Michelle Ang will go to bed head full of worrisome questions, hair dripping wet with wasted blood of doubt, face slipping from tears of harsh reality, denying all previous attempts at idealism, say a silent prayer begging for the sweet arrival of the Sandman, take his hand, and hope to never leave.

Michelle will wake up the following day to the sick revelation that this fear is not just a feeling of overall impeding doom. It is living, crying, breathing, loving, lusting and lastly, violent.

Michelle will get out of bed, shower, do all the nitty gritty little things everyone does, get dressed and head out all made up to battle another day. She will return home in the dark of the night, aplaud herself silently while the opponent recevies a wild standing ovation.