Today on the bus on the way back to the capital, after reading about thirty pages of Ulysses, i started to think, and what else would pop in my mind than death? (Probably the strange atmosphere of the book has a part in this too.) I wondered what it would be like if someone close to me died. I was lucky enough in the past nineteen years to meet death only once—in third grade a classmate died—so i couldn’t really imagine it what it’s like. Not as if i’d like to experience it that much…

I rather want to stand prepared when it tries to strike. It’s not a nice idea though to think about the death of family members. I wondered how the others would act, and it’s not a nice thing at all. Mourning is not that pleasant thing you’d like to partake in every now and then. I realised that if somehow my parents died, i could only stay sane if there was someone beside me, alone no way.

But i wouldn’t have written about all this stuff if it wasn’t for the plurk, as there a friend is mourning and some people are just senseless and indifferent towards him. It’s so strange to see people fighting over that how bad it is to joke if someone’s mourning a loss, when i think it’s even worse to dishonour that loss by going on swearing and turning against each other, when it’d be a time to collectively support the stricken one.

I wanted to go on about what i’d do in such times, but i have no real idea, so i rather stay quiet.