I love to give blood, it’s good for your body to regenerate blood cells without having to expend the energy to destroy or disposing them. I don’t like the discomfort, but I like to see the clear pouch turn into a warm pillow of blood. I have a perverse attraction to this controlled mess. I have flashbacks to the wall of blood scene in ‘The Shining’ gushing forth and find comfort in that, but strangely enough, I hate the pig blood scene at the prom in ‘Carrie’. I was thrown into my fantasy land of warm blood pools when I the corporate e-mail to donate blood was delivered.

I expected to read ho-hum statistics or a tragic situation that caused some blood shortage. The email listed the quantities of blood but it didn’t list my blood type, which is a very common blood type amongst Asians but only statistically 9.4% of the population. I took this as a slap in the face, but I’ve heard horror stories of the Red Cross contacting people with common blood types, and I thought that it couldn’t be so bad. I realized that by not giving blood, I’m hurting the people that need my blood, but being told that there isn’t a desperate shortage, I don’t feel so bad.