I'm cutting my hair soon - at least ten inches off. Short hair will do me good - it's easier to wash, easier to maintain. Not to mention the amount of hair I've been dropping lately. This morning, before church, I managed to comb out (with great difficulty) a hairball the size of my first that was tangled with the hair still attached to my roots. I kid you not.
Another reason why I'm getting a haircut is because I've stopped pursuing love, for now anyway. I'm not actively seeking for any prospective boyfriends - it's not as if any boys here will look at me, really. Somewhat a melancholy thought, considering that I'm smack in the middle of high school - isn't high school meant to be some of the best years of your life? Not for me, apparently.
When school begins, I'm thinking of slipping the most ridiculously cheesy warm-and-fuzzyesque letter into C's locker. I don't have any romantic feelings for him or anything, but I do admire him as a person - he's an overachiever, smart, athletic, just really refreshing all around. He's someone I'd aspire to me. He's a convenient target too, because his locker number is no. 365 and mine's no. 368. If all goes well, I'll be able to catch him in the act of reading it, look at the reaction on his face and snigger to myself privately. Haha, I'm such a creep. It's a harmless prank, I swear. I hope it lifts his spirits.
Anyway, I digress.
I haven't mentioned the happenings of the previous couple of months. It's depressing to write about, but I'll try my best to get everything out.
This past December, my grandfather on my mother's side - Ah Gung - passed away. It was the morning of the 16th. He was hospitalised for about two weeks prior. I first heard about him going into hospital just after our high school River Cruise on the 1st, from my distraught mother as she was picking me from the event. We were just about to leave for Jakarta on the 3rd, to meet my father after almost half a year of not seeing him.
Our week-long trip to Jakarta was cut short to 2 days when we learnt that my grandpa had had a terrible stroke, and was subsequently admitted to the ICU. While recuperating in the ICU, my grandpa actually recovered significantly and was then sent back to the regular ward. We all thought it was a miracle. But on Thursday morning, the 16th, when no one was looking, my grandfather drew his last breath.
It was peaceful and painless, my mother told me. An honest relief.
I'll forever regret not being able to see him during his last days. I was far too busy blocking out my grief by marathoning episode after episode after episode of anime. Please don't judge me, it's well and truly a coping mechanism of mine in any face of adversity. I wouldn't be able to function otherwise.
(Note to self: Paradise Kiss is always a good choice when you want to be in a reality(?) that isn't yours.)
My mother, the eldest daughter, soon brought my grandpa home. The wake was quick and tidy - only 3 days long (from Thursday to Saturday). Hearing all my aunts, my mum and my grandma cry hysterically during his funeral made me want to sob too, but I felt that I didn't really have the right to do so (because I wasn't very close to my grandpa to begin with, I felt like I didn't deserve the catharsis from crying). So I held in my sadness until the feeling went away, and didn't shed a tear where anyone could see.
It was a small, intimate funeral - family and close friends only. It felt very odd considering my mother splurged on the most expensive, most grand funeral package for my grandpa, which had the capacity for at least fifty guests (only about twenty were around). It made the funeral feel even more sad, somehow. And lonely. My mother told me that my grandfather did have many good friends, especially the ones he made while being on the police force back in the 50's-70's. Sadly, they all died before he did (otherwise, they would've been at the funeral too.)
Thinking back, my friend Karyn also passed on the 16th (of April). Two deaths on the 16th, the year I turn 16. 16 isn't my lucky number, evidently.
It's January now. The summer days are warm, and pass by sleepily. My mother is still grieving, and my father is still apart from us. School begins in about two weeks. I'm honestly not emotionally prepared.
My sleeping regime is from 3-5am to about noon. This really isn't good. As I'm writing this, there's a strong smell of pepperoni. Am I hallucinating? I'm hungry. Gah. Sleep-deprivation is getting to me, so... goodnight.
