The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida

It has been months since I stayed past my bedtime to finish a book. The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida made me do just that yesterday. I turned off my Kindle, only leaving the epilogue part unread. There are only a few things that can match the luxury of reading in bed right after you wake up. And the last few pages of The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida would be a perfect companion to savor at that moment. Which exactly what I did right before I write this post.

I found out about The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida only a few hours before reading it while browsing through the Avid Readers event catalog online.

The first thing that caught my attention was the name “Sumida” — it must be about Japan. And as you know, something, anything to do with Japan interests me. I then went on to read the synopsis. The first paragraph said:

Miwako Sumida is dead.

That was all I needed.

I’d read the book for those two reasons alone. But then, while searching what’s the best (ie: cheapest) way I can get it, I realized that The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida was written by an Indonesian-born Singapore female writer, Clarissa Goenawan. I don’t think I have ever read any Japanese fiction written by a non-Japanese before, let alone by someone I share a certain degree of identity with. 

I feverishly waited for the workday to be over. I finished my dinner, took a shower, and told Fafa that I am retiring to bed early today. With a final click on a button that says $14.99, I entered The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida.

The book was written from three different perspectives, none by Miwako Sumida. Though all of them centering around her. The story gives equal importance to the other three characters and their life.

The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida is also layered with many sub-stories and details which add depth to the novel — from the watch that Miwako wore, the Salt Studio to the Secret Diary Zine — turning it into one delicious read.

It also took me to all the familiar places I have been yearning to go back to in Japan — from the English bookstore, Shinjuku train station, the convenience store, and the shrine. And then there was the part set in a small village below the valley, which made me pause to daydream about my Kumano Kodo pilgrimage in September next year in the middle of the night.

Another thing worth mentioning is that the book is written in a distinctive style of Japanese novels, with a bit of absurdity and melancholy, which if not overdone, can be utterly beautiful. And Clarrisa managed to do it perfectly. 

So beautifully written The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida might top my best book in 2020 chart. But that’s a decision to be made for another day, as I have just download Clarrisa’s first book, also set in Japan, titled RainBirds. 

Update: Avid Readers is hosting a free online Queer Book Club on The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida on 4th November and a conversation with the author the day after.

Last Day of Lockdown

Technically, the last day of the lock-down is tomorrow but I am riding on the joy of the announcement from earlier today combined with the post-run adrenalin and the buzz from the filled-to-the-brim glass of rose that I polished off right before I opened the laptop to write.

So it’s kinda like the last day of the lock-down. 

Pri texted me earlier:

“WE ARE FREE“

followed by “are you excited?“

To be honest, not yet.

I told her that my brain usually takes time to process and project my true reactions to any good news and bad news. Excitements or disappointments.

She said I was thoughtful. I told her “no, I am just slow“. And I do really feel that my brain takes a longer path to digest the big news (amongst other things) — case in point I never get excited about my trips before I reach the destination.

Not that I complain because it makes me appear as a calm person most of the time. No matter whether I am washed with overwhelming joy or sheeting with anger or wallowing in sadness inside.

To finally be free from all the lockdown rules, iso loneliness and COVID dramas feel great. Even though Dan’s announcement came with lots of warnings, which made it feel like conditional freedom, it still is very much welcomed news.  

In the past 17 weeks or so I have thought about the first few things I want to do post the lockdown. I want to meet my friends. Eat at a restaurant — both new and old-familiar ones. Go on weekend day trips. Maybe even a staycation. I also want to go to as many bookstores as I can go on in a day and try my best to not touch and smell all the books.

One more thing I have been dreaming of doing post lock down: to visit a museum or gallery. Because weirdly, my soul has been craving for some art. Go ahead and label me as pretentious if you want to, I don’t care at all, as long as I get to stand close to and stare at some paintings or photos or artworks for some time. And no, no virtual exhibition in the world was able to satiate that yearning. So I am going to see it directly, the pre-Covid way.

Tomorrow, I will check which exhibition is opening the soonest and plan my visit.

Other than that, today has been a great day. The announcement has blanketed the whole state with happy vibes. And I can hear my neighbour starting their celebration as well.

A very well deserved celebration indeed.

Let’s savour it and vow collectively never to take things for granted again — from friends to a train commute. And yes, let’s execute the new normal with great care and a tad bit of caution.

Book Club

Recently, I bit the bullet and joined an online book club because I miss people. I miss talking about the books I read. And I miss talking to people about books. 

Don’t get me wrong, I have always loved the concept of book clubs. Just that reading an appointed book for the month can be a bit of a drag. And listening to people talking passionately about a book with a title that I can’t even decipher the meaning of, is not all that appealing.

But pandemic changes people. in a desperate time, one takes desperate measures. I emailed Natalie. Natalie is a librarian I got to know from my days in Southbank BYOD Community Club. She used to host a monthly meet-up to discuss the books we read in the past month (it’s a book club without a designated book — you know, the best kind).

I was a member for the most part of 2017- 2018. But then I stopped going, though if you ask me now, I can’t really remember why. I want to say it’s because of the weather. Winter in Melbourne is pretty gruesome. I never want to do anything in the evening other than rushing back from work and hiding inside my electric blanket at home. But the weather alone seems like a stupid reason to stop going.

Anyway, past action reflections aside, Natalie replied to my email which basically was a plea to her to take me under her online book club wing. She has stopped managing book clubs, she said. But she hooked me up with her colleague Ivy who was currently hosting a few book clubs online.

Ivy replied to my email. She was happy that I want to join an online book club. Unfortunately, only the eAudio book club has the capacity to add a new member at the moment.

“eAudio, jeez,” I thought.

The only reason I have an Audible app on my phone is just so I can listen to various chapters of The Secret (and its’ family) in the loop.

The thought of listening to an eAudio fiction doesn’t excite me at all. But Ivy did say that the next book for the book club is a thriller and I do have all the free time thanks to the pandemic.

I sighed to no-one and replied back with “sign me up”. 

Soon afterwards I downloaded the book The Secrets She Keeps by Michael Robotham and listened to it whenever I did chores around the house or right before drifting off to lalaland. 

To be fair, listening to eAudio fiction was not half as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe it’s got to do with the book’s genres. Anyway, a week later I finished the eBook and the week after that I logged into the book’s online meeting. 

There were 18 of us in the Zoom meeting. All women. I managed to identify a lady who I used to discuss the latest reads with in the previous book club hosted by Natalia. I wanted to greet her, but I didn’t remember her name. I peeked at her name on the zoom screen. It said “iPad”. Great.

 The book discussion started almost immediately, led by a few who must have been regulars.

I listened mostly, other than interrupting once to defend the main antagonist (she doesn’t have the capability to hurt people anymore). 

We moved on to other books they are currently reading and wanting to read and lastly, the books to read for both November and December for the book club.

An hour and a brief goodbye later, I closed my laptop, feeling fully satiated, both in mind and heart.

Whimsical Jobs I Wish Exist In The World

Have you ever paused, in the middle of finishing your workload for the day, to think what the fuck are you doing, really? Is this what you want to do in life? Is this how the prime of your life will be spent?

As an accountant, I have had plenty of similar thoughts. At such moments, I started writing down jobs that I rather do instead of doing what I was doing. Here is some of it.

Farm Animals Photographer

Job description: I take beautiful pictures of farm animals in all their glory.

This is a personal obsession of mine. I grew up near a farm. Not on a farm. But near it. Which means I didn’t have to wake up in the morning to milk the cow but I have spent countless of my childhood afternoon in joy surrounded by cows and other farm animals. Also, during a recent trip to the land of sheep, New Zealand, I discovered the joy of sheep photography.

I can imagine doing that for other farm animals. Walking around the farm at dawn to capture them with the best lights. Sneaking from behind to take candid pictures of them doing farm animal stuff.

I genuinely think there is a market in it. It can even be used for animal rights marketing, instead of slaughterhouse videos, my photography will positively invite people to stop eating meat.

Then, I can branch out to farm wedding photography, farm life videos. I shall go town-to-town, staying on different farms, and offering my photography service.

Pink Robed Pundit

Job description: I shed some enlightenment to confuse souls.

You might think being a pundit is not an easy job to pull off. But I have met and got the blessing to fake pundits’ way too many times in my life thanks to my naïve parents that I have enough ammunition in my belt to imitate them.

I just need to stop washing my hair, wear a monochrome robe (in my case it will be pastel pink), and sit somewhere in public. I will then memorize a few pages from The Secret and chant it continuously until people start to notice and ask for my blessing and guidance.

My guidance will also come from The Secret book, and, sometimes, the Chicken Soup for The Soul collections. But I need not worry, because no-one reads anymore these days.

Stuffed Toys Tour Guide

Job description: I take your stuffed toy on a trip.

Here is the premise, you have a soft toy and you like to travel. But you can’t because of one or other reasons. Instead of you traveling, you send your stuff toy to me. I will take a trip, take various pictures and videos with it before sending it back to you.

You will get the satisfaction of traveling without really doing it. Admittedly, not as much as if you do it yourself, but definitely beats watching those travel documentaries. Because your stuffed toy is a part of you.

If you think this job is too absurd, think again, because the job actually exists in the real world and I was born to do it, All my stuff toys can attest to it.

Tattoo Fortune Consultant

Job description: I give a pre-tattoo consultation to people to ensure their tattoo will be auspicious for them based on their birth chart, sun, moon, and rising sign.

I legit googled this before I got my first tattoo as I believe molding your Universe given body has the power to change your fortune. I also think people are constantly being dumb about their tattoo choices (waving to ex-name-tattoo owners) and I will be more than happy to be paid to advise them not to do it.

Like, I could see myself telling someone “Son, looks like you have a long, successful life ahead of you, with a wife, two kids, and three houses. But the tattoo you are considering has the potential to change it to three divorces, two kids, and no house. It’s up to you to go forward with it, but don’t forget to PayPal me $100“.

Joyful But Less Successful Cousin

Job description: I tag along to social gatherings, including stress-inducing family events and be the cheerful albeit average distant relative

Remember the many gentlemen in the early 2000 chick flicks, who at first pretend to be the female leads’ fake boyfriends, but fall in real love by the end of the movies? I will be the platonic version of that. The cheerful, simple-minded, less successful distant cousin of my client. I will enhance the mood of the gathering by acknowledging everyone’s efforts, laugh at dad jokes, and dashing off compliments. At the same time, I will be so average that it will shine the spotlight on my client instead.

In-flight Tarot Reader

Job description: I read people’s life paths when they are on board and bored.

With tarot slowly becoming mainstream, now would be the best time to dip my toe into the pack of 78 cards. And what would be a more effective niche than to do it on the plane?

My tarot stall would be on the first-class section — purely because of privacy.

I’d offer an in-your-face-it’s-what-it’s cards reading, which includes telling people, who just uprooted their lives to move to another country, or couple who are going to vacation together that it might, most probably, definitely won’t work it. It might be painful to hear, but at least it would save them wasting more time and effort in the wrong place, job, country, or relationship.

My additional service includes ordering the next return flight ticket, identifying two single persons on the plane who might be perfect for each other, and free hugs. Tips are not included.

The best part of the job is that I will constantly be traveling. Essentially, it’s an airline job for someone who doesn’t have the gracefulness of a stewardess and the smartness of a pilot. Both of those things, I am not.

With the world situation rn, I won’t be surprised if these job ideas will come to actualization soon. I just need to hang on and tally another balance sheet numbers before it happens.

#Gr8ful

I am reading Buy Yourself the F*cking Lilies by Tara Schuster. Also, loving and vowing to follow her every single advise from every single chapter.

One of it is to write a gratitude list. Something I am not at all new to.

I have been doing it on and off since reading The Secret and discussing it obsessively with Jik throughout 2006-08. Then continuing the practice with the Five Minute Journal. But for some reason (read: Covid) I haven’t been doing it for the most part of this year. I dropped it a few weeks into the pandemic as I was feeling utterly bitter about things in general.

Today though, reading that particular chapter, titled “Fake Gratitude Until You Feel Gratitude” — and relating so much with what she wrote in there — I want to reinstate the habit.

I made a few rules for myself: to commit to writing 8 points. It doesn’t matter when, where, how or on what I write it — as long as I write it. I’ll put a reminder to write in the morning and at night (two reminders because I am inherently lazy). And lastly, I will share my practice with you here or on the social media every now and then, to keep myself accountable and hopefully inspire you to give it a try.

Here is my #gr8ful list for today:

  • The magic of Moleskin journals.
  • Extraordinary Oracle — It’s my birthday gift from Jik which arrived yesterday all the way from US. I can’t wait to work with it.
  • The shared-joy of the long weekend.
  • Tall Timber’s Shaksuka and coffee combo.
  • Rainy weekend mornings — as if I need yet another reason to stay in bed reading.
  • Painting-drinking-bitching zoom date with Jik.
  • This blog and that blog.
  • Puppies picture on Kleenex box.

Let’s do #gr8ful together. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Either way I hope you find your ways and reasons to be grateful daily.

Beauty in Ordinary Things

Back alley

Let’s talk about pausing to take notice of the beauty in ordinary things. A skill I am slowly losing, especially if it’s in my own backyards/city/country.

It’s a different story when I am traveling.

When I travel, I notice the vending machine, the local market, the train station, the neon sign, the everything. On my Japan trip, I started collecting Japanese manhole and Daruma doll pictures. Those might be ordinary things for Japanese, but not for me. And digging through the Blogosphere you must agree with me that some people’s ordinary things are not for others.

I even thought the picture of my back with beautiful scenery as a backdrop was interesting enough to be captured. So I did. For years. Now, I have an album in my iPhoto featuring my ass in cities around the world. Most weren’t flattering pictures, tbh. But I am yet to delete it. Maybe I can create a series and sell it someday when I am famous.

For me, the most fun of it is chasing the pattern of the ordinary things that I am attracted to. By paying extra attention to things. And lately, I have been wondering whether I can do this while not traveling. Especially these days, when I am not allowed to travel.

To not living life on autopilot by adding a little childlike wander into it.

So recently I started this micro project, to pay more attention to ordinary things at home. I have been collecting pictures of rainbows and day-time moon, which is a quite common sighting in Australia.

I hope it will lift my ordinary life and make it a bit more extraordinary.

Thoughts on Kind of Hindu

I read Kind of Hindu, from Mindy Kaling’s Nothing Like I Imagined, a 6-parts Amazon Original Stories, on Kindle Unlimited yesterday. I chose to read Kind of Hindu first (other titles include Big Shot and Help Is on the Way) just because I find it the most relatable, as I too am kinda Hindu.

The book started with how Mindy identified as a secular American. Growing up as an Indonesian Indian, with very less exposure to both Indian culture and Hindu religion, I can relate to her. Though I have always held on to both my religion and cultural heritage. Even stronger now as an Indonesian Indian living in Australia.

The book is a light entertaining read. Dripped with the usual Mindy-ism. One of my favorite phrases in the book: “my Indian Hindu assistant, Akshara, had once hired (an Indian priest) to bless her new VW Jetta“.

I got a bit emotional towards the near end of the book when she talked about her mother. Maybe because I read it past midnight, after a couple of glasses of alcohol. Or maybe because I haven’t hugged mine for almost a year now, no thanks to Corona. Either way, I was like “I get you, sis!”.

But there are parts in the book that made me go “huh?!” — like when she categorized paper towels, scissors and apples as mysterious items just because the Indian priest had asked for it. Because, as she said, Mindy had been to Hindu pujas before, where all these items are must-haves. And even if, you have never been to any Hindu ceremony before, I can guarantee you there is no mystery about a regular household paper towel.

Also, I don’t get the joke about not knowing whether to call the Indian cities Chennai as Madras (former) and Calcutta (former) as Kolkata. Even I, the third generation of Indian Indonesian, know the reason they changed the names of some cities in India — and my parents were born in Indonesia! I didn’t find that bit funny. It was kind of knowledge-white-washing of your own heritage. I didn’t expect that from Mindy, my brown heroine.

The rest? Well, you gotta read it, I am not going to give you any more spoilers of the 23 pages book.

Kind of Hindu would make a perfect blog post or two (it’s divided into two stories in the Kindle version), not something I would pay $1.99 for. But since it’s on Kindle Unlimited, which means I am getting it for free, I have downloaded the next one, Please Like Me But Keep Away.

This time I am going to listen to it. Because listening to Mindy reading a Mindy’s adds a lotta charm to it.

Covid Diary: On Travel

What is the point of travel?

I read this half asleep the other day. What a loaded question. It managed to slap the brain back to an alert state. Unable to sleep, I counted how many months its been since I have not been traveling.

I remember landing in Bali at the beginning of the Covid nightmare. Greeted by multiple messages from my loved ones once I disabled the flight mode. How did so much Covid (back then it was referred to as the Coronavirus) related dramas happen in the span of the 6 hours flight from Melbourne?

A few days later, we left Bali. Passing the heat temperature machine set up in the airport to make sure we were symptoms free.

That was six months ago. Half-year.

Plane

Sure, in the grand scheme of things, 6 months is nothing. But, it has been 7 months since I hung up the phone, frustrated because the budget airline refused to refund my Sydney ticket which I couldn’t use because the border had been closed. 11 months since I shared a meal with my parents. 13 months since I hugged my best friend goodbye in Copenhagen.

Before Covid, I always tell Amma that “I am just one flight away from you, I will come whenever you want”. I am still one flight away, but there is no flight that will take me to her.

This was the first time I realized that I might have taken travel for granted.

Yes, I am aware that it is a privilege. But for me, as with writing, travel has been an anchor, parts of my identity, source of my long-term happiness. And not having any travel plan in the future has been giving me constant mini anxiety for the most part of the year.

I know that I need to at least make some travel plans.

In the beginning of Covid, Jik had kept me sane by making pretend travel plans to Fiji (somewhere we planned to go for real last June) but we dropped it rather quickly when the lockdown in Melbourne got stricter, and the world state grimmer, as it made me feel more depressed.

But now, almost a year later, when things seem like it’s getting better, at least here in Australia, maybe it’s time to dip into the travel pool again — as an act of self-care. Even if it means regional travel. Or even day-trips.

Tin Recipe Box Full Of Fleeting Taste

I looked at the caller ID on the phone. Amma. “What do you want me to cook for you?”

I smiled even though I knew she wouldn’t be able to see it from across the ocean. She had asked the same question a hundred times before. To which I gave the same answer, my favorite has always been the same, a famous local dish from the region she grew up in: “prawn curry“. Then I added, “but, let’s cook it together this time“. I anticipated a “Why?” but it never came. Good. The answer to that particular why weighs heavily on my world and I rather put it in writing here than explain it to her.

It all started when a friend, who lost her mother, shared her regrets. One of them was her struggle to “cook like mom” for her grieving family. How, even though she could remember some of the ingredients, some of the recipes and some of the methods, none of them was enough. Enough to bring the same taste to the same plates, served at the same dining table to the same people.

Her words woke up my own demon who whispered into my ear as I lay in the bed, asking me “what would my regrets be?”

The answer? Infinite.

One of them, the same as my friend, would be the fleeting taste of Amma’s cooking. Even though she had given enough advice to last me seven reincarnated lives, Amma had never taught me to cook, because I was never interested. That night, unable to sleep, I decided that it needed to change when I flew home next.

The day I reached home, I was greeted by the smell of exotic spices filling the air and a warm bowl of prawn curry on the table. I half-heartedly complained that I wanted to learn to cook it, but was secretly glad I didn’t have to right after the long flight.

The next day I used a different approach in the effort to capture the fleeting taste: I made her write the complete recipe with foolproof detail.

“Why don’t I dictate it for you so you can write it in English?” she complained. “No, Bahasa Indonesia is fine, but I want you to write it” I replied. She complied and passed me the paper with “make sure you cook it otherwise you just wasted my time!“

Putting her note in the recipe box, I promised her I would. In fact, I told her, I plan to fill the box with other recipes from her, my friends, and even my own. It will be a sort of artifact to summon love and support from women in my life, including myself. She laughed and air-quoted “cooking rice” is not a recipe.

Ha! She doesn’t know that I can boil pasta too!

The day I flew back to Melbourne she hugged me tightly, enveloping me with the warmth of her love. How I wish I could put that motherly love into the recipe box and keep it with me forever.

That’s when I realized it wouldn’t be her cooking that I would truly miss, but the love she put into cooking the food for me. That, even though I have the original blueprint inside my recipe box, it will still be a fleeting taste.

Things I Won’t Think About in My Last Seconds of Life

Memento Mori. A reminder that we all will die one day.

We all know that, don’t we?!

So, why do we need a reminder for that? Because sometimes we go through life as if we are immortals; standing at the edge of danger for a perfect selfie, accumulating money in multiple currencies, carrying the emotional baggage instilled by a distant aunt more than twenty years ago.

Hence, the age-old variation of the regrets-on-the-deathbed question. As someone who’s more than a little curious about death, I have thought about this plenty. At some point in your life, I am sure you have too.

But how about the other side of the coin?

Have you ever thought about the things you won’t care about when you are in the last seconds of life?

Things that are occupying space in the brain, things that we think a lot about, things which probably are not going to cross the mind on the deathbed?

I pondered about this question over the weekend and realized that I won’t be thinking about food in the last seconds of life.

As someone who plans the daily schedule around food, marks the beginning of romantic relationships with the moment food was shared and has an ever-growing to-eat list, the realization bummed me out a little. Unless a certain percentage of people in this world are right about heaven and it has an unlimited amount of peeled grapes I can eat there while watching TV.

Speaking of TV, though I spend an embarrassing amount of time watching embarrassingly titled TV shows (Deadly Women, Scandal, Don’t Trust the B—- in Apartment 23 — to name a few), I don’t think I will be thinking about my Netflix subscription on the last seconds of my life either.

If you think that the early realization above is a reminder for me that there are better things to focus in life other than being a couch potato, then you are wrong! Because I know I won’t be thinking about books as well.

Not about the piles of unread books scattered around the house, the urgent desire to reorganize my bookshelf that resurfaces with the changing of the season, and the constant nagging whenever I pick a semi-familiar book in the bookstore and wonder whether I already purchased the book and kept it in the bookshelf at my parents. Nor of my bookworm’s dream of building a bookshelf in the bathroom consisting of only waterproof books and build a house that looks like a book (– and filled with books).

I won’t even remember feeling guilty for buying overpriced books at the airport even though on the 1st of January every single year, I make a new year resolution of not doing it anymore. And If I am dying anytime soon, the slip up of buying 11 books at Changi Airport during a short layover last year, won’t even come into mind.

The airport talk reminds me that, if I am being honest, I won’t be thinking about traveling as well, something that I constantly think, plan, and obsessed about throughout my adult life (even now, while I am typing this, I have Skyscanner open in another window tab, you know just in case Victoria opens its’ border by end of the year).

Also, hello, no one knows where they will be “traveling” to the afterlife, so why bother?

The good thing is that I should not also think about flying, more specifically, my irrational fear of flying which usually creeps in a few days before I travel (assuming that my last seconds of life is not inside a plane that is crashing). Not thinking about flying also means I won’t go through my friends’ faces in my mental Rolodex of whose message I “forgot” to reply nor replaying the moment when I yelled back at my mom back in 1997 which I haven’t apologized for.

Another thing that I gladly won’t think about is: adult-ing and all the responsibility that comes with it, such as staying in a job long enough before it’s acceptable in the CV to leave, keeping some of the money earned after giving both the government and AMAZON Prime a huge chunk of it and keeping the house acceptable clean to show my parents that as a 30-something grown-up woman, I actually can survive without their supervision.

On the contrary, I am truly saddened by the thought of not thinking about my blogs. The only thing I slogged on and powered through the winter cold (with the help of my cheap electric blanket) continuously, the one I come home to after a busy day at work to “nurture”, that make me skip hanging out with friends and lost my sleeping hours for. Theses blogs are my joy and pride, but if I am being really honest, I don’t think I will be thinking about it. This realization is kind of devastating because the blogs are what I have closest to a child or at least a pet.

Wait, that’s not true!

I do have something else that is closest to a pet for me. Something that I keep at home and Instagram-ed regularly. Something that I worry about when I travel, therefore, pass to friends to take care of while I am away. Something I fed, talk to, and named. The house plants.

And I am sure I won’t be thinking about it either. They are hard to take care of and I am happily won’t use my remaining thoughts not thinking whether I have watered Carrie, Samantha, and Charlotte that week. And hopefully, by then, I already made peace with murdering the majority of them (including Miranda) by either over-watering or under-watering.

On the note of obsession, even though I am utterly obsessed with true crime and have gone so far to form friendships based on the other parties’ knowledge about the serial killers’ full names and regularly googling their mug shots using an office computer, it’s safe to say that I won’t be using the last oxygen being an armchair detective. Nor will I think about my crystals collection, Japan (unless I get to be lucky enough to live and die there one day), and many other things I am borderline obsessive about.

At first, I thought it would be hard to identify what is it that I won’t think about on my last seconds of life, but soon after I realized that almost nothing occupies my mind today, this week nor this year matters then. And that the ones I will think about are a few button taps away. So I picked up the phone and spent the rest of the weekend FaceTime-ng with them.

What about you, what are the things you won’t care about when you are in the last seconds of life?

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