For a long time, I stared at the kitchen knives at Cold Storage. As if the jagged edges and pointed head didn't intimidate me. I picked a pair of steak knives up and read the product description. My head was in a tornadous swirl, tears were filling up fast, I didn't know if I should die this way.

I turned around and saw the stationery shelves. Pen knives. Knives, they never seem to be too far away from me, anywhere, anytime. It would be better if I drank rat poison or drown in the sea.

So many times I've cried in public, walking and crying at the same time, taking the stares of on-lookers, swallowing the lumps in my throat, not even bothering to wipe the tears off my face. As if I wanted such a scenario to occur. If you know me, you will conclude I've been pushed to one corner till I'm in such a dreadful state. I never saw this day coming.