29 May, 11.50pm

Dear Diary,

I am going to die. Today, my mother brought me to the hospital for my annual check-up. And guess what? The doctor has diagnosed me with terminal cancer.

I decided that I’m going to keep a diary, so that after I die, my mother would have a piece of me to hang onto, so she won’t be lonely after I leave.

Speaking of my mother, she went hysterical. She grabbed the doctor’s shoulders and shook him. She protested, “How can my daughter have terminal cancer!? There weren’t even any signs of it!”

The doctor just shook his head sadly and said that sometimes, signs of terminal cancer don’t show until it’s too late. Apparently it wasn’t too late for me yet.

He said that I should start on chemotherapy treatment as soon as possible. I knew, when he said that, he was trying to give me hope for survival. But I knew better. I knew what terminal cancer is, I’m not stupid after all. No matter what he says, no matter what treatment I undergo…

… I am still going to die.

Terminal cancer is practically incurable, it’s like… the last stage of cancer or something. That’s what I heard anyway.

My mother… I don’t know how she’s feeling now. But whatever it is, it’s not good. I mean, what kind of person would be feeling fine after their daughter has been diagnosed with terminal cancer?

Oh wait. Did I say terminal cancer? It’s not detailed enough, is it? Let me correct myself.

I have terminal lung cancer.

This gives me another 6 more months to live, before everything ends.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I should live my life to the fullest shouldn’t I? Yet after knowing this piece of news… I just don’t know what to do anymore.

6 months… there were so many things I still wanted to do. How could I fit everything into 6 months?

It’s all hopeless, isn’t it?

Love,

Me