Today has been a rather uneventful day. I had been going through a lot of discomfort lately. I woke up with quite a few insect bites on my body, and I think my scalp is a little allergic to the shampoo that I'd been using lately. My body has been itching for quite a few days now, and the scratching isn't making things improve any more than it already is. Hopefully things should return to normal in a few days. Could this have anything to do with my diet? After all, my diet has also been rather inconsistent in the past few days. I really feel like making some food for myself once for a while, but for some strange reason I simply cannot get myself down to the kitchen and actually make food.

I think my life has been quite empty for the past few weeks (for as long as I can remember, to be precise, since this holiday has been going on for quite a while) and my days are beginning to melt into each other. Fragments of my memories are beginning to disintegrate and mingle with one another, and I cannot remember what I did a week ago since every single day feels identical. It feels as if that I am merely drifting through the hours of my life, aimlessly wandering through the minutes that tick by, until night falls and my body descends into a deep sleep. Yet, there is something comforting about how expectable my life has come to be, how one day is the same as another, how the concept of eternity, at least for this very instant, appears very real. This piece of writing, I think, is just one of those attempts to keep track of time and to make sure that my thinking self is still alive, that time still serves any purpose when things are just the same. It's a bit like how the prisoner would scratch lines into the wall to keep track of the days that he had been imprisoned – until the day that he realizes that keeping track of time serves no purpose other than reminding him that every passing day will be the same regardless.

I had been talking to myself a lot lately. I think I must be going insane, because my conscience tells me that deep inside, I am a social being. Perhaps, in my writing and in my thoughts, I have labelled myself as an individual who can do without the companionship of other humans, but I think I am wrong. Having a conversation with myself is actually quite a pleasurable process, I think, since I stutter quite a lot in public, and words do not come out in the way that I want them to come out as. I think I must have offended a lot of people in public, even though I did not mean to say such things in such ways. Yet I am an incredibly articulate individual when I converse with myself, since my language does not come out in words but in mere thoughts, and as a result those thoughts are invariably flawless in their construction. The pleasure of thinking is mostly a harmless, hedonistic activity, though I can understand why some people consider people who talk to themselves as 'insane'. The thinker and the insane are really not that different.

I think this year is going to be quite eventful. I'm probably going to go overseas, not once, but twice. Once in April and once in December, to be precise. Mother told me that my grandfather is suffering from a terminal illness, and that he would probably die very soon. I think that he has died quite a while ago actually, since he is in a coma and his consciousness has long ago departed him, leaving behind only flesh and blood which, despite the absence of his consciousness, continues to live on as a testament of the human's innate will to survive. In any case, I am quite excited that I would be going overseas, since I would like to see him one last time and think about the memories that I shared with him and his family and those he loved and those he hated. He is just one of the countless individuals who have died or are dying as we speak. No more, no less.

That's about it for today. There's not too much that's going on at the moment and things wouldn't be any more eventful than how things already are. I would really like to play the piano downstairs once in a while, as well, but I'm too lazy to do that and I've been incredibly guilty for neglecting music for such a long time. I never knew that a mere piano would be capable of inflicting such torment.