Do you know that if you have tattoos or ear/body piercing or acupuncture within 12 months before, you are not allowed to donate blood? Or if you have stayed in the UK and Europe during 1980 to 1996? I know the logic behind the first, I'm not so sure about the second. Does anyone, perchance, know?
My friend Clive has been nudging me to accompany him to the blood bank. And so today at lunchtime, what the heck... I am planning to bleed for a good cause. This will be my second time after 12 years. He has been steadily doing it once in 3 months.
I'm not sure if I'm well prepped up for this as I was a bit emo last night and thus didn't get the required 5 hours sleep prior. And I think I ate shrimps around 8pm at dinner... but I made that up with midnight detox tea and lemon juice. And this morning ... well... just Milo and fibrous biscuits as I read somewhere that caffeine (coffee, tea or other caffeinated beverages) are to be avoided entirely. Note that I am clearly following my own logic with this. I exercised quite regularly and my cholesterol level is stable, last time I checked. And my libido is well, let's not talk about that although it did mention in there as part of the check-list.
Clive told me the people who will be doing the bleeding are called blood technicians. And they're licensed to harvest your fluid much like organ harvesters are licensed to collect organs from organ donors. Ah it's all so clear now.
Now, if you think that donating blood will make you gain weight... Bull. You only need to know how to counter your fluid loss in a healthy and controlled manner. Well it does kinda make your appetite increase, and not just appetite for food. Now I know how a vampire and its victim feels like. But if you're afraid of blood or needles, you just have to get over your fears in your own time.
Listen to this important donation fact message: Giving blood will not decrease your strength. Not giving a thought to someone who needs blood, well, that's just plain weak.
How about you join me today at lunchbreak at the Blood Bank? Half-mad and dying to be a heroin ... before I change my mind. Wish me luck!
Just remember: YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE A DOCTOR TO SAVE LIVES.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Flipped ...
You never forget your first love. Some of us may get dipped in flat, some in satin, some in gloss; but every once in a while, you find someone who's iridescent, and once you do, nothing will ever compare.
You don't begin life until you begin high school. It's when all your senses are awakened, and you feel the first stirring of existence. I still remember to this day, the lonely smart boy in my class who didn't talk much, advanced beyond his years who kept a small number of friends and had the reputation of being cool and collected. The first day I stepped in class, he turned to look at me from his solitude corner, gave me a weary nod like the world was about to collapse on his shoulder, and then he suddenly grinned. And I was irrevocably in love. But it was not as sunshiny as it sounded, because the feeling was strange to me and I did not acknowledge it quite as I would have if me now were me then. We were in the same class for three years, and all he ever cared about was being on top of the class, and all I cared about was how to beat him to it, and all the other classmates cared about were love letters, Manchester United, New Kids on the Block, and keeping up with the latest hair trend. He kept to his friends, I kept to mine, and occasionally when I beat him to the top, he would grudgingly but admiringly congratulate me, in so little as a sentence. Oh I dreamed about him. I fantasized about him. In as much as my young 13 year old mind would allow.
Then one day two years later, on the eve of SRP, he asked to borrow my History notes. He never borrowed any of my notes before. He never borrowed from anybody either, especially not girls. He was that smart and that proud not to borrow anyone's notes. Period. So when he borrowed mine, it spoke volume.
And following that, unconventionally, and it all went without saying, during the exam period ... was how he unofficially became my high-school boyfriend. In as much as the dating scene in those days allowed - short love notes, scribbles on text books, booth phone calls, and occasional walks from the classroom to the toilet and back. We never sit together in class. We never stayed back after class. We never held hands. Not even a kiss, if we only knew how. No hand-phone, no Internet. And all the time, I had my best friend chaperoned me from afar.
I wrote two whole journals about the whole encounter. He deserved to be put in three, but there was too little communication or perhaps it was one-sided initially, that I had not much else to write about other than my own imagination and fantasy. I could compose a whole page just narrating about him asking me for an extra pencil. Or about him being sick. Or about the way he sipped his coke. Or about the way he walked. Or about the way he combed his hair. Or about his expressive eyes and hooded expression. Or about his voice.
I flipped so hard I was this close to finish a whole novel. It was the best first-love story I've ever experienced. But then something happened during the intermittent period awaiting exam results. I grew up. Up until now, I had a feeling he still resented me for it. But then, that's another story.
Every now and then when I think about him, I thought of how I used to feel back then. We were so different in personalities everyone wondered how it was that he had chosen me out of all the other girls. Or to be accurate... how it was that I had chosen him. What was right about it all is the age-old saying - you do not choose who you love. You just do.
You may call it infatuation, crush, puppy love, anything ... but even in our naivete, we had called it first love. And like the first of every experience, you will always be reminded of it. The irony of it is, you will also remember your first heartache. Flipped for life...
If I had it any other way, what would I have done differently? My bet would be not to end it. But hey, I was just 15. What did I know?
You don't begin life until you begin high school. It's when all your senses are awakened, and you feel the first stirring of existence. I still remember to this day, the lonely smart boy in my class who didn't talk much, advanced beyond his years who kept a small number of friends and had the reputation of being cool and collected. The first day I stepped in class, he turned to look at me from his solitude corner, gave me a weary nod like the world was about to collapse on his shoulder, and then he suddenly grinned. And I was irrevocably in love. But it was not as sunshiny as it sounded, because the feeling was strange to me and I did not acknowledge it quite as I would have if me now were me then. We were in the same class for three years, and all he ever cared about was being on top of the class, and all I cared about was how to beat him to it, and all the other classmates cared about were love letters, Manchester United, New Kids on the Block, and keeping up with the latest hair trend. He kept to his friends, I kept to mine, and occasionally when I beat him to the top, he would grudgingly but admiringly congratulate me, in so little as a sentence. Oh I dreamed about him. I fantasized about him. In as much as my young 13 year old mind would allow.
Then one day two years later, on the eve of SRP, he asked to borrow my History notes. He never borrowed any of my notes before. He never borrowed from anybody either, especially not girls. He was that smart and that proud not to borrow anyone's notes. Period. So when he borrowed mine, it spoke volume.
And following that, unconventionally, and it all went without saying, during the exam period ... was how he unofficially became my high-school boyfriend. In as much as the dating scene in those days allowed - short love notes, scribbles on text books, booth phone calls, and occasional walks from the classroom to the toilet and back. We never sit together in class. We never stayed back after class. We never held hands. Not even a kiss, if we only knew how. No hand-phone, no Internet. And all the time, I had my best friend chaperoned me from afar.
I wrote two whole journals about the whole encounter. He deserved to be put in three, but there was too little communication or perhaps it was one-sided initially, that I had not much else to write about other than my own imagination and fantasy. I could compose a whole page just narrating about him asking me for an extra pencil. Or about him being sick. Or about the way he sipped his coke. Or about the way he walked. Or about the way he combed his hair. Or about his expressive eyes and hooded expression. Or about his voice.
I flipped so hard I was this close to finish a whole novel. It was the best first-love story I've ever experienced. But then something happened during the intermittent period awaiting exam results. I grew up. Up until now, I had a feeling he still resented me for it. But then, that's another story.
Every now and then when I think about him, I thought of how I used to feel back then. We were so different in personalities everyone wondered how it was that he had chosen me out of all the other girls. Or to be accurate... how it was that I had chosen him. What was right about it all is the age-old saying - you do not choose who you love. You just do.
You may call it infatuation, crush, puppy love, anything ... but even in our naivete, we had called it first love. And like the first of every experience, you will always be reminded of it. The irony of it is, you will also remember your first heartache. Flipped for life...
If I had it any other way, what would I have done differently? My bet would be not to end it. But hey, I was just 15. What did I know?
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