4/18

Half of the finger nails of my ring fingers was gone. They have been, in fact, gone for a while. There's a period when I like to hide them from those who know me, because it's an obvious disability, albeit a minor one. But later I started to tell my surroundings that the fingernails were severed in a fierce basketball match, and I lost them because of courage. The latter appeals to me much and is an adequate way to dispel my reeking incompetence. Every once in a while I need to clean the accrued scurf underneath, and I quietly enjoy the peculiar sense of joyfulness in rubbing some place of my body that is supposedly unreachable. In my youth fingers were part of the novelty, and the fingernails on them seem protrudingly some relic from unknown, prehistoric moments when I was just as unconscious as I'm insensible now. So I bit them, tried to rid of them, like an extraterrestrial being eager to remove the redundant structure of a new species. I had them removed verbatim and cumulatively, and forge lies about them without ever needing to worry about the consequence. A pragmatist as I am, it is unwise to be morally perfect when the society as a whole lags behind.

I've also identify the causes for my quasi- on-again-off-again heart attacks - oxidative stress. I need magnesium and vitamin E and vitamin C and when I went to the Amazon for antioxidant supplementation, none of them supports overseas shipping to China. Vagus nerve turbulence, stress, anxiety disorder, all of them will pass soon. I'll get settled on things only a few more months away - although undeniably I've been thinking this way for the past one year and situation remains static. But hey, I won't die of a heart attack, or anything precarious as the media would report, then it's fine. Human beings tend to treasure the existence for the sake of itself only when something bad happens, and they habitually ignore that things like death and void and disillusion are the norm. I'm changing that for I completely acknowledge the value of getting to be existent. To the extent in which I consider myself superior to anyone dead. But I'm also not changing because I've applied business analytical and not philosophy or any branch from humanity. I might consider take it up as a hobby though. Under the premise of knowing hundreds of millions suffering and dying on the same plant I dwell and eat excessively to think about the future of the world, in a mathematically spreaded-out way. Hypocrisy, is it not? Irony, is it not?

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Watched the first episode of A Bite Of China: Season II, way more efficacious than 3 tablets of selected serotonin reuptake inhibitors. I saw, via the diminutive screen of my iPhone, both the simplification and sublimation of myself. I regarded myself as cosmopolitan and even omnipotent. I take clusters of high rise building, the faint, yellowish street lamps, and the incessant noise coming from the construction site as world in its most common shape. Only now do I realize that although everything in the city looks cramped and streamlined, the people building it are not. They have stories, traditions, kids awaiting for parents back in their hometown. But machine crushed their way of living, currency took their way of getting. They did not taint the city; the city tainted them. And even my writing of them is a condescension.