About my Mom. My mother is not one of those mothers who used to be really really fricking (I decided saying 'fricking' was not technically swearing, because I tested out saying it in front of Jenny, and she was okay with it) beautiful, and is now kind of wrinkly and gross. I feel so bad for those women, but my mom is not one of them. She's a mother who was always adequately pretty, and is still nice looking. Her name is Jaya, which means victorious. Sometimes I don't think it suits her at all, but other times, it suits her really well. I just think, whenever she carries on, crying and crying, that her name should be something more like Jahnavi, the Ganga river for all the tears she's spilling. She's very tall, almost too tall for a good Indian girl, and she and my father were married because my mother's parents wanted to settle a fight between them and my father's parents. No one can remember what the fight was about. The thing is, though, the fight didn't really end, because my mom and dad are always fighting. Sometimes I think they just fight becuase they like it, but it's entirely possible that I'm being kind of unfair. Is it too much to ask, though, for them to be nice to be around while I'm dying? I don't think so. I feel pretty entitled to a bit of peace between them. And my older sister, Sanjula. Her name means Beautiful. Fricking unfair right? But she is. She's not yellow all the time. She's got mocha latte skin, and her eyes are so dark brown that you can't really tell the difference between her pupils and her irises. She has a straight nose, and her hair is always perfect. I hate her, most of the time. She disagrees about numbers. She thinks they're kind of a nuissance. She doesn't like to spend time at the hospital, and when she does come to the hospital she's with her boyfriend, Kurt. I fricking hate Kurt. He wears huge glasses that he doesn't actually need, and his hair is gelled so it look like he just got out of bed. He wears cool black shoes and tight jeans and I promise he has 18 different plaid shirts. I once asked him, because Jenny told me it'd be a good idea. Anyway, my Mother is crying now. Even as I write this. It's unfair. I'm the one who should cry. I'm the one who should need comforting.