Messiah Complex: Great Expectations

I went back to Kuantan for CNY and was immediately stressed out. After a mere six hours, I blew up.

I saw my father in his state. He's survived a number of strokes and is now more or less wheelchair-bound. He's frustrated and I can relate to that. I understand. His condition puts enormous pressure on my mother and other family members.

At its core, I can totally relate to my father's frustration. Even at my relatively young age, I can only do so much. And in recent months, I have witnessed some of my big plans laid waste and some of my great expectations come to dust.

I am no longer an important man. In fact, I was never an important man. I am nothing, really, and though I understand that and all its implications, I still had trouble accepting it.

I still have a superhero complex and with my illness, I can't do what I did before, how I did it. Work myself to death till miracles start coming out of my ass. Seriously. The past 12 years of working resulted in many results that to me were probably pure dumb luck, in hindsight.

I have reached the top of certain disciplines and have managed achievements some could only dream of or lie in their resumes. But those things are the past. The present is much more modest. I do not hold the fate of millions on my shoulders and nothing I do really matters.

I did not realise how great this is. I mean, I don't want to be responsible for that shit. Fuck that, man. I'm happy being inconsequential and taking care of small things within my limited realm. If some fuckers were to betray me or backstab me, the stakes are very low and nobody's going to die. Nations will not crumble due to a tiny mistake I do, and that's a relief.

In fact, I have lived a charmed life and continue to be extremely lucky. There are people who have been very kind to me and rather than focus on backstabbers and people who don't know they're heading towards destruction, I would much rather spend my limited time left on this earth with those who matter.

Seeing my father struggle at the twilight of his life really stressed me out, but I understand that there is not much I can do for him. I can't save him, I can't fix him. I can't even reprogramme or control what happens or the people around him.

I can only listen to his grouses and stories. I told him about my condition in stark, brutal honesty - how according to some studies, I have only a few years left to live, but the jury's out with my new lifestyle I adopted in response. If I had known he would be lucid enough during this trip, I would not have been so direct.

He was concerned and even offered me some money to cover for my medical cost. That's very sweet considering I am paying for his meds every month - it's the least I could do. My father doesn't have enough funds to get him through this time in his life.

My father remains frustrated every day. He can't control his surroundings and his body. He stubbornly refuses to use the wheelchair sometimes and insists on walking (barely being able to do so) and refuses to acknowledge his own illnesses.

I watch him, and I think, selfishly, "Will I suffer through the same ordeal as I get older?" In his position, I would have asked for death. I can only imagine what he goes through.

So, again selfishly, I am so grateful that I have what I have. I am grateful that I don't have to deal with all the bullshit I had to deal with and the people I had to deal with last time. Nowadays, I only do things I want to do and as soon as I allow myself to do that, the universe also follows suit.

I am nothing, and in this nothingness, I am glad and happy.

So yeah, I believe going through all that stress - intense pressure - at home with my family, seems necessary. Especially now that I'm back in KL, on my primum mobil.

Mortal Kombat!

Fuck, man. I was sick for two whole fucking weeks.

The flu got me the first week, but I kept on going for assignments anyway. My boss told me to stay home, but I didn't.

On Thaipusam, I decided to go to the gym. I thought I could bully the tail end of the flu by working out and doing what I always do to fight off a flu - ignoring it.

It used to be, I would recover from a flu in a matter of hours. This time, though, after I completed a hellish workout session, I got even worse. I'm too old for this shit.

I went home and my temperature just shot up. I was worried that I got dengue, the remnants of a PSA on RTM lingered in my mind. Fever that comes and goes, for longer than two weeks, and all that.

If I had dengue, it would decrease my platelet count. I'm already on two types of anti-platelets and one anti-coagulant due to my heart condition. Dengue could kill me.

So I went to the hospital and had my blood tested. It wasn't dengue. It's just a flu that my body found difficult to get rid of because I dunno why.

The only thing that worked was lots of rest. I spent two days mostly asleep, and felt better each time. I went through 7 boxes of tissue (225 sheets each) in two weeks. I was - at the peak of my illness - sneezing blood.

Today, I think I don't need those boxes of tissue anymore. So I'm going to work tomorrow. I went to all these assignments and I haven't written the stories yet. I haven't chased after some PR people for photos and shit. I work with stringers now and I need to pass them loads of information.

Work looms like a spectre.

Added to that, I am handling my comic book company and we just got featured in Sunday Mail and The Malay Mail Online, after The Sun and The Edge earlier.

During my flu spell, I was meeting up with artists and stuff, Cause you need a lot of prep work before a comic book can come out.

Good news is, I think I'm ready to go for all these things. I'm gonna go out soon and check out sales of the comics at SACC for Pesta Buku Selangor.

I hope the bloody flu stays away. Like, forever.

Anyway, I think I'm good to go. Bring it on.