3:20 p.m. - 2004-03-13
do not give up
one late night as i stumbled home after a tired day of work and some food-bingeing with friends, i decided to collect the day's mail, since the people in my house are too tired or busy to do so. so i made a detour to the mailboxes while waiting for the lift, opened the box with a tweaky key and inside were two green letters from SGH. They were addressed to my father. The man with a million doctor's appointment cards. Yea anyway, i got into the lift and stared at the letters in my hand.
As a young kid, i never had to care much or even look at bills and whatnot, much less my father's stuff. But somehow, in that lift with the quiet whirring fan, i decided that i had to care now. I mean that guy's getting old, eyes got cateracts, i might as well read his letters for him. so i stripped the letters.
ok, two doctors resigning from their positions and hence letters from the hospital informing us our appointment times have been changed.
thats that.
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other nice parts:
he wanted to ask her how she could keep on doing this job but he didn't because he knew she would reply someone's gotta do it.
reproduced in entirety:
"are they all going to die?"
"those that no one wants. we'll put them down."
"and you are the one who does the job."
"yes."
"you don't mind?"
"i do mind. i mind deeply. i wouldn't want someone doing it for me who didn't mind. would you?"
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paraphrased ending from J.M. Coetzee's book "disgrace":
this old guy bringing a limp dog into the room of the african animal welfare hospital.
"i thought you would save him for another week, are you giving him up?"
"yes, i am giving him up."
