Meh..

Today marks my 4th cigarette-free month. No mean feat, considering that I've gone almost close to 14 months without a single puff in the past. I've no intention of relapsing into such an wallet-burning habit again. It's plain stupid and expensive. I'm slowly losing my dad to those fucking cancer sticks. Never would I forget that night of his coughing fits. It was fucking horrible and gory. It sounded like he was gonna cough his tarred lungs out. It sounded like he was gonna die. Fucking horrible.

He doesn't know how fucked up this makes me feel. I always feel like hooking the cigarette from his mouth and then crushing it in front of his face whenever he lights up one of his many post-dinner fags, and then tell him to stop killing himself because I love him so fucking much. No surprises though, Little Asian Boy's too timid to speak his mind.

My grandfather is dying, and my dad knows it. I've always wondered what goes through his mind about the issue, what monologues go through inside his head and what he plans to do should the inevitable happen. Then I figured I didn't have to venture far, because the way he feels for his dad, is the same way that I feel for my dad right now.