It took me a day to figure out my bearings between Zen and devastation, but I am miraculously still alive after the US Open men’s final. You just learn not to sweat the small stuff – marriage (boo hoo!), Roland Garros, Wimbledon, Grand Slams record, Career Slam, World Number 1, fatherhood; everything else is icing on an already sweet cake. It helps that I have gained impenetrable armour over the past year and if I can survive those setbacks…

What can I say? Composing this will either serve as much-needed therapy, or plunge me into severe melancholia (skyrocket or nosedive, remember?). I read match analyses and reactions; I do not write them. I am neither a commentator, nor a journalist (yet) – I am a die-hard fan. Just as how the wind kept shifting during the match, both literally and figuratively, so did my emotions. By the end of it, when Juan Martin Del Potro (his name appears first in this post, because his win was deserved) collapsed on the court, I reached a new spiritual plane… That, or I must have taken a chill pill some time between the fourth and fifth sets.

Roger Federer remains superhuman, so there’s no reason for my fandom to take a turn for the half-ass. Even so, waking up at 5 am to make a trip to the casino counts as one of the crazier things I have done in the name of ‘Fedophilia’. Do I regret putting in such effort only to see him lose? Not in the slightest! Will Federer make it 16 Grand Slams? You’d better believe it, baby! Allez!

I realised that nothing prepares you for death, not even when you know it’s coming in the midst of the drawn-out process of cancer.

My aunt passed away on Saturday morning – the grief is unexplainable; more painful than any heartbreak I have borne. I keep thinking that this is Auntie Susan – the one who always made me feel good about myself; the one who loved me like her own; the one with two wonderful children, whom I greatly admire; the one who I look forward to seeing during Chinese New Year; the one who gave the best Christmas presents; the one who performed many acts of generosity; the coool and fun one. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss or remember her; also present is this anger that He took her too soon.

But this is the same Auntie Susan with the unwavering faith, who, in spite of the circumstances, found reasons to praise God. She is still teaching me to believe in His almighty love and grace.

Susan Quay, you rocked my world.

Am I suppose to experience fear? It throws off the equilibrium I have carefully arranged, not to mention everything I have held close to my heart.

And to say it like it is… Although I almost always choose to curse silently.

It comes across as an excuse for bad behaviour, only because I am shamelessly turning it on its head. But I do feel that I need one – an excuse; a reason, justification; whatever – for the way I am disabling my life with ego and self-love.

Why I lose control I do not know.

My inner demons will unleash themselves, throwing me into the black hole which my own hands have dug.

When reality hits with such severity, it takes an elephantine effort to believe in better times ahead, especially for a hopeless pessimist like yours truly. Normally one who is continually enamoured with Barack Obama, I cannot help but pay attention to what the critics have to say this time.

… That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

For four years now, leaving Singapore is infinitely worse than saying farewell to Sydney.

What is this? Why is this happening? Where do I go from here? What do I do? Who have I become?