every weekday i have to wake up at 6.30 a.m. 6.45 the latest. weekends are the only time i have the luxury to sleep in and close my eyes to the knocking and calling of the world. i can turn up the air-cond, pull down the blinds and close my ears to everything except the rumblings of my stomach. that's why it's such an irony when my eyes automatically pop open at 6.09 a.m. last saturday and 5.25 a.m. on sunday. wild horses couldn't open my eyelids on weekdays but on weekends, the pair of smart-alecks, coupled with my uncooperative brain have a mind (pun intended :P) of their own.

i'm someone who needs her beauty sleep, or rather WAS that someone. perhaps it's old age, but i needed at least 10  hours sleep each night before my brain can function when i was younger. the words beauty sleep reminds me of a certain someone. someone who knew that about me much more than others did and constantly reminded me that i should get more beauty sleep. someone who cut out comic strips from the newspapers every week and sent them to me by post just to cheer up my days. someone who thought of me and how i was doing every so often. perhaps more than my dad. someone who always remembered my birthday and there was always a card in the mail waiting for me. someone that i wished i had treasured more. someone that i wished i had visited more. someone i should have said my last goodbye to. eventhough he couldn't see, even if he will never know, i should have flew that 13 hours to accompany him on his last journey. if not for him, then at least for myself.

the young is always carefree and aloof, untouched by the cruel cold hard grasp of reality. if i had known then what i know now. if i was less self-centered then and thought a little more of others. if i had appreciated his gestures then like i do now. now that he is not here anymore. you realise as you grow older that there aren't that many people in the world who really gives a damn. many wear it at the corner of their mouths, oh, i'm so sorry for you, how are you doing?, you can always talk to me......but few really mean it. it's just the etiquette of life. the action of few really mirrors the love in their heart. why must being young be so callous?

i don't have his letters or the comic strip clippings anymore. in my mind, i can still imagine them. i can't remember if it touched my heart then and kept me warm during the winter. i would like to think that it did.