Broke, but in denial

Honestly, I have lost my creativity and wit to transform thoughts into words after this unforgivable disappearance from blogsphere.

Today is the first time in 3 years since my adventure in Glasgow has left me feeling naked, unshielded and insecure. Glasgow has been sunny miraculously since passing my exams, 4 days ago. And it is still sunny.

I was comatosed in bed when I heard the loud unhappy snap of my letter box at 930 this morning. The sinister loud clasp of the letter box was like a warning sign to me, I knew the postman was up to something bad.

There was a huge white enveloped lying at my feet, it looked pretty harmless except for the bold Clydesdale Bank print staring at me challengingly. Unable to take challenge, I peeled the envelope violently. I recalled vividly opting for the ‘paperless technology’, as denying a hard copy of your bank statement not only keeps you happy as you remain oblivious to your spendings, it also saves trees! You happy, the trees happy!

THEN IT HIT ME! ₤389.27! ₤389.27!

The bank was writing to tell me that’s all I have! Eyes still sore from the 68th episode of The Gems of Life at 4am yesterday, I re-scanned the blurry pathetic figures which announced my severe state of poverty.

₤389.27.

Apparently, Mr. Clydesdale was writing to tell me that my standing order for flat rent would not go through the next month if I didn’t feed my account. Oh, and I conveniently forgot that my scholarship had officially ended - 1 month after my finals. This 389.27 was meant to pay for my rent, my unlimited cinema movie card, my mobile bill, my tesco shoppings, not to mention my very occasional wee indulgences for the next freakin' 4 months!!!

Limp, I leaned against the couch and wondered about my imminent bitter fate. Behind my bank statement a glittery envelope from New Look beaconed….

I got a bright pink New Look credit card which showed that my ₤28 debt was due!

I ignored the sour taste of regurgitated acid in my mouth and decided to pretend that these all did not exist.

Now, let’s see... what I am going to wear for the Salsa class later…the lesson fee goes to Wateraid charity ohkay!

Back to blogging, hopefully

I have stopped blogging for awhile because I just lost interest. Yeah, just lost interest. Like a lot of things in life, that could happen within a flicker of second.

And then as I am munching into my smoked salmon sandwich which I made out of the leftover salmon from my sushi-making effort Sunday past, it struck me.

Maybe I have been feeling insecure, unhappy, lost, confused not myself because I have not eaten enough salmon! Haha pun intended… because I have not been blogging – that’s what I meant.

I don’t know.

I have so much to do, but I’m disinterested. I have a string of to-do-list in my head, but I don’t feel motivated. I wish I could just disappear. Perhaps, it’s time I went through the depression check list. Oh well, definitely still doing alright as I have no problem getting up at 730 every morning, and grope in the darkness of Glasgow to get ready.

I just wanna be someone else. For a day, wish someone could trade with me.

And who said life is fair?

Whoever who says life is fair, he has made a grave mistake.

It is a universal, undisputed fact that pretty or good-looking people will always be at the upper hand of things. Who says with a golden heart, physical beauty doesn’t matter. Honestly, no one should blame a girl who spends a fortune on shoes, bags, dresses, make up etc. ( I am not justifying the 9 pairs of shoes which I am bringing back to Glasgow)

Because the world is superficial. Looks have always been and will always be important.

People, especially guys. You can’t deny this. Once upon a time, even PAS had proposed that only unattractive girls should join the workforce as the pretty ones are sorted since they were born – because of their doll-like faces.

The cute little thing who appeared before the world in the fiery red party dress turned out to be miming. As her photos were splashed across the globe, being branded as a rising star, the true singer who was at the backstage had remained unnamed. Thanks to her chubby face and uneven teeth, I quote The Star.

Gosh. China says, that was done for the betterment of the nation, they had wanted to depict the ‘correct’ image of china.

When I was doing my Paeds elective in Aus, a senior medical staff had innocently commented during ward round “ It’s very difficult to tell apart an Asian baby from a Down’s baby”. Perhaps, the Chinese’s act of swapping the true singer is justified.

I don’t know what to say. Well, at least now I know if my daughter wants a boob job, she gets it.

Speaking of which, I have learned that I need to do lotsa preparation for my finals OSCE. My darling friend in Aus had spoken out of first hand experience, when she attended her first exam in a geeky outfit and thick glasses, she had scored a B. The next time round, she had taken 1 hour before exam to look groomed and glam, that’s when she got an A!

Now, let me plan…. Perhaps I should start shopping for OSCE clothes now!

Picies!

Winter in Brisbane. check out the outfits. Honestly, wot winter?

Blurrry photos always give an angelic illusion. haha, and we all know priya is far from that *Priya doesn't read blogs, I know I'm spared from a slapping*

wot sort of name is that? cold rock, hard rock, cold ice.. i had such a tough time remembering it, it's almost like sarsaparilla the schizo-inducing beverage.

Like my wee collection of travel T-shirt. I must say, "I love Brisbane"

Back to blogsphere!

I have retired from blogsphere for quite awhile, but yeepei’s post gave me a motivational push today. Indeed, blogging feels like a holiday retreat. I never quite have the time to blog back in Glasgow, or rather, there’s nothing to blog about gloomy Glasgow.

Actually there are, might have to do a quite catch-up in chronological order.

Prior to brissie, I was hospitalized for a week. That was the most traumatizing event of my life *details on my near-death experience later*. I moved house, to this fantastic babelicious flat with a giant-sized bed, no need for bed-making anymore as I only occupy ¼ of its space.

Everything is cool. Except that I haven’t got a chair in my new flat.

Back home in Malaysia now. I have no complaints apart from the sprouting pimples and 5 mouth ulcers. Gosh, it’s such a tough journey to reach home, I have flown 12 times! I’m sick of aeroplanes. I’m meant to visit my aunt in JB next week, but honestly, swimming there sounds more sensible than braving another flight.

In a matter of weeks, I have flown from Glasgow-London-Bahrain-Malayisa-Brisbane-Adelaide-Sydney-Brisbane-Malaysia. Currently awaiting KL-Bahrain-London.

Guess who has the most currencies in her purse.

Alright, this is just a wee flavour of my hectic holiday so far. Updates tonight

Shower in Brisbane

In a matter of 3 days I cconquered 4 continents, not exactly 4 but sorta… From the UK, I stepped foot to the middle east, to south east asia and now Australasia.

To the land with 4-minute rule – Brisbane.

When rain is such an unwelcoming sight in Glasgow, in Brisbane it’s a rare treasure. I wouldn’t exactly say treasure, but it’s so scarce that you are only allowed 4 minutes to shower.

This must be the most unromatinc place on earth? Wot if you wanna have a couple bath? What if you wanna poo? I wonder, how do people deal with 4 minutes here?!

Oh well, it doesn’t help that linda’s bathroom has one of those wee sand bottles, which sends you on a bathing race when you turn it upside down. 4 minutes!!

To wash my hair, condition it, lather on shower gel, scrub my back, do my face – it’s military-style 4 minutes. Basically, the amount of time it takes for me to drop a piece of bread, not let bacteria infest on it, pick it back up and swallow it takes 4 minutes. You know, with the 3 minute rule (the amount of time before you gotta chuck any dropped food).

That is almost equivalent to the time I wash my hair, condition it, lather on shower gel, scrub my back, do my face in Brisbane.

4 minutes.

Crap

Often, it’s when I am pressed for time to meet a deadline would my mind start wandering; it will be everywhere but where it is supposed to be. I have to finish my case report tomorrow. Working for my consultant, a female surgeon comparable to ‘devil wears prada’ still can’t get me back into focus.

I am thinking about everything. About my 9 hours surgery today, about how the scrub nurse was pissed off with me because the surgeon is not paying enough attention to her scrub nurse student because she was busy showing me the Recurrent Laryngeal Nerve.

I am also thinking about moving. I am moving out soon – and no one will be here to help me? I can totally predict myself getting a hernia as I strain to shift the gigantic boxes. Oh dear, where are the men on earth?

I want a puppy. But who is going to wipe his poo?

Then I looked out of the window and saw that it was raining. And my mind wandered to a friend I recently met, he told me he was going out with a hot Indon girl whom he dumped after 5 months because she got attached …. to him!

And he gave me a wink which he obviously thought was a killer wink and said “oh I don’t do long term.”

DOH. Honestly people. It has nothing to do with me, but I’m annoyed.

Ok, I gotta go and finish up ‘neck lumps’.

The 'hard work' of nurses

After my recent survival in Dumfries, the sweet little village where 40% of Scotland’s Syphillis cases originated, I must say… I have never been more amazed by nurses.

The hospital is known as the largest employee of the region. Well, how can it not be, when….

Outpatient clinic

3 nurses are assigned to 1 consultant. Gosh, why?

I have heard tons of mean stories which slash off nurses. Well, I certainly don’t mean to be rude here, but I have to agree with S who coined the nurses ‘planets’. They all look like mini planets with round globular body habits and short blonde bobs, and they float around the outpatient corridor, WONDERFUL at their respective jobs.

One was in the clinic with us, who was programmed to ask “Tea at three?” each time I saw her. Whoever who wrote her program had also ensured that she efficiently changed the couch paper roll 3 minutes after the patient left the consultation room.

She then shut her eyes and went into ‘hibernate’ mode when consultation started.

WOW. Talk about planets and technologies.

Nurse 2 was designated to walk the grueling 10 steps from the door to the doctor’s table, to bring in the clinical notes. I must say, this job is worthy of Guiness World Record. Imagine the possibility of spraining your ankle during those unpredictable 10 steps! Ah.

Nurse 3 would stand by the door and shout the patient’s name. The entire clinic would have stalled if it wasn’t because of her. Coz the nurse who made tea and the nurse who transported case notes must have lost the ability to call names. I’m sure.

And you wonder, why is NHS broke?