A picture says 1000 words, or rather 3.. 

Just remain physical..

No, I'm not refering to that kind of relationship but to something just as intimate, pain. A few days ago, I felt this excruciating pain in my upper left thigh whenever I walked and I thought that might be the very very early symptom of old age. But to my first delight then surprise, I realised that the pain was caused by a very nasty blue black that I still can't remember where I got it from. Although the pain is now gone, the blue black remains, reminding me of how vulnerable my flesh can be, even at the supposedly more meaty parts of the body.
And just yesterday, I had an infection on my right eyelid and this once again proves that such physical pain can be felt anywhere in you, in this case at the other extreme, the thinnest area of the body. I wonder did I at my most bored sing, "Pain pain go away, Come again another way"? Because otherwise, the rate of one physical pain replacing the other is amazing.
Though I am not in the best of my mood right now, I'm glad that the pain(s) that I'm experiencing are only surfacial. I hope that they will stay this way or better still, disappear once and for all.

Unworthy sacrifice

I think I must have been too carried away with the idealised notions often glamourised by Japanese dramas. You know, those gambaru spirit, never give up attitude and that hard work pays off. And it happens that I am now watching 'Pride', this particular Kimura drama about a hockey player who always tries to challenge and exceed his own limits and rejects all possibilities of failure with his famous tagline "maybe". (Gas, sounds familiar?) I guess it's normal being touched by the character's passion, especially someone as charming as Kimura that little effort is needed, in fact to influence me into thinking that as long as you believe in yourself and persevere, nothing is unachievable and impossible.
However, it is precisely with all these in mind that ironically, tragedy struck. I thought that given my experience in baking albeit amateurish, I will have no problem bringing the hot tray of baked cookies from the oven to the table. Moreover, my confidence in myself fooled me into thinking that I could do it single-handedly so I only wore oven glove on the assigned hand. You never thought that 14 cookies on a tray can weigh so heavy but it does and so I instinctively used my poor unarmoured hand to balance the weight. What followed are a long wail and 2 short burn marks on my left palm.
Nevermind the fact that I have scalded my hand. I accept that accidents happen but the thing that makes me realise that sacrifice may not be as worthy as romanised in the drama came from the least expected candidate: my grandpa. Do not be mistaken that he is someone who does not believe in sacrifices. It's just that he is the first to try my cookies and think they taste awful.
Hence, I come to the moral of the story. Drama will always be drama. Whatever wonderful outcome that results from hard work and sacrifices can be easily controlled by the director. In reality however, the greasy oven with stains spotted by years of negligence has just proven to determine mine.