Though I don't look like one, I always think how I would die.
And how people in my life would remember me by. And what would they write about me in my obituary. I don't really have that much friend really. I thoroughly have eliminated any sort of contact in the virtual world (given that everybody make some friends over the internet these days). Okay except the Friendster. And Facebook. But I hardly log in to either of them. It just seem reasonable to have one. Heesh, conformity, and I say I follow the teaching of philosopher Johnny Rotten. Really, I hate the fact (I hate a lot of things lately) that people think we could actually make friends through this media which in the first place does not encourage you to engage in outdoor activities or meet people in the first place. I don't understand how a person could be nice and friendly to a person you would never care in real life with a comment on his/her Facebook. Unless you're Tom Hanks and she's Meg Ryan and you guys just found out about the email on the internet in downtown Seattle OR you're just stalking. Mostly, it's the latter. Other that that it's a futile attempt to look hip like John Travolta in the movie Hairspray remake. It's what the society is doing today. It's the effing culture. I'm trying to explain why I never tend my online account anymore. So the online friends is totally out of the list who'll write in my obituary. And just this morning, before she went to work, my mom lectured me about God have written my fate and everything. And everything includes my death. It's not really qualified for a lecture really. Not long enough. More like a rant, just because I questioned the idea of my written fate. I know. I sound more like a revolutionary atheist day by day. If you would venture on the idea how I would become in the future if I keep this going, I'd be more like a character in an article of a local tabloid that your ustazs/parents tell to their children to repent and make full use of your brains or else it'll melt down. Yes. I could be a male Sufiah Yusof.
But then again, they are telling the truth, and I am lying.
