I think it's a sign.

Just the day before the accident, I had lunch with my boss at a mamak near the office.
While we ate our lunch, a man came to our table, tall, sweating, said hi and he was trying to sell this alarm thing for sleepy drivers.

Since he didn't seem dodgy, and the poor thing was sweating profusely, I invited him to sit down and that we'll listen to what he has to say about his product.

So he sat and talked enthusiastically about his sleepy alarm, it looked like a hearing aid, those you balance/stick on your ear, and when your head is not  in a straight position, meaning you look down or whatever this... deafening ringing sounds goes off, waking you up.

Talked about how safe it was, if the deafening decibel can damage my precious 21 year old ear drums, and he said it was perfectly safe and that they've had no complaints thrown back at them.

After he was relaxed enough, not as sweaty as just now, we thanked him for his time, and vice versa, more like it, and left.

This is John and I's favourite postsecret.
I knew John since 2005, when I was practising HTML with myspace.
The good old days.

I'm not going to lie and say 'I escaped unhurt' or 'everything happened so fast' or 'I felt so lost and confused'. I crashed the divider, bounced (inertia, not entirely my fault, it's all laws of nature) and hit the iron rail on the right side.
Got out, looked at my car in awe, like Rothko would at his ginormous paintings.
Looked around, expecting 10 people to run after me, to see if anyone had died (and take amateur handphone videos and pictures to be forwarded Malaysian-style) or just to sibuk, but no one did. So i inspected my car some more, and a girl came running and stopped breathless when she saw me, asking if I was alright.
I said yes, and she asked what happened.

I said I 'terlelap'. I didn't exactly sleep, I was blinking. Unfortunately my brain reserved some energy during the second (or two) long shut.

I'd rather not elaborate what happened after that. I was pretty jolly and carefree and pretty much 'pasrah' the minute I saw my car, much to their shock (them=police).
I guess my head has started to tune out... and snap out of... this.
Out of life.
Routine.
The adrenaline rush. I was sleepy. When I'm sleepy, I'm not on earth. I'm in Lalaland. I'm married to Jude Law and many other tall handsome rich men. I talk nonsense I won't remember.

I have been feeling this... urge, not urge. This strong feeling when I walk alone, this beating on my back, in my head, pushing me physically towards harm. Taking the dangerous routes. Walking in the dark (where I could easily get mugged, kidnapped to have my life exchanged with a fee, raped perhaps, sold as a slave to some sick perv, forced into pushing drugs up my ass [literally] transporting it out of the country as a job, kidnapped to be a bank-robbing partner, the list is quite endless).
Telling me it's time to snap out of it.
Snap out of life. What is life?
Let's find out. I want to know. Is life my routine days? Is life what I only do during my conscious life? Are all my dreams considered as life too, or another life?
What if my dreams ARE my life, and all this is a dream. A lucid one.

What if I got myself into an accident. A bad one. I want to see something change.
I want to see.
I want to see differences. I want to compare.
What is life?

I think I should go to a doctor one of these days. My head hasn't been functioning so very well since last week, waking up with a tornado in my head, physically causing me to lose control of my eyes, when I shut them tightly my body still sways with the tornado, the white noise at an unbearable decibel.

For once in my life, I felt motion sickness. And I was static on my bed.

I'm not sure why, my maid said I've not enough blood, which kinda makes sense to me, so I might check my blood count.

I told my mom about the dream I had of my brother dead, and she didn't sound shocked or impressed.
She in fact, just sniggered and said 'You and you're always with your morbid dreams. Always.'
Hmm. Ok.

Oh, and my parents are pretty fucking pissed at me crashing ma brand new car, I feel like a kid with a tooth under my pillow begging for the Tooth Fairy.
Only the Tooth Fairy would be Xzibit (sp?). Gangsta style. Towdally.

I didn't get to bump into my dad until 2 days after the event, when he saw me in the kitchen and he had that look on his face like he wanted to punch the living daylights out of me, and even addressed himself as 'aku' before correcting it to 'papa'.

I do feel bad.
And I'm actually even thinking of going back to college for next semester, and not defer.
Apart from snapping out of life, I want to make shitloads of money and get the fuck out of here.

I was looking through my old (2000-2005) stuff the other day, and I found newspaper clippings.
I used to cut articles and pictures of things I liked and kept them in a box.
I had Andromeda, galaxies, colourful ones, nebulaes, picture of a father crying over his dead son's pale body, and this huge newspaper cutting.
I was confused when I opened it, it said something about the Himalayas.
But when I glimpsed at the pictures, I didn't even read the captions, it was meant to be. I remember now. I've always wanted to venture out into that side, the cold side.
Somewhere like well, the Himalayas, Mongolia, Siberia, Russia.

Wishful thinking for now.


Anyway, a lovely quote I got from an old friend.