It's The Little Things

One would think that after a loved one has died, you would remember him for all the big and important events. It's not the case, well, at least for me.

I barely remember our dance on my wedding day. But I do remember how we almost laughed our eyeballs out over something very petty, I wouldn't dare write about it here; it'll be out of context and I don't want to risk sounding shallow. Or how, when I was a little kid, he showed me an imprint made on a piece of clay. He made me guess which object made that distinct imprint (it was from the design engraved on his wedding band).

One time, at home after his chemotherapy, we both couldn't fall asleep. In the middle of the night, he and I drove out for some balut, using his need to buy some medications from a 24-hour drugstore as an excuse. We greedily wolfed down our balut (3 for him, 2 for me).

It's the little things I miss the most. I miss you, Daddy.

More on Decluttering

More on decluttering

It is not helpful at all times.

My last post brought back memories of my life in med school. Whenever I needed to study for a tough exam (that is practically, every single day), I find myself fixing things in my tiny space in the dorm room (I shared the room with three other people). I fix my bed. I wash my undies. I fix my closet. Finally, I stack my huge textbooks repeatedly and organize my notes, sorting them according to subject and/or priority, and I check my supplies of pens and highlighters. I then take a shower and fall fast asleep.