The last time I wrote a blog in this place, my friend Priscilla was still alive. She laughed at my nonsense as usual. It's been two weeks since Julie left me a voicemail using Priscilla's phone asking me to call back. I cried "Oh my God" over and over again. I cried some more while I was on my way to work. Norah Jones song "Don't know why" consoled me as I remember singing the song all the way to Arizona to meet my friend Priscilla for the first time less than a year ago in November.
"But I'll be a vagabond, driving down the road alone." I sang out loud with Norah.
I wanted to adopt Julie as my kid sister from that time I talked with her telling me Priscilla had passed away.
It's been a week since I drove 350 miles to Phoenix to pay my last respects to my dear friend endeared in her native Iloggo terms. Do I miss her, of course I do. Priscilla represented my oldest sister who was born the same year but died a year earlier in Turin, italy. I was not able to go to my sister's delayed burial the month before. Maybe next month, I would be able to visit her gravesite in Turin.
Dealing with dying has forced me to reflect on death, mine. Ugh. No viewings. No ashes either. I hate cigarettes and I don't want to end up the same fate as that of a cigarette. And since I am organ donor, i might as well donate my remains for compost.
Ugh...pha khin toxic!
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