Hunger.

It's been too long for it to be jetlag; the dogs, frogs and other neighbourhood animals have let silence prevail; and the blasted beetle has finally been banished from my bedroom. And yet sleep is far removed. Is this - insomnia in a person who can usually fall asleep as long as there's something to lie on - a symptom of the quarterlife crisis I thought had been exorcised some months ago?

The spate of weddings this year, particularly that of a good friend in recent weeks, have forced me to question if I can continue believing that my life as is would satiate the hunger of my remaining 20s (and perhaps, early 30s).

It would be an easier question to answer, if I could first figure out what exactly I'm hungry for. Knowledge? I'd like to think that I've already, successfully, taken an active approach to fulfilling that need. Travel? I believe I'm doing as much as I can within the constraints of time and money. Job satisfaction? As before, getting as much as I can within the constraints of time and money. Money? I occasionally envy people with the infamous "hunger" to make a whole lotta money, simply because it makes life so much easier in terms of knowing what to do. But I do just lack that passion. Physical prowess? Work in progress. And then there's the social life - I have what I need and anything more depends on the quality of supply.

Oh yes, companionship. The sort that provides for solicitude and empathy, acceptance and understanding, with liberal lashings of sexual desire and gratification. Emotional sustenance you can't get from a cat (or dog), or any amount of alcohol or chocolates, or religion. Thus far I had embraced the belief that the Big Ones were knowledge, travel and job satisfaction (and physical prowess, although I'm certain the reader would disagree). Companionship was something that happened to most but not to others, and that even when it does, it's just something that comes along when you least expect it.

This afternoon I had lunch in a restaurant next to a table at which sat a man who looked to be in his 40s, and his parents who looked well into the twilight of their lives. The mother, stooped and trembling, just barely managed to slowly ease herself into a restaurant chair, while the father remained in his wheelchair. The man did not bother to run through the menu with his parents, possibly as his choices were limited to the few dishes that his parents could actually consume, given their advanced years. When the food arrived, the man took turns between arranging more manageable pieces on his mother's plate, and spoonfeeding his father with a broth into which some rice was mixed. Every now and then his father would let dribble what which he could not ingest, and the man would have to clean this up with a blue towel that must have been thoroughly soaked by the end of the meal.

How fortunate it was for the aged couple to have each other, and a son who clearly cared for them despite the obvious inconveniences imposed upon him.

What happens when I get that old? I'm doing what I can to ensure that I maintain physical and mental health in old age, but shit happens you know. And when it does, only a lucky few have the real option of ending it all. I've always thought it faintly disgusting that some parents, particularly Asian ones, have children as a sort of "insurance policy" for their enfeebled futures. But wait, children aside, can I really leave it to chance that I might spend the next 50 years devoid of companionship? Is "alone but not lonely" a sustainable concept? Is this PMT masquerading as a quarterlife crisis?

In any case, there's not much I can do about it. So I guess, proceed as is. I'm starting to feel sleepy anyway, and I haven't decided if I should go to Thailand or the Philippines next. Or maybe Laos?

Cambodia?

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Enough of the broody soliloquy click here for some retro Japanese craziness!


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