“And I am afraid…I guess that’s my secret,” she said, her voice shaking.

It was during Frank Warren (the creator of PostSecret) keynote at SXSW. She said that her sister was supposed to make it to SXSW but only recently found out she wasn’t going to live. The girl at the microphone recited her sister’s blog url and said in tears…that she was afraid.

The many secrets that were revealed during the keynote were heartbreaking, but to me, this was the most. Because there are times that I wake up from a nightmare in fear that my lifelong companion—my sister was no longer around. But no she’s living the life of an optometry student in the dead of Orange County still. They often say that nobody can understand you as well as siblings.

It’s often that we hear “I am jealous of what you two have.”

And once too, someone said, “It’s like you two are dating.” Only because we talk almost every day in some digital form. Be it phone, facebook, im, etc.

Friends come and go, but siblings are forever.

I was halfway across the street when a car came careening around the corner. I screamed in response as the car screeched to a halt less than a foot from me.

Then I stomped off in displeasure, somewhat recovering from almost being hit.

Texans, when I can see their face, are absolutely nice. (A bicyclist would always stop for me.) But when behind the wheel, maybe not so.

Everyone here uses twitter, but I decided to use jaiku. But I am having trouble figuring out who in my world really wants status updates so frequently…

“Part of the reason that they post it online is the risk of being found out,” a panelist said in one of the best panels so far, Sexual Privacy Online.

They talked about how people would post up explicit material online and somehow found by blogs, forums, etc. And how an anonymous sex blogger was named. An inappropriate video passed around until it reached the parents. The uproar, the legality, and the right to freedom of speech.

I don’t ever intend to post up anything explicit. Granted, I may be super-conservative (to put it lightly). But it’s the fact that I am acutely aware that anything I post can be seen by anyone. Anyone. Back in the day, I would regularly admit that I had a blog. At even times, it almost comes off as a sin, a burden, a confession. But it’s supposed to come off as a hobby. A self-preservation. A thing that I just do.

But there are times that I wish I could be truly anonymous. To post how ever I wanted without affecting those around me. Or affecting my life. Like so many bloggers, I want to tell it as it is. Because as readers, we are all so easily attracted to honesty.

On the louderspeaker at the gate, I heard “Boarding zones 1, 2 and 3. If you’re in a party of more than one, please use the lowest zone number.”

“Are we in a party?” I asked my friend. My zone number was 4 and his was 3.

“No, I think we’re in our own party,” he replied and walked away, boarding the plane.

Later when I passed him going to my seat, he apologized realizing…what I meant by a party…

The first doctor. On the 13th floor. Windows faced south. Staffed by two blondes. The doctor told me straight up what was going to happen. Then they emailed me the treatment plan with a breakdown of insurance coverage and cost.

The second doctor. In the same building, but on the 22nd floor. Windows faced north. Staffed by asian and middle eastern descent. The doctor led me through a storybook-like process of describing the procedure along with models of human teeth. Then a lady led me step by step through the financial portion, describing what charge I didn’t have to pay and what I was responsible for, listing my payment options.

And obviously I chose the second doctor even though it was someone I had found on yelp.

After my last experience of using someone I randomly chose from a list from my insurance, I couldn’t do that again.

I opened the door, perhaps accepting my fate almost willingly.

Empty waiting room with the red leather seats so different from the waiting room that I had just left. It had an older feel. I walked up to the counter. The lady, pleasantly plump and somewhat old…was on the phone as was another person. They had a cardboard box between them filled with pastries. They seemed busy with the phone.

I waited patiently and she lifted the phone from her ear. She said not too pleasantly or too pleasantly, “May I help you?”

I looked forward to relief and pushed forward my referral slip, “I was referred here by Dr. Velasco…”

She replied, not looking at the slip, and said in a dull tone, “The doctor passed away yesterday night.”

I mumbled something in response, in shock. She told me to go back upstairs to tell Dr. Velasco. As I walked out back on the elevator, now the whole dilemma was dawning on me. Not because of a doctor that died before I ever got to see him, but rather…life and death appears and disappears almost as if its own will. Did he have a fulfilling life? Treating patient after patient? A hollow job of pain and guilt only amended by the great bedside manner he supposedly held. In an office with a waiting room of old-fashioned red leather seats and gold trim?

Tears don’t come for someone I don’t know.

I bit down on a meaty rib, ready to indulge in my love of being a carnivore.

An hour later, I was in major distress as I went down the list of dental providers by my dental insurance, realizing that most dentists are not available on Saturdays.

My aunt said, “You should marry someone of your own culture. It’s just easier.”

I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to say how it shouldn’t be a match of culture, knowing that she meant of the same ethnicity or race. An asian, she said. I wanted to point out other things that were traits for compatibility: mindsets of money, tolerance of humor, similar life expectations, etc. I let some out, but I held back my tongue.

I remember an essay—a college application essay in fact.

A girl went to England to visit an uncle she dearly loved as a child. He would swing her up and down…both laughing as they did so. She hadn’t seen him for years. When they met again, it was as she remembered it. Yet when they settled down, the uncle started talking with the mother and the girl about how women’s roles have changed over time. How they should always be stay-at-home mothers and take care of the household, the kids. That they should never be working and basically live for the husband.

The girl was shocked that her uncle was so intolerant. The mother gave her a look that said no don’t say anything. The girl held back her tongue. And when the uncle went to another subject, it was as if he was still the uncle she loved.

And the little characters waved goodbye to each other. Giving goodbye presents such as a hammer and a cookie.

Today marks the day that I have completed my first rpg game.

Namely, Mario and Luigi: Partners in Time on the Nintendo DS. Before this, I had only played SimCity and the Sims for days at a time. Then Animal Crossing and Yoshi’s Touch N Go which was overcome by Mario and Luigi. But really, as I discovered, it’s the story that kept me going even though it was just a red man and a green man running and jumping for items.

At some point in my life, a friend tried to get me to play Final Fantasy. XII, that is. I thought it was arduous as we sat in bed watching the game play out on his projector. I didn’t get the turn-based system and kept going only because he wanted to do so.

I like Mario and Luigi mostly because of all its tutorialness. And how over time, I learn how to make the right decisions during battles. How do people learn otherwise? And it, it’s so fascinating. Because it becomes a world where you make decisions. And when you make them, you have to have skill to execute those decisions.

Next?

Probably just picross!