I’m leaving to go home in two days. Chris and Ben are coming to San Francisco, too. On Sunday, we’re planning to take a day trip to the Napa Valley area, and my parents are not a huge fan of this. The first reason is because my mom disapproves of over drinking (to my mother, “over drinking” really means having anything more than half a glass of wine; even that is a lot to her). The second is because of the 6.0 earthquake that the area experienced just three days ago, and my dad is concerned that a lot of the roads will be blocked off and that a lot of the wineries will be closed for repair. My parents just like to worry.

It’s sad to think about going back to Napa. The last time I was there was in March 2013, when Ed was still alive, and we went with our parents for a very uneventful day trip to the area and tasted no wine. We had lunch at a decent spot in downtown Napa, wandered around aimlessly while my dad argumentatively told my mom he didn’t want to taste any wine and certainly did not want to pay to taste. My dad was asked to plan the day, and as usual, he planned nothing, which made my mom extremely angry. And because she can rarely allow herself to take her anger out on him, instead, she took it out on us and yelled at us multiple times that day. Ed never liked wine, and he couldn’t do any tastings anyway because of his medication. All in all, it was a wasted, miserable trip that made all of us angry. I just felt bad for Ed at the time because he was trying to be positive that day despite my mom screaming at both of us.

This time I will be going with Chris and Ben, and it will very likely be a much better time. But I get upset at the idea of knowing that the last time I was there was with Ed, and we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge to get there. We will have to drive over that bridge to get to Napa this time — the same place where he took his life, and a barrier is now being constructed. It is scary and almost depressing how quickly time passes, and how then, he seemed like he could have had hope and have been fine, and now, he no longer exists in this world, and I will be alone in that house with my parents.

Today, I had lunch with some former colleagues from my last job. Two of them I haven’t seen in over a year now, and the other I’ve seen three times since I left over meals or drinks. It’s funny how sometimes, you don’t see people for a long time, and when you do see them again, everything feels exactly the way it did as the last time you saw them. It’s almost like no time had ever passed.

It made me a little sad, though. I realized that even though I was unhappy at my last job, there were things that kept me going there, like the few colleagues who I did share laughs with about nonsensical things, and others who I actually did discuss serious issues with. People actually acknowledged I was a human being. My presence was noticed. I was listened to. If I wasn’t there, people noticed and asked about me. The people you work with and are surrounded by every day really help shape your desire to go to work every day. So it seems pitiful when you have no one at all to lean at at your office.

Last night, I found out that one of the comedians that highlighted my youth committed suicide. Robin Williams, the voice of the Genie in Aladdin, the main lead in Mrs. Doubtfire, which Ed and I watched together, has died via asphyxiation in his Tiburon home. I’m deeply saddened by this news, and particularly because his death was of his own means. It’s another life taken by suicide, by a deep depression that failed to be fully recognized and treated by our society.

I actually met Robin Williams in Japantown in San Francisco during my middle school days. I was with a few of my friends during a school holiday, and we saw him at a store in the shopping center. My friend’s little sister was so excited and asked for his autograph, and he seemed genuinely happy and eager to give his autograph and chat with us even though he was in the company of who I think was his mother. A lot of celebrities would not have been this warm and kind.

I wonder what Ed would have thought to have heard that Robin Williams committed suicide. I’m sure he would have been shocked, but unfortunately, he isn’t here today to hear the news. Instead, Robin Williams is joining him in heaven somewhere up there. I hope he is cracking jokes and making my brother laugh now. Maybe they are even cracking jokes about the fact that Ed took his own life before Robin did, as dark as that may sound.

Tonight, we had my best friend and her boyfriend come over for dinner, and after enjoying the Turkish feast I cooked up (and the many cocktails and whiskey pours that Chris gave everyone), we decided to head out at 2am for some late night karaoke a few blocks away. We were all at varying stages of drunkenness, so this sounded like a good idea.

When we got there, Chris and Crista picked Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men’s “One Sweet Day,” and after singing it on stage with Crista, I would end up crying. The bar was actually fairly empty so it wasn’t like everyone was staring at me, but it still felt miserable to be drunk, crying, and remembering Ed.

When the Daydream album came out in 1995, it actually coincided with the death of my grandmother. Ed and I would play “One Sweet Day” a lot at that time. It was one of our favorite songs on that album. That song used to remind me of my grandmother’s death, and tonight, after not hearing it played for so many years, it reminded me of Ed’s death. I had forgotten the lyrics, but as the music went on, I remembered every word. The lyrics discuss taking for granted your lost loved one. I think in a lot of ways, I’m sure I took Ed for granted, and it made me feel even worse.

There’s nothing that can be done about that now, but I agree with the song. One sweet day, we will see each other again. The sad thing, though, is that until then, I will occasionally be reminded of the pain of losing him and probably end up crying here and there, and not always at the most obvious moments.

I barely spent 24 hours in Fort Lauderdale for this work trip, yet somehow, the monstrous mosquitoes there were able to find me and give me bites in four different spots of my body, three of which were fully covered by pants and a long-sleeved shirt for my work meeting. All of these bites happened during one short walk from the hotel to our rental car. The one on my elbow has swelled up and is over four inches in diameter. How does this always seem to happen to me?

I am a mosquito magnet. I don’t know what I’ve done to attract them, but somehow, no matter where I go, I am their sweet target.

In the last four months, I’ve somehow managed to identify two new sensitive spots on the inner sides of my molars. Any time anything very cold touches them, it’s like electricity flying because of my nerve endings being hit. It’s been making it difficult for me to eat cold things, so I started using Pronamel sensitive teeth toothpaste and have been eating cold things very slowly and deliberately. I usually try to chew on the front side of my mouth, away from the back where the sensitive spots are, and then I swallow.

This makes me sound old and pathetic. I haven’t even reached 30 yet and my teeth are already bothering me. The most frustrating part about all this is that I’m so good to my teeth; I haven’t had a cavity since I was under the age of 10, I brush my teeth twice a day and floss every night, and I even wear my retainer and mouth guard each night to Chris’s absolute disgust. I’m sure that despite wearing my mouth guard that my jaw still clenches at night. I guess there’s nothing I can do about that, sadly. I just don’t know what else there is to do to prevent any more sensitive spots from cropping up.

It’s these moments when sometimes, I think it may be easier to just have all false teeth. Then, there would be no nerve endings at the end of the teeth to sting my mouth.

My emotions have been going crazy the last week, and I’ve found myself tearing up and remembering how horrible this time last year was. I kept playing in my head the image of my brother walking up and down the Golden Gate Bridge, waiting for lesser foot traffic so he could get his moment to jump.

Last night, I dreamt that I was back home just days after he died, and I was going through all of his belongings. I was sitting on the living room floor surrounded by piles of papers and books and boxes of his many toys and collectibles. I opened a box with a lot of miniature figurines no bigger than my thumbnail, and I’m admiring each of them one by one, wondering how he had all these little things and I had no idea. In the dream, my mouth feels dry and my entire head feels numb. And the house is somber and I am alone, all by myself, surrounded by Ed’s things.

This dream was disappointing because I never even got to see him; who wants to dream about remembering pain and misery and losing someone? I think he might do this to me purposely. When he hasn’t visited in a while in my dreams, and I want him to come, he doesn’t come. And this time of the year will always be the worst because not only does it contain the anniversary of his death, but just one month later, what would be his birthday. And this year, it would have been his 35th. My poor Ed never got to see his 35th birthday. Yet life goes on without him.

I spent a lot of the morning in bed thinking about Ed and the words my friend had written me in that card I received last night. I thought about how his life was cut short voluntarily, and how he had so much more to breathe in and experience. And then, later in the morning, I find out that someone else I have seen regularly, about once a month for the last year and a half, has also died.

Our building has arranged for an exterminator to do regular checks of each apartment monthly, and for the longest time, the same man would come knock on our door on a Saturday morning and inspect and spray our bathroom and kitchen. He was generally a friendly person and always smiled. Today, another exterminator came in to inspect the apartment, and having polite conversation with us, he asked if we remembered him. Of course we did, we said. We saw him every month. Well, he died, this man said.

Apparently, he died of a brain aneurysm. He supposedly seemed completely fine beforehand, but the aneurysm ruptured, and he died. It was such a shock to both of us when we found out. We saw him regularly for so long, and now suddenly, he is dead and we’re never going to see him again.

I spent a lot of today thinking about this on and off. We didn’t really know him as a person; he was just the exterminator who came to make sure our apartment was roach and rodent-free. He’s someone we saw regularly but had no real, deep relationship with. It still makes me sad. He’s someone who was in our lives, but at the same time, not. He couldn’t have been any older than 40 or 45. How does one even prevent a brain aneurysm? Or are we all just going to die of something ridiculous like this, or as I keep hearing, of some stupid, new form of cancer that seems to be a result of the chemicals and additives in the food we eat in today’s “modern” society?

While it would be great if my entire wider family were functional and we all got along, that is simply just not true. You know it’s not true when you call your mother after work, and she asks you, “Did your Auntie X call you lately?” You answer no, and she says, “Good.” What kind of response is that?

It’s as though every time a family member contacts me, my mother hates it. She doesn’t want anyone reaching out to me or telling me anything. She especially doesn’t want me to tell them anything about my life, like where I have traveled to, what restaurants I have eaten at. Why? Because for some reason, all of those things seem negative to my parents because they can be spun in such a way that supposedly makes me look bad or snobby or careless.

My mother said to me yesterday while getting angry at me for getting exasperated at her, “You always think that your mom is so negative when I am trying to be positive. You are the negative one.” I think both of my parents define psychological projection.

I’ve realized that I’ve found myself silently fuming over my parents and all of their negativity and flaws this week. In the last year, I’ve had moments or hours when I would go over and over in my head why they are so miserable and negative when I think about my brother and how he isn’t with us anymore, but they would eventually pass. This week, it seems to be a reoccurring thing that comes and goes constantly throughout the day. When I least expect it, I am getting more and more angry with them. I am remembering one event after another that they have managed to make more difficult or just completely ruin.

I realized tonight that maybe one reason these feelings are re-surfacing to the extent that they are is because the anniversary of Ed’s passing is like a reminder to me about all the anger I’ve had against them and how they helped drive him to the lowest point in his life. As much as I want to have a functional relationship with them, a part of me will never forget how poorly they treated him, especially when you compare their treatment of him to their treatment of me.

Tonight, like I anticipated, my mother asked and obsessed over the same things I predicted. Since she knew I had dinner with my cousins’ cousins in Montreal, she asked me five hundred annoying questions about their family and made sure to add in the 100-dollar question, “I don’t mean to be nosy, but who paid the (dinner) bill?” There’s really no winning here no matter what answer I give. There are three possible answers: 1) I paid, which would infuriate her, 2) they paid, which she would be mad about because then she’d feel a massive, guilty need to re-pay them immediately because it’s impossible for her to truly believe that anyone would willingly do anything nice for me without expecting something in return as soon as possible, or 3) we split the bill, which also would drive her crazy because then we were all cowardly and none of us would take the initiative. Of course, when I said it didn’t matter and that my cousin paid the bill, she got annoyed and asked if I had bought them a gift. No, Mom, I didn’t immediately run to a store to buy them a gift after dinner because I’m not that transparent. But I will remember that they were so generous, and I will most definitely offer and pay the bill when they decide to come to New York eventually.

It’s a good thing that I’ve somehow managed to un-learn a lot of the stupid, negative things my mother has tried to teach me. I shouldn’t feel guilty when people are nice and pay the bill for me and feel like I “owe” them something ASAP. When I pay the bill for others, I shouldn’t feel like I am “waiting” for them to pay next time. It should just be what it is, and if I surround myself with good people, we should all be good and generous with each other. It doesn’t have to be negative if you can just look at it positively and think that maybe not everyone is out to “get” you.