Almost halfway through July, my phone shows me snippets of my life: mostly from work (morning rounds, outpatient chemotherapy and follow ups), Thursday and Friday masters classes, and church. I told the Grab driver last week, "I live a boring life, and I like it," when he asked me if I had ever smoked. I warned him that he might end up in my clinic someday, and that, at 39 years old, with a four-year old son and a working wife, it's not too late to quit. I slept through that ride, only to be awakened by honking buses in the glorified parking space called EDSA. The last thirty minutes of the trip was when we had a conversation and I learned that, like me, he had not yet eaten lunch. I gave him the sweet banana that my stage IV colon cancer gifted me. The ride typifies my existence. I'm swamped in work and study. When I look out the window, life pretty much goes on for the rest of the world. I'm not busy--just exhausted. The exhaustion is of a good kind. And the