I was toying with the idea of documenting this rather troubled period in a separate journal, but realised that there is no sense of urgency, or desire to share what is extremely private grief. In fact, by overtly sharing it, I may trivialise it far beyond what is acceptable to me, even accounting for overset nerves.

Things have not been going well. Some are mildly irritating, but droll, for example holes appearing in every shirt I wore over the Chinese New Year, breaking every stick of furniture in my room during spring cleaning. (The only exception being the bed frame and my old study table. Even the ceiling yielded a 4.4 kg concrete piece.) Then, there are the usual dashed hopes, dreams and lost loves that are such common occurences for my peer group. But above all, the gradual decline of a well-loved individual, whose demise is certain in the next few months, cements this bad stretch as the bleakest period of my short life.

In times like this, most people turn to religion or the occult. I'm more of the latter, and right now, the cards are telling me that it will soon be over. I really hope so.