Guess what?

I'm bored with this background already.

Really.

It's not healthy.

Hah. Sorry. S.O.S. reminds me of "Charge of This Post".

Anyways, my brother got his motorcycle. It's a Yamaha brand. He said something about the model...I didn't catch it. I was awe-ing at its beauty and when he rode away, I felt like crying. And that was stupid. I mean, crying over your brother riding away on his motorcycle?

Perhaps, I just fear about his safety. After all, the last time he rode it, the motorcycle was riding by itself. Broke his rib...almost damaging his liver, a fucking hole on his shoulder and...I can't remember other details.

Oh, he lost my slipper! He was wearing it at the time of the accident. My dear flip-flop.

And he asked me in the presence of my mother:

"Two more years...don't you want to ride a motorcycle?"

I didn't reply. I didn't know what to say. Thy is not a big fan of motorcycle. Car, yes. Then my mother said:

"She'll drive a car."

My brother seemed not to be listening because he looked at me and said:

"Take license for it (the motorcycle) and race." I heard that tone in his voice - the tone that tells me he likes the idea of racing his sister on the road.

And, ironically, I like the idea, too.

My mother intervened. "Don't be crazy!"

And he laughed.

Told ya, he's crazy with racing.