Ok so I was down with a lung infection. Spent a couple of days at Alexandra Hospital.

And then there was the long queue at suntec for TBC. Till now I still haven't quite figure out what's the real excitment about.

Just when I stopped blogging, one of my long time friends came n told me that he reads my blog. I raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised as I didn't expect him to be one of my audience. A little encouragement came from him though when he commented that I write well. The next question was how much did I score for English at school.

B3. Not surprising at all since I can never write those creative narrative stories during secondary school. Totally sucked at it big time. However things did change for the better when I got to do those argumentative stuff that requires facts and numbers.

I suppose when I look at things I don't go thinking how I should be writing when facts, figures and numbers capture my attention more.

The best part about the hospital stay was the visitors that came. Few were the usual people and some who turned up when I really wasn't expecting them to. I would say the most well spent time was actually when I was bounded to the bed, drenched in perspiration, while a friend quietly sat down beside me, not wanting to disturb me from my slumber. It was an awkward moment. As much as I wanted to talk to him, I couldn't due to the effects of the medication. In the end, I had to ask him politely to go home.

I loved the 4 hr long conversation that I had with another friend who wanted some inspiration to write his next book. Always loved reading what he wrote. This time it was about grasping real faith and I told him that he shouldn't be just writing typical success story. A more accurate portrayal of faith should be those who didn't fit into societal norms of a successful person but are trying to hold on, to as much as what is left of them.

Quietly I find myself sinking into another pitfall of life. I wonder what happens there and then, and what is happening now. Often I question, the very basics of existence and it wasn't anything new when my friend broke this gently to me while I was lying on the hospital bed,"You never led a normal life."

I agree with him, with a small nod he acknowledge my response. Then I would wonder why would I even want to try so hard to have a "normal" life when I was never quite cut out for normal? What should then be the definition of normal when one man's standard could never quite fit into another.

Questions after questions, I find myself stressing up over the minute details of life when I really shouldn't. Things are clearcut to those around me. Rest and then go back to work.

Is that really the way life should work out?

I really wished I had the answers at times.