I catch myself in moments when I remember to return to my breath. Anywhere, it could be at home or out walking or reading or studying in the library or an eatery. Something about being "alive", "existing", hits me and I breathe in and out and I savor each breath like it's a sip of the finest wine or Scotch ever. Like a dying person might.

I was asthmatic as a kid, and I remember reflecting on asthma: If you can't take breathing for granted, what can you?

Like a dying person might, I breathe in and out and savor the preciousness of just being able to breathe in and out. But this appreciation is only in contrast of a background of some existential pressure, a facing of one's mortality.

Am I facing my mortality? I pretend that I do, but am I? Am I going to go through with this? And if I don't, then what? I don't advise my line of inquiry to anyone. As human beings, we have to live our lives. To live our lives is to ignore our mortality. You can't live your life whilst pondering over your imminent mortality.

I'm not living a life, my life, any life, therefore I'm free to indulge in contemplating my mortality.

I'm constantly asking why people do what they do. I guess at and make up their answers, but they're incomprehensible to me.

Even the recent spate of blogs I've found written by writers – the only blogs I've found worth my attention – are imbued with existential angst, and as they go about their lives in appreciation and gratitude of the happiness they've found which is what they're blogging about, there still is an undercurrent of angst.

Were my parents actually quite wise that their marriage is not based on love? They've effectively reduced their suffering by not being in love. Whereas all these people getting married for love are kinda fooling themselves, or living on borrowed time or rather just living for the pleasure and desire of a moment, and not considering the big picture that in the end we all lose each other.

No, that's cynicism and sarcasm saying my parents were wise. And there's nothing wrong about people getting married for love. The wisest of whom remain realistic and aware that this kind of happiness is fleeting, and they find a balance between enjoying and appreciating their happiness and being aware that it's temporary, and sickness, aging and death always patiently awaits.

No, my parents are incomplete, deluded people. They are not even individuals. Their relationship is symbiotic and I can't even imagine either of them being able to survive without the other. As they grow old, I'm sure this has crossed their minds, I just have no idea what they thought.

And I'm still thoroughly convinced my death will be ultimately good for them, albeit that not being a reason for dying.

It's been rainy, dreary and cold in Taipei and it could go on for quite a while. I'm not quite sure what drags me out of bed each day, but so far I have continued to drag myself out of bed when it would be so easy to just lie in the warmth and comfort of my bed all day.

Peeing! I need to pee at some point, and that usually does it and I put in my 45 minutes of sitting, then make coffee and, voilà,  I'm up and out of bed.