the sitting area to the room every ten minutes because visitors aren't allowed to stay for long. It's a pleasure to observe their silent communication, like the way he would slice her food for her, sometimes feeding her when the effort wears her out; or holding her hand quietly when she fell asleep, gazing at her intently; or just daydreaming alongside her while she stares out of the window with glassy eyes. They exchanged few words, but when they did, the tones are usually hushed and immensly courteous. Perhaps love can be expressed in ways other than verbal communication. Perhaps it's in his touch, his gaze, his gesture; or her look of gratitude, her contented smile, her aura of serenity.

Who in the world could enjoy 60 years of blissful marriage?

I'd try to avoid looking at this incredible couple everytime I visit grandma, because the profound acts of care, love and concern move me to tears. Even typing about them makes me cry. Perhaps marriage might not be that daunting an aspect after all, when you've witnessed living proofs. Mummy told me that when a couple gets this attached to each other, they become so inseparable, even in deaths. I LOLed at that because it sounded so morbid, so un-Mummy, but deep down, there's this undeniable part of me that yearns for the same kind of unwavering, unconditional lifelong companionship.

Yes, even freaks yearn to be loved sometimes.

I shed quite a few tears too, when grandma accidentally got her drip unplugged from her nerve on a toilet trip. I was in the room, mouthing along to Leehom when looking up, I saw grandma's feet through a gap in the wall alongside a pool of scarlet. You can imagine my horror upon being greeted by the lurid sight: grandma's gown drenched in blood, the drip's tube dangling in the air, nurses in a flurry of activity about her. OMG. My legs got so weak that this really really cute MO had to guide me to a seat. It was amazing that grandma felt no pain nor panic at all, while I was this close to unconsciousness because of my queaziness. I like it so, when the MO remarked jokingly to grandma how fillial I was because I was scared to tears.

And I think I'm bringing hardship upon myself by sitting for SAT. I don't even see the need for it. On this night prior to it, I'm reminded of all the unpleasantries of the past two years again. The passive panic, the wreary excitement/anticpation, the overwhelming need for company, the increasing dread as the long night goes on. Company. I miss the company I had. This time it's just Leehom and the Ipod baby. It'll get unbearably lonely tonight I know, but we'll see if they'll suffice.

I miss JW like crazy. It has only been two days, but something so terrible and devastating has occured that I can't share with anyone else but her. JW oh JW, I'm bottling up my tears and misery till you come back and talk to me- because for a weird reason, I only feel comfortable with your empathy. I don't need no feigned care nor assurance from others.

I need to cry very badly.

I'm all alone here in this wasted land of the forsaken and rejected.

JW, hurry up and come back. Sorry if I've since become a burden, but you're the only one. You'll understand, won't you?

Dammit. In the meantime, I shall cry to Leehom's crooning- as if he's everything in the world to me now.

dysphoria came at 11:19 PM