I had a very odd conversation today. Ted Kin and Gen were talking and I happened to be within earshot as I was reaching for my school bag and I overheard the word 'celibate'. Naturally I repeated the word and joined in the conversation which then degenerated into who was 'getting some'. Then Gen said 'celibate' again, except this time it sounded like 'cerebrate' - which I then mentioned. Then Ted Kin and Gen face palmed, because they were talking about Starcraft right before I appeared and misheard -____________-

Another odd comment was when WTY was asking for our CAS hours and Song Yeong said "I'm going to get some Action sir!" From individual inward LOLs, it became a mass laughing session when someone laughed audibly. I think even WTY laughed.

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For once in a long time today, I finally drew on my hand. Except even now, hours later and numerous obsessive compulsive hand washings with soap - the marking is still there. What I find so fascinating about the marking however, is that it bled into the cracks of my skin - highlighting the little lines that are finely etched into my skin. It looks mildly surreal to even look at because more often than not we hardly take time to stare at our hands, taking for granted the little lines that are there. Sometimes I forget their presence.

The skin on my hands is pale and light, much like the rest of me. So pale in fact, that I can see the light greyish blue veins underneath (so how the hell did the damn anesthetist poke the IV drip into the wrong damn place?!) and see how they branch out into Y shaped forks. It's seems like even blood needs to make decisions - do I go to the index finger or the middle finger?

My hands are very small. They're the same size as Cheryl and Mai's - girls who are considerably smaller sized than I am, but my hands remain small all the same. The tip of my middle finger to the end of my palm is about 15.5 cm long and my palm is 8.5 cm across. My fingers are vaguely short and stumpy, which is just as well that I don't play the piano.

These fingers and hands have belonged to me since the day I was born. From wrapping tiny baby fingers around the fingers of loving relatives, I progressed to skipping about and holding hands with friends. Then as I grew older, those hands and fingers slid comfortably into the hands of others. Now those others are long gone, but at least I still have my hands. My nice small hands.