My scribblings, my rantings and my two cents

Broke, but in denial

2009-03-21T23:58:00.004Z

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

2008-11-18T17:18:00.001Z

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?

2008-08-13T12:15:00.004+01:00

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!

2008-08-07T05:13:00.003+01:00

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!

2008-08-07T05:11:00.003+01:00

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

2008-07-06T02:18:00.000+01:00

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

2008-06-05T20:32:00.000+01:00

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

2008-04-25T13:30:00.000+01:00

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?

The end of days - hemetemesis!

2008-03-13T15:16:00.001Z

It has been a while since I had written. I thought I’d better continue or this might just end up being some inscriptions of the dead.

Nothing much have been happening lately, except that I recently vomited a basinful of blood after attending a tortoise’s birthday party.

NO, I have not gone completely insane. It must be the tortoise (“mozart” is his name) soup she served (after a happy birthday song, we graciously dropped the wee tortoise into a bowl of boiling water – HAHA!) that was a joke.

*The things that these ang mohs do, for chrissake. Celebrate a tortoise’s bday?????

The severe wretching that came with the vomiting eventually led to an explosive splash of bright red blood across the basin. I was flustered, flabbergasted, whatever “F” word that I could associated the vomiting with.

I calmly flushed the blood down and went to bed. Unperturbed.

Why did I do that? I now have complete zero recall for the blood-vomiting incident. I just panicked and desperately wanted to erase any evidence. As if somebody who saw the blood in the basin would think that I had killed someone.

Subsequently, I went to the hospital for a teaching on Upper GI bleeding. I was absolutely convinced that I was left with a matter of days. Had my will ready before I called the GP.

I hate the UK system where you have to wait for a million years before you can see someone with the title Dr, while you know your life could be dwindling every second.

I was convinced that I am unsalvageable at this point. Severe cough, green sputum, abdominal pain after food ingestion, 1 episode of blood-spraying… she however thought otherwise. She listened to my chest and heard no crackles, palpated my abdomen and elicited no tenderness.

I was discharged, with the prescription of a pint of milk.

Dear friends, if I die unexpectedly, you know who to blame.

Happy Chinese new Year!!!

2008-02-06T12:56:00.000Z

I never quite fancied Chinese New Year. It was just another day to me, a day when red was a compulsory, when I didn’t have to go to school, and I could just chew peanuts and sit in front of the tele.

Even last year when I was in a foreign land, the marked date on my calendar did not have any particular impact on me. I even wore black to the reunion dinner – no pantang.

For some reasons, I started missing home this time around.

I have a strange feeling that as the years go by, I might forget Chinese New Year gradually. It has not been long, it was just 2 years ago when I was put in a queue of cousins, age 10 being the oldest – to receive our red packets. I was the odd one out, regurgitating the well wishes when it was my turn.

I got up this morning and put on a red top.

This is a reminder to myself: Chinese new year is tomorrow. I wish I could hear some fire crackers.

GONG XI FA CAI, everyone!

females..

2008-01-30T17:49:00.000Z

4 years in med school, and I have never sit in with a female consultant. Reluctant to admit it, but it’s true – it’s a male-dominated world.

But, today...

A female consultant. So wee, so tiny.. that she floated in her purple sweater. Make-up-less, she exuded a certain air of intimidation as she walked pass. Whoa, pretty old lady ; that’s my nickname for her.

Honestly, I was a little scared of her. There’s this scientifically unproven fact; females behave differently when they are with their own kind – so true. Because I was constantly tugging my shirt, making sure I wasn’t slouching, not to mention biting my tongue to stop myself from yawning.

Then she spoke. Whoa. And everyone kept quiet. She smiled, and even arrhythmias would stop. I wish I could be a quarter of her.

Smart, pretty old lady – new name.

Then she gracefully glided towards the door and said thank you to the patient… that’s when she turned to me with a distorted, animated expression on her pale face, palm next to her lips as if she was whispering…

I recognized it immediately as the Universal Protocol of Female Gossip:

“Ahh. I don’t like the next patient.” Classically, step 2 that follows inevitably – eye-rolling! Bingo! She did it.

“She calls me by my first name!” Right arm on right waist. “And she wants to see no one but me!” Predictably, followed by a loud “AHHH!”

She giggled and finished the little female routine with “You will know when you see her.”

Shocked. I was unresponsive ; so she’s a smart, pretty old lady who gossips.

So consultants do gossip! YES! They do! Before I left the consultation room, I caught a glimpse of her fancy, velvety heels perfected with a pair of ribbons.

Nice shoes! Oh yah, no matter how cool, how smart, how elegant, how untouchable a girl is; a girl will always be a girl. My shoes!!! Just some of them... =)

Gamble or not?

2008-01-19T19:36:00.000Z

Someone asked me today, “Why is the casino always full of Chinese people?”

It sounds so bad. Gambling. I tried very hard to deliver my points on Chinese vs Gambling in a very sensible and articulate manner, thinking he would thank me as I unveiled the pleasures of forbidden fruit to him.

I was trying to say, Oh. Gambling is not necessarily a bad thing, it’s just something deemed pleasurable for a race which gives high regards to the dollar sign.

I was also going to say, Oh. We bet just for fun. It’s harmless.

Then I remembered….

My young cousins as young as 5years old, would save their pocket money and go into the battle zone with the other cousins. Nevermind the even younger ones, who started using groundnuts as their model. Uncles and aunties would give ang pau money in stacks of RM 1, which gave the kids a sense of wealth and also their capital.

Sounds like a good education on investment. You start from the young.

Then in high school, the only thing I remembered from our graduation trip was the clanking of mah jung tiles, till the wee hours on top of Taiping Hill. In Uni, the splashing of Redang waves was plain and boring compared to black jack, not to mention someone who couldn’t wait to start betting while suffering from big fat thick lips from food allergy =p

I have always sucked in gambling. Always… felt left out in a way.

I can’t play mah jung. I suck in Chor Tai Di. I don’t know how the betting system in Genting works.

So is gambling Ok or not? Or is it like drinking? A moderate amount is good?

Cars cars cars

2008-01-13T10:06:00.000Z

It’s a Sunday morning, and I was up at 7am. Not to pee, but I zombie-d my way to Tesco and got groceries. Yeah, I must be out of my mind.

It’s the car shopping! It is! It must be, I’m totally blaming my bizarre, out of norm behaviour on my new challenge ; buying the most expensive thing in my 23 years of life.

If I could choose, I would rather buy a diamond ring and propose to a guy.

…. Than choosing a car for myself.

Indeed, I have risked my head on the guillotine (i.e by asking mom) and got an endorsement for a car. Told you my mom is the most skilled investor in town, she knows that the amount of money I spend on shoes would be equivalent to a Peugoet 207 this March 2008.

By the way, I brought 6 pairs of shoes back to Glasgow. I’m giving them a lifespan of 1 month.

So, I am torn. Really torn. 1) I don’t want to drive a manual car. But what’s wrong with these Brits, why must you make your life difficult with a clutch when you can French pedicure your left foot while driving? So, auto? Manual?

2) Japanese? Continental? Which is more reliable?

3) Should I get a UK license?

3) Hondo Civic VTEC S Auto 1.6? Honda Jazz? Peugeot 207? 206?

I don’t know –lah. and God knows what the rumbling used engines were trying to tell me. I swear they must be hissing a certain foreign language, as I tried very hard to look knowledgable in cars every time the salesperson went,

“Miss, do you wanna have a go at the engine?”

What the hell.

My new found love

2008-01-12T16:27:00.000Z

“Can you be my girlfriend…?”

Oh such a heartthrob. I bit my tongue to not sound too eager. Despite the fact that I had always been certain that guys like this were not my usual type. I melted.

He asked again, obviously was aware of the power of his big blue eyes.

I scribbled on furiously and wondered how should I say yes without sounding too swooned. I stood up from the squatting position and placed the red car on the bed.

“Come here…” I gestured.

He obediently waddled towards me, with a toothy grin. Aw. I could crush him.

Honestly, I never knew that I had a soft spot for children. Kids poo and they scream. Not my favourite cup of tea. But I have been enjoying my paediatric cardiology SSM so far.

Nathan was diagnosed of Tetralogy of Fallot and had come in for an open heart surgery. As I played the racing game with him on the floor, my heart went all out for him. I am not a wishy washy person, but yeah this time, someone managed to wriggle his way into my heart.

It hurts to imagine the wee body being intubated, attacked by 2 million tubes and being slaughtered on the operation table. He happened to have a special affection for me; ego-booster I say.

He reminds me, of my brother who was 7 days old when his Coarctation of aorta was being repaired. Kids, they deserve nothing but happiness.

I can hear the alarming bells, it’s either someone’s maternal instincts are acting up or it’s mere work-related professional musings, God knows. Hopefully, the latter.

A book on prostitution

2007-12-30T18:25:00.000Z

The only reason I bought it was because I had a 13 hour flight to catch. The book “Callgirl” by Jenny Angell. After my clever dodging of mom’s probing questions about my recent obsession with prostitution, I finished reading it today.

Jenny’s a professor during the day and a callgirl when dusk falls. $200 a night.

She said, ‘ I may be a prostitute but that doesn’t mean I’m easy. Callgirls see sex as within a structured work setting, our morality is unaffected by our work.’

“Men are sheep. They are told what they want by the media, the porn industry, the advertising agency. They don’t really understand what they are looking for. They think they want Pamela Anderson. They also think they know her measurements and what she weighs, and I guarantee they are wrong on both counts…

…guys don’t have a lot of imagination when it comes to what they find sexually attractive; they like what they are told to like, and assume that’s the only path to sexual nirvana. Hence, girls lie. Because that is what men want to hear.”

“it’s a lot easier for a woman to be clear about separating sex for money and sex for love than it is for a man to do so. Mind you, men think that they’re good at differentiating The husband caught in flagrante delictio will protest, “But, honey, it was just sex! It didn’t mean anything!”

“Maybe it didn’t. But that’s only because sex doesn’t that much meaning for men, no matter who they are doing it with.”

“Prostitution plays right into all his fantasies; a beautiful woman with nothing but sex on her mind. Better still, a beautiful woman with nothing but sex on her mind who is totally and completely focused on him. On what he wants. All that matters to her is him. Why haven’t any of his dates, girlfriends, wives been like this?”

…well stupid, that’s because they are getting paid for that 1 hour.

“Men are naïve, so gullible. You do everything that you can to make them feel good, to make them feel princely. “You are the best I’ve had..” and they believe it. They believe anything you tell them, as long as it’s positive, as long as it’s about their sexual performance. “

“But what callgirls do, does not constitute sex in our minds. She is catering completely to the client’s needs. She gets about as much excitement with you as she does out of going for grocery shopping. I often mentally composed to-do lists while moaning in apparent rapture, a little multi-tasking to help the time pass more quickly. I have faked more organsms than I can count.”

I have always thought, I would want to be an anthropologist if I didn’t do medicine. Human behaviour, this book has challenged so much of the stereotyped. Aw.

What's with men and hair?

2007-12-27T16:47:00.000Z

The silent taps of my fingers were beginning to draw her attention, yet my grimacing features were forced into a perfect smile.

“Of course I can wait. I don’t work and I have no uni. Of course, take your time.”

The sardine can-like salon reeked of ammonia. Hair dye. The things that girls are willing to go through to get those silky tresses.

Like me, I swear, if I had stood up, my bladder would have popped. But it wouldn’t matter any way, because the salon would still smell of Ammonia, just a different sort. Ha.

Bad joke.

I got up that morning to an inner calling. I was summoned by some unseen forces to make some major changes in life – apparently, there would be a point in life when a girl wants to look completely different.

That’s when she risks popping her bladder and willingly waits in a stinky hair salon for 4 hours. 4 hours!

I fear the hair salon more than the dentist. Because it simply breaks my ♥ when I hear the snipping of scissors. Not just because I feel I store my knowledge in my hair, also because I feel sexually assaulted as they get snipped off.

I remember once when I was chatting away happily with the hairdresser, but because she cut 0.345inch more by accident, I let out a menacing snarl so scary that she thought I was going to poke her eyes with the scissors.

That time, hair cut was free. But I had been suffering from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) ever since. I get sweaty palms and clammy skin when I’m about to get a haircut.

4 hours, cut and highlight. I did the million dollar sweeping of hair as I walked into the house, dad took a disinterested glance

“So what did you do for 4 hours?”said dad casually

AHHHHHHHH. MEN! I forgive you because I love you, dad.

p/s: Learn to lie, it’s crucial. Especially when a girl comes back from the ~~hair salon~~ war.

Wedding thoughts

2007-12-22T17:25:00.001Z

This is one of the very significant nights which we watch over and over in drama series, attending an ex’s engagement party; except that there were no tears or heartache involved.

If anything, there’s just anticipation and excitement to the wedding day!

There were 10 of us, who were the closest friends in high school, and still are. We used to joke about who would be the one to get married first… looks like no speculation is needed anymore.

CONGRATSSS!!! SJ!!! Oh my goodness, even the crazy dude is settling down.

Driving in darkness as I went home with HuiMin, I broke the silence,

“Do you feel like 25?”

She said, she felt older than that. Tonight is a night that conjures thoughts. I realized, all my friends are working and they are all moving towards somewhere. I’m the only student.

People say, when girls attend weddings. When you visit a newborn, you would be so touched that you start hoping or wishing that such amazing things would happen to yourself.

My shocking revelation : looks like I’m not a normal girl.

Because the thought of marriage actually scares me. Let alone the thought of babies. Why? The sight of the 1 carat ring did not churn any cravings. In fact, when my guy friends were discussing about wedding venues, I was overwhelmed by nervousness.

I know the time will come when my friends pim me about the proposal. But not just yet. Scared ah! At the very least let me do my first CPR or Defib first!!!!!

Trinitians reunite! - after 6 years

2007-12-22T06:29:00.000Z

I always say ‘I wish I was 17 and stupid..then I would…..”

17. That was the fine age when we met, young and adventurous, ready to explore sin city as we stepped foot on Melbourne. Knowing you would only end up in a juvenile court if you commit a crime.

My first clubbing episode was with the very same bunch in Salt, melbourne; I remember hating it, standing beside a pillar scowling and complaining bout the loud music.

Nerovivo, KL. It’s unbelievable, it’s been 6 years since we last met. We have all aged and looked better. Haha, see am still under the influence of alcohol, shamelessly in love with ourselves. See, wish there was a before and after pic from when we were 17, but it was so freakin long ago that there was no digital camera then and I suspect I would get killed if I posted those fugly pictures of us back in Trinity.

Nevermind that we don’t know the clubbing culture anymore… like wot’s Melbourne shuffle? Wot’s popping? We hit Asian heritage in KL.

It’s just so weird, seeing everyone again after such a long time. They have turned out to be who I'd expected them to be when we were just 17. They are ALL working. And hence the expensive dinner. OH crap. Seriously. RM 105 per person.

I self-meditated and tried to think in pounds. Didn’t work; the poor only-student is skint now =( nonetheless a brilliant night. Apparently, your inner self reveals when you are drunk.

It's SO funny. I'm not kidding. I would spend another RM 1k to see them drunk again. Some turned aggressive , with the only reserved ability being to say F, some turned emotional, some turned lesbo-ish. Australia, the good 'ol days.Jules and Hoong. They are bigi shots in the corporate field k. Haha, the geisha-gone-wrong field.
Eelin & Jules. Currently working as a headhunter in the kissers club. that explains the pout.

Doctor Mike. Can't make out stories about him coz we would be colleagues in the future. Only thing I could say, I never understand why there's always a red, greasy sheen on his lips.

Why do you think it cost RM 105/person? that' s just the starters. Seafood, my piercing is a goner.

Trinitians!!!

That's the funurel club - all black. I was clearly ocstracised because I didnt stay in Melbourne long enough.

When camera-holding becomes a problem - you know someone has had more than she should.That's krystal, another doc - She would kill me if she sees this pic.

I'm ok for the minute

2007-12-18T18:38:00.001Z

I still remmeber the time when I first came back from Australia when I was 18. I was agitated, irritable and unsettled. I complained about the humidity, I hated the traffic, I detested the rude salesgirls… Malaysia owed me an apology.

It’s so different now.

I like it. Especially when all I have to do is watch astro till 3am, get up late, go shopping and meet up with friends. Friends who mapped my past, since the day I started wearing school uniform and family who pampers me.

After summer, I had developed a certain fear of going back to Glasgow. I can’t tell what it is, but I’m cringing inside.

My 'victorious' return

2007-12-14T19:25:00.000Z

Dubai is a weird city, it has a hotel which costs $28K a night, people sleep in the airport as if it’s their second home – they carpet the floor with stolen blankets from Emirates airline – they squeeze their multi-coloured bodies under the chairs, unperturbed by the snarling Azan in the background.

I was there for 10 freakin hours – yet I couldn’t find a position in which I could sleep.

After the grueling 24 hours flight (Oh don’t ask me, I don’t know how I did it), I stepped into the humidity of ‘Negaraku’ (= my country). Again, I was engulfed by an unexplained sense of unfamiliarity.

People are not pale over here. (d’OH!!!!!!!)

The best thing is, I don’t have to concentrate when I eavesdrop.

The –lahs, -mahs, they come so naturally that I can delineate a person’s family tree after listening to her conversation for mere 5 minutes.

I moaned, I complained, I threw a rage when I landed in Prestwick airport where they separated EUs and Non-EU citizens into 2 lines. Non-EUs would have to queue for ages and get ridiculous questions like “what are your parents working as? Do you speak English?” (I can never roll my eyes enough)

They often make me feel discriminated against just because I hold a little red book that bears uncanny similarity to the British passport, but unfortunately is not.

However, in KLIA, I walked like a soldier from a victorious war (nevermind the oily hair and sucky skin after the long haul flight).. right through the immigration custom.

No stupid questions. No scrutiny. Passed right through, while I made a secret wave at the “NON-MALAYSIANs” who are forming a bee line behind me.

MUAHAHAHAHAHA. My turn to laugh at you!

I liked it but didn't enjoy it.

2007-12-01T23:44:00.001Z

I suspect I’m bruised. My arse is numb and my back still feels the stinging pain from the snow.

I went snowboarding. Despite being an indoor thing, it was enough to thwart my shaky self esteem, which I thought had been boosted with a bottle of Corona.

Among the 5 amateurs, guess who fell a zillion times? Guess who gave free arse shows every time she toppled down the baby slope?

Gloomy, I realised I have a problem. I liked the feeling of freedom, as I glided down the snow-laden slope (beginners are supposed to learn how to control your speed and to brake, obviously I couldn’t) however, I didn’t enjoy it.

Confusing yeah? Me too. I hate it when I’m not good at a certain thing. I am fully aware of my limitations but I can’t seem to accept them. That explains why I chanted repeatedly as I fell 'COME ON! I'm a girl who grew up in the place of sunshine and I have never seen snow, how do you even expect me to be on my feet on a freakin 160cm snowboard!!??'

EXCUSES.

Especially when my two friends were so brilliant. Braking, changing directions all seemed as easy as farting to them. I felt like a loser. A sore one in fact.

I remember dreading futsal practices because I sucked at them.

How can I possibly like something but not enjoy it? My self esteem felt bruised, perhaps, the best solution to resort to Pringles – wot I’m doing now.

Probably, not very long from now, I wouldn’t even need the heavy boots and snowboard to feel like a fat, clumsy klutz.

Moment of 'GLORY'

2007-11-28T17:46:00.000Z

My dad’s a tuition teacher. He reckons the glorious moments as a teacher occur when you get free the tarik because of your student – nevermind that your student ends up as a ‘ah sei’ in kopitiam.

Oh talk about the glorious moment.

I was on my way to check out my girl (the PPH one from yesterday) when I saw a lady walking towards me into the lift. Smiled and nodded, usual courtesy.

I swear, the sustained smile and those grey eyes were fixated on me. Now, don’t say that I read too much into things, but I thought I got myself another lesbo treat… again.

Then she was like, “you don’t remember me?”

(Oh, talk about tacky pick-up lines. Halo, unless I pooped a baby without myself knowing it like 7 years ago… how would I possibly know her?)

“S***** T*****… ring a bell?” (Aw girl, I swear I would know if I had shared a bed with you in labour ward)

Then she was like, “You did a case study on me, I’m your patient. In coronary care!?”

I could hear the angels sing. The fluff of clouds had descended on me and I was warmed from the glorious rays. Dad says you feel the immense sense of pride when students approach you on the street and say “Good morning, sir.”

She was a lady who developed Heart failure just prior to labour. Of the million zillion students she saw during her long stay in the CCU, she remembered me! Me! Muah!

“So, did you get an ‘A’ for your case study?”

Perhaps, it’s because of my black hair and black eyes. Wait, I thought all Asians look alike? *Puzzled*

I almost lost her

2007-11-28T01:41:00.001Z

I got a very unusual warm response when I stepped into the labour ward today, “Are you the interpreter!?” warm smile, big teeth. Unusual.Oh, lovely midwives.

There was a Chinese girl, who had no husband, with uterine activity for the past 4 days, had not slept for 3 days and knew not a single word of English.

I eagerly stayed with her, due to selfish reasons – I thought I would write a case on her, with just ‘normal labour’ at the back of my head.

She was a primigravida. For a freakin 10 hours, she was 5cm dilated. At that point, I was THIS close to abandoning her. But I knew I couldn’t – I was her interpreter.

Her abdomen moved as if Anaconda was gonna tear open and devoured us all. Waves came and go but she did not flinch one bit. Not knowing what the midwife, the registrar said, she just nodded and gave the faint smile.

Only thing that she could say, was, ‘I’m ok.’

I don’t know if it’s just because the pain threshold for chinese people is higher. When she finally went into labour, I was already with her for 10 hours. I was pushing so badly with her that I promise, I needed a sip of cold drink every 10 minutes. I had to bite my lips to stop myself from asking to be catheterized by the midwife.

Failure to progress. Meconium-stained liquor, broad late decelerations. She ended up having a Vantouse Suction. As if it’s not enough - a second degree tear, 1” lateral to her anus. That’s not just the end of the story. When her placenta was expulsed, a fountain of blood squirted like no one’s business. Oh great. Now she has Post-partum haemorrhage.

Oops, did I mention she’s a carrier of alpha-thalassaemia? With consistent low Hb? Just like most Asian women.

When the whole world was swirling around her, the registrar suturing her, the midwives massaging her tummy, another one increasing the syntocinon drip, another one giving syntometrim jab, another nurse setting up a cannula, a stupid medical student turning sick because of extreme hunger…

She just smiled and said, ‘I have no questions. I’m OK’

No tears, no moans, no screams, no tantrums. What the hell? She could DIE!

OMG. How could I leave her? Why I stayed – not longer because of my case report. Because I chose to.

Confession time

2007-11-20T23:00:00.000Z

The theatre always has a mysterious allure. Despite reeking of barbequed flesh, I always find the ‘sterile space’ out-of-the-world.

OH. And don’t even tell me about the man in blue scrubs, working with the creased brow behind his mask. The serious expression, coupled with his skilled handling of the ligature, just O-H!

Nevermind the strands of grey hair which elegantly frame his crown, the blue sterile cap just makes him look more tantalizing. The protruding tummy, signifying his middle-age does not bother me one bit, when it’s behind the clean blue uniform.

Oh yeah, the power of scrubs. Sexaaayyy!

Before you start imagining certain hanky-panky going on here, I gotta clarify : I am not in love with my consultant!

Simply, I have a deep, dark secret to confess. 3 weeks ago, I succumbed to my fantasy, I stole half a pair of scrubs. Before which I played the plot in mind a million times, and surreptitiously smuggled the top from the theatre.

Kinda reminds me of the time when I smuggled a MAS blanket out of the plane. Adrenaline rush from indecent behaviour.

I swear my heart almost dropped when I escaped from the crime scene.

Today, 'ze master plan was accomplished – I stole the bottom.

Looks like I’m gonna have a good night sleep with NHS printed on my back.

Obs & Gyn 101

2007-11-19T16:36:00.000Z

It’s been awhile. Definitely awhile. So much had happened since. I have lost account of the number of roller coaster ride I’ve had.

Currently doing obs and gynae, supposedly the most looked-forward to event of the year, apart from getting engaged of course (HAHA! I’m joking I’m joking!)

Bizarre facts about Obs and Gyn.

Basically, 1) it’s just shite teaching overseas. 3^rd week into my posting, I have yet to learn quarter as much as what I did back in UM. And that, was a leisure, for-fun elective.

2) Apparently, obs and gyn is for ‘ze average’. Top students go for Ophthalmic surgery. (Aw, suits me alright. Being labeled as average is not necessarily a bad thing)

3) oh, suck up to the midwives. It is an essential skill …to even get near to a vagina in labour.

My B.E.S.T lesson so far, in obstetric :

To check for ‘engagement’, look for the ring on her finger!

*that’s a consultant-class answer, I swear. I find it witty and sexy =p

I hate my life; sometimes

2007-10-26T00:56:00.000+01:00

It’s weird how when you study Psychiatry, you realize how human nature is like. I don’t know if I make sense, because at the time of writing, my breath smells of stale beer.

But I do think that we are all crazy.

Admit it, we all have spilt personalities. You are so conformed to what the society thinks you should be, what your parents expect of you, so keen to seek approval from people.

Why is it that extreme caution is noted when Benzodiazepine is prescribed to certain patients – those with violent tendencies? Because it’s an anxiolytic, it relaxes you, and then the star spots of a leopard start appearing on your sheep skin!

Is it normal that a priest have a sudden urge to swear at the altar when he’s giving a sermon? He freaks out because he thinks only the Devil could make him so.

But there’s a devil inside all of us.

There must be something inside you that you REALLY want to do, but can’t do it, because you’d be damned if you take the plunge. Think hard, there must be.

I'm scared now.

2007-10-23T22:07:00.000+01:00

She floated into the room, her transparent skin lined by webs of blue veins, her pale blonde hair framed her ghastly features.

She resembled a feline. A mutated one, with no fur.

I swear her thighs were the width of my pinky, her waist had the circumference of my neck. I was afraid that with every breath she took, the vibration from her nostrils might blow her brains out.

When she sat down, her bent legs looked nothing more than a protractor. Her shoulders looked like they were going to dislocate. She just basically looked like Pinocchio gone wrong.

Anorexia Nervosa.

I always had an unconscious death wish – wishing that I was Anorexic. Which I know would never come true.

I carefully choose the ‘skinner’ side of the face when I take pictures. I only choose clothes that create illusions. I secretly surfed sites of Anorexia when I first learned about it.

But this girl is just OH-MY-GOD. 5”9, 44kg with BMI of 14. She feels guilty about eating and she thinks if she had 1 cookie, she’s gonna break the scale. She’s going to die, seriously. She hates chocolate and she detests ice-cream. What kind of self-respecting girl would say such a thing!?

We spent 1 hour persuading her to go to the hospital, but to no avail. I was mad from hunger as I spoke to her, for a bit I was tempted to devour her, but realized I would only choke on those bones.

She hardly had any flesh. It’s disgusting.

I am going to read about Anorexia tonight. I think I want to pull out – I don’t wish to be in the clan anymore. Some scary shite.

Honestly, I always thought the worst way to die is to be stunk to death by the fart of an obese, constipated lady; but....

what could be worse than starving yourself to hell?

Did I die? I think they killed me.

2007-10-14T16:14:00.000+01:00

I swear, I was a hair’s-breadth away from fleeing this country!!!

Reluctant to bin the garbage as I felt that I had done more than I should, since it’s supposed to be a joint effort among flatmates – the garbage accumulated to the extent that I could no longer shove them out of my visual field – or at least, my olfactory sense would allow that no longer.

OMG! There they were, the nasty things. I swear, I wouldn't be half frightened if I had a king cobra in my kitchen. My body started to itch and I wanted to peel myself away.

The squirmy, fat, white maggots… fell like snow when I picked the garbage.

I wish I could just die. I would never be able to eat anymore.

MAGGOTS! MAGGOTS everywhere! I wrapped my hands and feet in plastic bags, resorting to the relaxation techniques I had picked up from the Psychiatric ward and told myself that : I’m a doctor. I’m a doctor. Maggots are just cute little pets for wound-cleaning.

Unable to hold the acid in my stomach. I thought I saw God when one of my flatmate walked in.

“HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MAGGOTS!!!”

He peered suspiciously at the wriggly monsters. “OH SHIT!” he muttered.

Looking at him, dopey-eyed and hopeful. I almost blurted “I never supported feminism.” I’m just a helpless little deer who’s in need of male bravery.

“Oh. I rarely use the kitchen. BTW, I’m in a hurry.” He left. HE LEFT!!!!

It was just me and my maggoty friends.

OH how I hate the maggots. OHHHH how I hate him even more!

I was left with choices :

1. Let them grow into flies, because I tolerate flies better than maggots.

2. Spike his curry with maggots and hope his intestines will get loaded with them.

3. Put on my fumigator mask and do the freakin’ deathly task.

My dear patient who scared me shitless

2007-10-12T00:05:00.000+01:00

“Do you know you are really fortunate to be studying here? How are things like at home? They must be bad huh… for you to leave your family?”

The disheveled and unkempt lady with messy grey hair asked with a certain tone, which I couldn’t tell if it was ‘concern’.

“When were you born?” Me, trying very hard to get a history.

“When were you born?26 June 1983? That’s before Jesus was born.”

…..

“Where are your parents? Do they work in a chinese food restaurant?” “Tell me the 7 days in a week. Do you know what is the 7^th day?” “Do you have electricity?”

Then, she laughed hysterically. Her wrinkled face was crumpled into a picture of ugly animation.

She cleverly evaded all my questions and refused to answer them until I had answered her questions. When she encouragingly made me name the 7 days in a week for her, I was quite certain that she was performing a mental state examination on me.

“It started in Oct 1960, I heard ghosts.” Her shrill laughter filled the room again, despite covering her mouth with the soiled fingers.

I must admit, I was terrified. I was ready to dash anytime.

“They used a mic and plugged the voices into my head.” To confirm my diagnosis, I asked…

“Was there any diagnosis ever been made?”

“Schizophrenia. You know when you are in the supermarket and you buy vegetable and potato for your family. They are really good food to prepare. The castle near Great Western Road has an attic..” I swear, I was exhausted, I stopped scribbling the gibberish she was saying.

I couldn't follow what she was saying, at all.

When I headed for the door, she said “Love, you seem like a nice girl, this is my piece of advice, leave this country if you have the chance, it’s not easy to find a living here.”

Psychiatry lesson 101:

1) Even Schizo patients are racist – they think all chinese work in restaurants.

2) Even Schizo patients know that with the new MTAS application, future is bleak in the UK.

The Kingdom

2007-10-06T11:35:00.000+01:00

When I came to Glasgow to do medicine, I thought, if Plan A failed, I’d be a movie critic – hence the £11.99 movie pass. Last year, the number of movies I’d watched exceeded the number of pages of medical books I’d read, handsomely.

You are talking to a person who knows that it takes exactly 87 steps from the entrance to the ticketing counter.

I saw one of the best films yesterday – The Kingdom.

I’m not gonna be a major spoiler, but it’s about America – the middle east – Oil – Power- terrorism. Like what you would read in the papers.

Ironically, I watched it with a group of Arabs, consisting of Lebanese, Jordanian, Kuwaiti, Saudi, Iraqis. Practically the entire continent. Nevermind that I put on a pair of Arabic eyerings, trying to feign Arabic – a sheep under tiger’s skin, really.

It’s so good yet so bad. In a way, I began to understand why ignorance is bliss. What you don’t know doesn’t hurt you. But for an ordinary fence-sitter like me and the rest of the audience, when you watch films like that, it paints a vivid, warped and even possibly wrong picture of the situation.

The scene where the American guy was almost beheaded, the scene where the jihads shamelessly made suicidal bombs, where they celebrate the pouring of blood etc.

Is that how it’s like over there?

It’s just an exaggerated Hollywood film, no doubt about it. When they shot ENTRAPMENT in Malaysia, the Petronas Tower was just next to the Malacca strait and the capital was covered with trees and forest. Can the impression go any worse?

So folks, watch it with an open-mind, if walk out of the cinema thinking you’d cringe in fear every time you smell an Arab, think of your little friend here who’s safe, sound and blissful with her Arabic friends.

p/s: yinni, don't kill me.

Deliberate self harm

2007-10-04T23:00:00.000+01:00

Experts say, you’d fail Psychiatry if you do not assess one’s suicide risk. That simply summarizes the gist of mental health issues – the tendency to self harm.

A typical morning, as I entertained my Obsessive Compulsive Behaviour of scrutinizing every pore on my face, I found numerous patches of bruises on my inner arm.

They were not sore, neither did they itch. They looked plain fugly.

The reflection of an unkempt, puffy-eyed lassie with fashion-intolerable out-of-bed hairdo – reminds me of an abused victim. I dare say, that’s the standard appearance of a medical student who is currently doing her Psychiatry posting, getting ready reluctantly for teaching on “deliberate self harm” in the hospital.

Still perplexed, I examined the bruises. Yellowish-bluish-blackish, they looked like menacing stains which just wouldn’t leave my attention alone.

How did I get them? NO idea!

Then the hazy snapshots of ‘self-harm’ surfaced…

I was in the psychiatry clinic yesterday. Listening to a 17-year-old girl with ‘emotional incontinence’. She was floating in and out of emotions, directing a monotonous play of split personalities.

She was mumbling and avoiding eye contact the entire while. SO BORING!!

I almost fell asleep! So close. So close. It was dead boring.

That was when I decided to self-harm. I started pinching myself real hard, real hard. My inner arm, my thighs… all done discretely, in a desperate attempt to stay awake.

“Deliberate self-harm” – people do that as a desperate measure during frantic times.

A reason to get drunk at 9am

2007-10-02T22:59:00.000+01:00

When I was 17 and stupid, I would die for anyone, EVEN a monkey, who would fly me to Paris just for dinner. It doesn’t even need to be a candlelight dinner, just a cheeseburger will suffice.

Now that I’m mature, but still stupid, I had impulsively booked a flight to fulfill my childhood dream. I was in

GERMANY

over the WEEKEND just for BEER.

If I didn’t make myself clear enough : GERMANY – WEEKEND – BEER!!!!!

If you are concerned about world news, or at least the human race, you’d know that there are 1,800 toilets and urinals available in Oktoberfest. YES! I was in Bavaria, Munich, Germany. Not knowing a word of German, I was determined to give my fatty liver a treat – Deutsche Bier. Paulaner - apparently the best, according to Lonely Planet!

Just to prove that I was there...

Enough of Tennents and enough of Celtic kids. Time for some Anglo-saxons!!

It was a mad house. People from the most unimaginable parts of the world were there. I suspect if I could name a country that lies somewhere beneath the tiles in my bathroom, the people would also be there in OKTOBERFEST – 6 million people, just to get pished.

See those two guys doing some random stuff there - grinning like a mad cow at some stranger's camera and squatting by the road side at 1pm trying to peel the metal piece?

Yeah, that's wot Germany does to you.

Honestly, I still know nuts about Germany. 1 day in the festival. The only things that I had noticed – the people there are HUGE. Even their dogs are HUGE.

The last time I checked, I wasn't this wee. But beside a true (random) Bavarian, I am nothing but a halfling.

It took us AGES to get into a tent, simply because we were wee, and beside the gigantic monsters, we were overshadowed. But we got in any way.

OMG. My dear junkie flatmate was certainly well-equipped for the drinking spree. Anti-histamine and beeeeer - keeps the doctor away!
And after this.....

I remembered nothing about Germany.

kidding.
2 litres of Weisbier doesn’t get you pished. It only makes one drunk enough to sink her teeth into this disgusting-looking thing which they call “food”. Raw fish sandwich.

But seriously, I thought Sauchiehall Street was bad enough on a Friday night. After Oktoberfest, I reckon the only country that could house a train station full of homeless, drunkards is Germany!
I was so tempted to join the homeless clan. But discovered a haven - inside my festive hat. What could be better than being left alone to sleep after battling with litres of Ethanol?

Nevermind the bottomless hole in my pocket, which is still sizzling now.

To donut or not to donut?

2007-09-19T22:25:00.000+01:00

She was holding a glazed doughnut, biting into it ferociously, oblivious to the sugar that had fallen on her white coat.

“Mr. W has worsened dramatically. His BP had shot up to 240 last night.”

Being the lowest of all hierarchy, we, medical students nodded in union. The FY2 who brought the yummy doughnuts was obviously gleeful that she enjoyed the treat.

“The neurology ward has refused to take him. His Creatinine level is too high.”

Her voice trailed off as she swallowed her sentence along with the donut.

Mr. W had an aortic dissection. He had been in the hospital for about 1 month and had been managed through BP control. I love that man, he’s so friendly, so chatty. He looked like he should be home, playing monkey with his grandchildren.

“I think he’s going to die.”

The doctor in charge casually announced it. I imagined a flicker of sadness until …

“OH my! This donut is really good, where did you get it?”

Perhaps, when I’m at the registrar level, my personal emotions would be overridden easily by some glazed donuts as well.

Toilet seats are cool

2007-09-19T00:37:00.000+01:00

Other students told me, Monday is the worst day for ward rounds, because you get new cases piled up over the weekends, because the consultant has to review everyone.

YAH RIGHT.

So I made it on time today. Like a hopeful puppy with dopey eyes, I was hoping that the ward round would end earlier (it's Tuesday!), so I could head home to type out my case presentation.

My foot. Literally.

It lasted for freakin’ 6 hours. 6 hours of cardiology. I was almost invisible. Prof. R is the best prof around, yet during ward rounds, there isn’t much time to spoon-feed you. I should be glad that he didn’t, or else it might end up being a 12-hour ward round.

When it finally ended. I picked up the leftovers of my brain, dragged my prosthetic legs and dashed into the toilet. I locked the door…

… and celebrated the fact that I was alive.

No leather couch could parallel the toilet bowl. I sat there for a good 5 minutes, rubbing my poor feet, while devising the best plan to hide in the toilet unnoticed… in the future when I start working – I look forward to the days when mutilating my feet becomes a hobby.

£5 for nothing!!

2007-09-17T23:38:00.000+01:00

Have you seen the crippled walk when he’s caught in a fire? Secret powers get unleashed when man are pushed to his limits. How true.

When a girl who normally spends at least 1 hour in the shower could leave home within 5 minutes after being jolted out of bed.

That’s me.

I was on autopilot when I conveniently switched my alarm off at 6.50am. It doesn’t matter how hard I psyched myself that I cannot afford to be late for the 8.30am ward round. The first time I met Prof. R, I was late. Hence, he remembers my name.

I’m not going to dig a second grave.

Shoot! That’s me at 8.15am. I swore, I showered, I conditioned my hair and called the cab. I promise, all at one go.

The cabbie arrived within 5 minutes, running out while zipping my fly with wet hair plastered over my bare face, I reached ward 44 two minutes before Prof. R walked in.

Oh trust me, I never knew I was a Power Ranger.

But I still blew it. Apparently I was physically in the hospital but I obviously left my brain in the shower. For Pete’s sake, do you reckon you should be forgiven if you forget what Glicazide is for? Or what group of drug Ramipril belongs to?

I can’t believe myself. I paid £5 (cabbie) to create a good impression (not be late) but I screwed up.

Prof. R : “You are obviously guessing”. (When he asked me about the drugs)

Prof R : “ Those are lousy guesses” (Shite, I can’t believe I can’t believe I couldn’t answer questions as simple as that)

Prof. R : “You are obviously a Glasgow student.” (Tells a lot about his views on us)

Looks like I just painted an even uglier picture of Glasgow students. Oops.

Ratatouille, Commonwealth, Rice cooker...and DATES!

2007-09-16T02:43:00.001+01:00

Am I from a 3^rd world country?

I would have vehemently defended my country if this was said to me just 2 days before. It’s totally crazy, how ignorant and dumb can a person be to label us as such?

I wouldn’t say I’m the most patriotic… but come on.

How is it that we are backwards when Ratatouille had been released in Malaysia during early August…but had not even crossed the whatever-sea to the UK?

Who was the host of Commonwealth Game 1998? When Glasgow is contending to be the host in 2014?

Pardon my recent obsession with ‘ze rice cooker, but I still think it’s unacceptable that Europeans gawk at awe at the fab invention.

Hello?

But, having had ftoor (=buka puasa) with some amazing people, I started thinking twice, if we had missed certain wonderful things in life that “the genetically different” deem as norm?

Dates!!! OMG. Where have you been my whole life? Errr, I don’t mean DATES = guys.

The perfect oval, glazed with a natural coat of honey, seemingly harmless and innocent. Think they look disgusting? Wait till you bite into its flesh, and you'd know the meaning of pleasure. I have always recognized the dried, red dates that women consume during confinement.

But this is amazing. Dip it in plain yoghurt, it’s better than kama sutra. (er, I mean the restaurant on Sauchiehall street)

Perhaps, we are not so advanced afterall. Or else why wouldn’t I have a palm tree in my yard, like S?

Tough year it's gonna be

2007-09-14T00:41:00.001+01:00

There were so many times, when I consciously knew I was dreaming, yet I chose not to wake up.

For instance, when the vampire was about to sink his fangs into my neck, when I lost all my teeth when being crowned prom queen, when I thought I met Prince Charming…

It’s all so surreal. A year has passed. I can hardly recall what I did last year. Coming 16^th Sept is exactly one year since I stepped foot onto this land… or should I say, this aquarium. I still remember vividly the frail-looking lady with silver hair who greeted us with her stammering speech.

She made me nervous all the time.

Like how that dude from Iraq made me feel. Iraq, I have never seen anyone from that part of the world. I will never forget the first day I saw him.

You know, you read about them, you see them in BBC, but you don’t get into contact with them. I’m sure it’s the power of media, it has made us fear things that are foreign. One thing I learned about them though, they love cuff links.

Not so different from the men in the Far East (= us), aye? Though, he insists that we are too foreign. Too weird. Because we use the rice cooker.

??????????????????????

I know this is going to be a tough year, I know it’s about time I snap out of last year’s honeymoon. But like all my dreams, I can’t wake up. I can’t even pick up a book.

Foolish drama queens

2007-09-13T01:40:00.000+01:00

I happen to be a die-hard fan of Desperate Housewives, yes, wipe the oh-another-bimbo smirk, which part of that do you not understand?

There is one scene so deeply etched in my head that I wish they ask it in exams. Susan foolishly combed the woods in her pink pea-sized backpack, thinking the compass is a hair décor, she went all the way out to prove her undying love for Mike.

Why couldn’t she just put on her gorgeous white gown and walk down the aisle with Ian and stay with the posh English accent for the rest of her life?

Because she can’t live without drama.

Girls are just so dramatic, aren’t they? They bitch about other girls on the phone while thinning the ozone layer with nail varnish ( To avoid appearing too stupid, I researched on that), they have sliced cucumbers on their eyes, not wincing at the pictures of famished African children, they streak their faces with mascara over a lost kitten…

Oh come on.

They make me sick. Until I started droning non-stop over a guy, for days, for months, possibly for years, I wouldn’t realize I’m actually the perfect manifesto of the lot.

I am ‘dramatic’ (as much as it makes me sick) because I’m only vulnerable to things that matter more than life.

Random scribblings

2007-09-10T00:48:00.000+01:00

I know these “someones” would be reading this, they are either my loyal fans, or they have simply picked up the eccentric hobby of stalking and eavesdropping =) My dear someones, my deepest gratitude to you both, who take a genuine interest in my mundane life.

And my deepest bow to you, who can recite my profile.

But I wish to reiterate, this blog does not tell who I am. It only says how many pairs of boots I have! *wink*

Sitting in my room, alone. I wonder: I haven’t been in my room ALONE for more than 2 hours since my coming back from Malaysia. It’s undeniably an attempt to run, to run away from being alone. So many unpleasant events loom ahead, unspoken, untouched. Pretending that they don’t exist wouldn’t make them go away. Talking about it and analyzing them repeatedly wouldn’t correct the twisted situation. When things have changed, they have changed.

Your experiences in life make you who you are. Will I ever be the same again? It’s a curse really, it sends chills down my spine, thinking about what someone whom I had hurt said, “I wish you would never be happy again.”

Maybe his wish had come true.

Enough said.

It was an awesome night with 2 old pals and my closest friend in Glasgow. I love cooking for the people I love. They make a difference. At least I’m in my room now, ALONE but not devastated.

thank you thank you

2007-09-09T03:54:00.000+01:00

My veins were flushed with adrenaline as I read the Malaysian financial budget 2008. My mom calls it a “candy” report.

Candy indeed, when you know you will be able to have a more comfortable life. When you know you can spend without being beaten by guilt, along with blistered feet when you walk back from town (because you try to avoid the bus fare). When you don’t have to WORK.

If I had a Malaysian flag with me, I would drape myself and go cheer for Celtic!

Up to 97% of increment in allowance. Long life whoever who approved this! I would happily die for you!

I conveniently omitted the “up to” in that statement and started feeling as if I had struck lottery last night. Yes, I was counting my chickens before the eggs hatch, but that’s me, I bought so much food that I think it’s enough to feed a starving nation.

Now I have greater plans. I want to move out – quit halls. If there’s one thing that I want to do in this lonely, miserable place, it’s to have a place called “Home”.

It doesn't hurt to be nicer, you know

2007-09-08T01:17:00.000+01:00

I do not mean to insensitive towards those whose BMI exceeds 30, but I think there is obviously something fatally wrong there which could potentially affect one's mind.

I met the meanest chunk of flesh today – a nurse in cath lab. If I had to come up with a diagnosis, I would say the part of her brain that is responsible for basic human courtesy has been so severely clogged by cholesterol.

Dr. E kindly introduced me to the cath team. I was just being nosey and poking my head into another theatre (ran by Dr. B) when her oily voice boomed,

“If I were you, I wouldn’t think of switching to another doctor now.” She spat at me, with the ultimate look of disgust.

Perplexed, I replied like a lady, “No sister, I wasn’t thinking of that. But why?”

“Dr. E took time to introduce you to everyone, and now you want to switch doctor?” if that’s not the you-filthy-little-pig look, I don’t know what it is.

Then, she blurted, with an unexplained tone of repulsion,

“Did anyone check with you if you are pregnant?”

I almost HUH-ed her. But figured she had to ask because of the radiation in cath lab. Well, I politely told her, “em, no one checked with me, but NO. I can’t be pregnant.”

I was gagging myself, trying to stop myself from telling her that she could ask nicely, if she’s sooo concern about my womb.

She tossed me a look of shocked disbelief, or perhaps, I could have misinterpreted it, but I definitely got the hint, she thought I’m a bimbo..

“NO, I am ASKING you. COULD you be PREGNANT!?” she raised her voice.

Hello? The last time I checked, she looked more pregnant than me!!!

ARGH. Honestly, the world would be a nicer place if mean ward sisters are demolished.Maybe I'm just being oversensitive, maybe it's just the time of the month.

Going back to square one

2007-08-24T04:51:00.000+01:00

I reluctantly unzipped the red Pierre Cardin which has now been layered with dust since my arrival 2 months ago – and packed – with utmost unwillingness.

Ugh. It feels different this time. Leaving for the second time is surprisingly worse.

Without the anticipation for a new world, I now pack my things with a heart heavier than a rock. I now know the meaning of “chest discomfort”, like when an elephant sits on your chest as described in Angina.

My my. There’s a certain unexplained fear that’s looming in the air, numerous speculations swimming in my head, uncertainties playing tricks with me.

This is really bullshit. There shouldn’t even be a knot in my stomach. I mean, come on. What’s the biggie? I should just take this as a wee shower, I’m going back to Glasgow man.

Just, Glasgow.

Sexy parasite?????

2007-08-16T05:35:00.001+01:00

I was surfing idly for some tattoo designs, just out of boredom... and stumbled across the most ridiculous picture when I typed "Sexy feminine lower back tattoo"...

I was overcome by the compulsion to share with my fellow mates. LOOK AT THIS!??!? I was literally rolling on the floor, roaring with laughter...

Apparently, this is the idea of 'sexy lower back tattoo' these days!!!!

Seriously, look at it! if you still don't get it, look at it for the second time!!!!!! Does it remind you of anything? anything at all? OK, hint hint. Prof Mak???

CRAP. Spot on!!!! Dear girl, if you've this wee tattoo on your lower back, I assure you the last person to be turned on would be a medical student...IT'S A PARASITE ON UR BACK!!!! and you wanna know what... this "sexy" parasite is found in faeces!!!!

My fellow colleagues!!!!TRICHURIS TRICHIURA!!!! YES YES YES???? The bipolar plug, the convex and concave sides, OMG even the colour! It's an iodine specimen at 20x under microscope!!! i swear..i could even see a larva in it!!!! Sexy feminine tatto my foot.

Sickening booking system

2007-08-15T05:08:00.000+01:00

There’s this most baffling system which my university adopts. Student Selected Module (SSM) different universities go by different callings.

The most frustrating part of all, is that students have to book them online! And it’s on a first come first served basis. It’s hilarious. No matter which part of the world you are in right now, whether you are in the wilderness, milking the lion, you have to think of a way, and be in front of the computer at that particular time, particular minute.

To click your mouse, and book your SSM.

The big day is today. 12pm UK time. If you are late, that’s you, because most of the modules only have 1 or 2 seats.

I’ve got my options listed. And I’ve started practicing the art of “clicking” since yesterday. Since that’s what hundreds of students are going to do at the moment the clock strikes 12pm. I’ve a sickening feeling at the pit of my stomach.

I might not get what I want. Because I do not have the fastest internet connection. The only thing I could think of, is to kill my competitors who are booking at the same time.

This is just sickening. If only the university knows how much of emotional trauma we go through? How much of brain cells damaged as we devise the most devilish plan to achieve what we want?

*HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA*

Jailbird

2007-08-11T05:57:00.000+01:00

Of the numerous nights prowling on the streets of Jalan S.I, yesterday was the only day when I remotely resembled glamorous celebrities.

Talk bout being held aside with blonde hair, tattoo-ed chest wanna-bes and girls whose skimpy attire made me wonder if they were allergic to clothes. It was the weirdest experience.

Was that how Paris Hilton felt before she became a jailbird?

A massive jam at 2am on a Friday night, a friend casually warned us that there was a roadblock at the front. I was indifferent as 2 sips (literally!) didn’t matter. But my beefy, gigantic friend started to cringe in fear, whether he was conscious or not, he looked excessively alarmed. Like a small boy being caught watching porn.

I guess it’s human nature. You shrink into an anchovy when you see men in uniform. Friend urgently asked to swap seats. I obliged foolishly and took over the wheel.

Though, I vividly recalled one of the Alcohol PBLs when we fought over the ridiculosity of remanding people on the basis of the breath test – you’ve to drink a disgustingly high amount before the test shows positive, but often, people will be too drunk to even walk straight before they hit that benchmark.

Smart. Swapped seats. 2 police officers appeared like ghosts. We were caught red-handed. Oh it’s so not funny.

I felt like Lindsay Lohan, caught. No retreat.

Great! My smarty friend didn’t bring his I.C. I’ve never been in such a sticky situation, But I devised a smart plan by asking him to puff with his tongue blocking the pharynx.

I wonder if that helped.

After 1 hour of waiting, we were off the hook. Ah, I was close to being coined an “accomplice of drunk driving”. What a Fugly night out, as if my low mood wasn’t enough.

p/s: I realized it’s foolish to think bribery is the way to things, because I was just made known to the fact that the new ruling states : if the breath test is positive, you get fined and jailed! Both! scary, and it's not like you have a Hilton dad to bail you out. CAREFUL!

To make you feel better =)

2007-08-06T06:37:00.003+01:00

You deserve to be loved:

to be held through the midnight stars,

until the midday sun shines itself,

warmly, through the blinds.

You deserve to be beside, someone

who causes your heart to ache with joy,

your lips to quiver and your hands waver so.

You deserve someone who will never

cease to tell you, of the delight

of smelling you in the morning wake.

You deserve someone who fills your heart

with roses and causes your blood to quicken,

under the stirring silver of the moonlight.

You deserve chills that run down your spine,

as soft hands caress your entire being.

You deserve the endless passion,

of heat-driven summer nights;

where you burn with flames of desire.

You deserve to lose yourself,

in eyes that bewilder you,

and find comfort in the arms of cradling oak.

You deserve to loved, to be longed for, to be lavished upon

and to lose yourself and find yourself,

all in the same moment-

so that you can no longer tell

where your lover ends and you begin.

Thank you my dear friend, for writing this.

It is painful, I know.

2007-08-05T18:21:00.000+01:00

Contrary to popular belief, studying abroad is not necessarily the most rewarding experience ever. Perhaps, it’s because we can’t shed the comfortable cocoon we were in for the past 23 years. Or perhaps, it’s just the loneliness, which eats one alive, gradually.

Peer pressure is something we all thought that ONLY teenagers go through, during those years when hormones are raging. But I realized, that’s so not true. We all battle with the yearning to be accepted, we long for the sense of belonging, no matter how old we are.

It is not juvenile, trust me.

I’ve spoken to a few friends who came back for summer holiday. I realized, behind those seemingly enjoyable pictures they took during traveling, there were tears and moments of despair. The worst is when their only ‘friends’ don’t seem to understand, and don’t seem to care. When you feel like an outcast, amongst people whom you regard as friends, it’s devastating.

The ultimate pain of all, is when your trust is betrayed. It pains me, just to hear this.

She is right though. No matter what, ultimately, it’s just you and yourself. You have to pick yourself up, even if you are broken, into smithereens.

But remember, what doesn’t kill you, makes you a stronger person.

Ah beng or Bond?

2007-08-03T10:40:00.000+01:00

I’ve a 21 year-old brother whom sometimes I suspect can never grow up. Mentally. Or is it just a guy thing?

The car which was once mine, was shared between us when he hit 18, and is now HIS after I left. I don’t mind being chauffeured around. But he has been adding stuff and modifying the car to such an extent that… it is embarrassing me when I drive!

I remember reducing my speed to make it easier for Caryn to tail my car. But she said on the broad highway.. there’s no other car that emits Neon light from beneath apart from my 15-year-old Wira. I was the only one driving a car with deafening booming stereo.

Not just that, my windows are so heavily tinted that I could do ANYTHING I want in it and not get caught.

Oh. Did I mention this time around when I came back, I realized there’s a DVD player in my car. Oh. As if the magnificent engine can survive long-haul drives (DVD to entertain passengers), or maybe it’s the trend now to watch DVD as you drive?

He loves cops. We stole one of the police skittles before to use it as room décor. Never did I know that his screwed up fascination with policemen had made him install a siren in the car! I’ve a speaker you know, I can make announcement on the road just like any policeman.

Today, he decided that he’s Bond. My car has the function “auto start”. Within a certain distance, press “start” and the car would roar into life on its own. AW.

Wah lau. Nothing to say.

Sigh, should I be proud of embarrassed, driving a AH BENG @ POLICE @ BOND car?

You are young, but not untouchable

2007-07-31T06:41:00.000+01:00

When you are approaching the glitzy age of 20, your full-fledged wings and soaring ambitions tend to make you think you are invincible. Most people have their entire future plans mapped out, have their imaginary children named and even their retirement plans coloured.

I am one of them.

However, some things have made me realise, despite being at the height of youth, your life is still as vulnerable as a speckle of dust.

Under the glistening light of Twin Towers, a supposedly carefree night at the Skybar has given me more rewards than just a Dirty Martini. (By the way, I had just one tiny sip, and I thought it sucked! Bond, u are such a liar!) A close friend told me about his gf of 4 years, was diagnosed of Ovarian Cancer, at the age of 20.

I was appalled. Speechless. I couldn't decide if the dizzying stars was the impact of Martini, or was it the fear of a sinister fate.

I remember being taught that Ovarian cancer is always diagnosed at late stage due to its mimicking nature. Often, people present with Ascites. All she had was some skin problems, inability to hold her bladder, expanding mass at the belly and dysmenorrheoa.

Any ordinary girl would be more concern about the imperfections of her complexion, or fervently go on a diet to shed the mass in order to fit into her low-cut 507 Levi's. A malignant tumour would be the last in mind!!

In less than a year, I have young, vibrant friends who were found to have Thyroid, Breast, and ovarian cancer. Deserving my greatest admiration, they battled undyingly and survived the combat. Sometimes, a visible mass is not what it takes to kill a person, the depressive monster could as well.

My friend, who initially wanted a break-up, due to incompatibility, stayed on after the catastrophic twist of fate. The gf had her ovaries removed, and will never be able to conceive again. She is well now, thank God.

Be it sympathy or obligation, I realised, a relationship is more than wine and dine – Responsibilities are involved.

I must resist

2007-07-29T17:11:00.001+01:00

This is just one of the weirdest nights of all – one of the nights when I do not want to go to sleep despite extreme exhaustion. It’s also one of the nights when I feel that I need to resort to my journal. One of the nights when I feel like peeling off the layered emotions, via blogging. There’s some venting to do, but this is the furthest I could go.

But no, I shall not do it. I do not want to get addicted to pouring my emotional struggles and my deepest feelings into the world wide web. Albeit we have always been taught that bottling up will lead to disastrous consequences. Talk about the irony of being a private person who owns a blog. I cannot succumb to the temptation.

The temptation of switching on the computer the moment I’m happy, the moment I’m sad, the moment I’m confused, the moment I’m mad – it’s simply not healthy.

I know what I can do. I am going to start reading Harry Potter and the deathly hollow. Just now. I hope, I would doze off from fatigue and not get up with an emotional hangover.

A true junkie

2007-07-24T18:59:00.000+01:00

Packing .. Packing.

I cannot understand how a someone who already has 5 boxes of clothes, 2 boxes of books and 6 pairs of shoes with another luggage of junk dispersed among places in Glasgow… can still have 20kg of things to be shipped.

HOW?

I’ve been cracking my head, thinking if I should ship or carry my new books with me. The mere 6 books are enough to give me a hernia. But it kills me to think that my wrapped and untouched books will be bobbling on the Whatever-sea to the UK.

It’s different being home. One thing that has not changed, and would not change – despite the fact that I'm already a competent 24-year-old and am legally eligible to just INFORM mom on ANY decisions I make, she STILL thinks that I’m 3. ARGH!!!!!!

SO COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2007-07-20T18:29:00.000+01:00

OMG!!!!! I know I'm slightly out, but please watch this! you've to! For those who were previously deceived by Gummy bears, Little Pony, after watching this, you'd wish you had chosen transformers when you were still wearing those pigtails.

T.R.A.N.S.F.O.R.M.E.R.S is SOOOOOOOO cool! just COOL. I'm officially ditching Michaelangelo from Ninja Turtles whom I've been in love for the past 18 years for Mr. Optimus Prime!

OH OH OH. He's so leng zhai. If only my tongue doesn't get all twisted when I say his name - I have difficulty pronouncing it because I keep saying OCTOPUS prime.

How on earth can this happen???

2007-07-17T10:28:00.000+01:00

I ought to emphasize that the succession of sex-related posts are due to mere coincidence, before brows of disapproval begin to crinkle.

I was taught during a M.O teaching that only under dire circumstances when the head of a breech baby is stuck during a vaginal delivery, can you excise the cervix. That also, you should avoid the highly vascular positions i.e 3 & 9 o’clock. It sure didn’t sound fun.

I used to think the worst way to die would be being eaten by a beast, e.g Python, tiger. Nothing could beat that.

Today, I know. There’s something worse. WAY WORSE!

A 26 year old woman who has 2 children and is now 26 weeks pregnant came in with post-coital bleeding. And it’s not just bleeding, it was gushing, oozing and flooding. I swear, if she was managed 1 second later, we might have needed Noah’s ark.

I have absolutely NO IDEA how he did it. He denied of forced entry, denied of sexual toys, denied of Prince Albert piercing, and yet his wife lost 9L of blood!!!!! He almost freakin’ killed his wife!!!! His child could have DIED!

HOW? Tell me HOW? Being appalled is an understatement. Apparently, post coital vaginal, cervical tear is not uncommon.

I took a peek at his shoes. Naw, girls, what Joey from Friends said about shoe size is wrong!

Now I know, the worst way to die, would be being eaten alive by a MAN.

I have a point to prove

2007-07-16T14:27:00.000+01:00

How do you know if you can trust a person?

An interesting conversation with a girl and a guy seriously severely marred my already confused judgements. There are some guys, who are so smart in every thing, so smart that he could twist his words, repackage the scenario and make a righteous you seem guilty within seconds.

I have a friend whose views changed dramatically after she was hurt by her boyfriend, whom she had defended vehemently against her parents’ disapproval. Ultimately, she was proven wrong when her boyfriend betrayed her. It’s so not uncommon, yeah? Sounds truly like something you would read in a teenage column.

Yet, how can you read a guy? Or a girl? Sometimes, certain blunders could scar you for life.

I know this is not within the scope of discussion, and it could be as petty as a bean. But it does carry certain weightage in the issue of trust.

I have a point to prove. So here I’m seeking for answers.

When a guy masturbates, does he fantasize about his girlfriend?

The operation theatre is like Fitness First

2007-07-11T12:22:00.000+01:00

I got up with creaking bones and sore muscles. Straining my blurry thoughts, I tried to recover what I did last night. I certainly felt that I was in world war II.

Then I lifted my arm to brush my teeth. OUCH! My triceps was killing me. It was so sore, I started to think that I probably had gone thai kickboxing when I sleep-walked.

I’m not joking. I couldn’t lift it up swiftly without waking the family. It was just my left arm. Couldn’t straighten my arm as well - Practically disabled.

As I was driving, I remembered – due to some stupid girl’s heroic judgement a.k.a running down to the emergency theatre, volunteering herself to take over the absent houseman so she can scrub in with the doctor – she then sustained some muscle tear due to persistent maintenance of the retractor.

It was merely a caserean section, and I was holding it at most for 20 minutes, and I already feel as if I had gone to a war. Hmmm.. some time ago, an ambitious girl had all her interest invested in knifes and needles, I wonder if I can picture a Zen in high heels and falling strands of straight hair, struggling to separate the patient’s gel-like fatty tissue.

Nah. I need to subscribe to the gym first – dumbbell training for at least 2 years.

Not fit –lah!

My first child

2007-07-10T10:57:00.000+01:00

"Taina women gave birth squatting and alone. They tried to give birth near a
river so that they could bathe themselves and their newborn. " Reynaldo Real

During that split second, I made up my mind : I am going to name him Ekzekiel.

My first child, and I will engineered him to be a boy. This is one of the best days in my life!!!!! Because I just delivered Ekzekiel.

NO no no. not my son, it’s a lady who was in labour pain for more than 10 hours. I literally had to bite my hanging tongue which always droops disobediently in an eager manner when I could participate. I looked like when a dog when being offered a bone!

I was asked to conduct a vaginal delivery!!! It’s not funny ohkay, it’s like my 24^th b’day wish-come-true. (NO lah, am just in a exaggerating mode!)

I could have bitten my tongue and die from excitement if I didn’t endeavour to contain my ecstacy. For a moment I thought she looked terrified because as I gloved up and spread her legs, my face was greased with orgasmic joy.

Maybe she thought I was gay.

I thought I knew my anatomy quite well, but it wasn’t as easy as I thought to locate the urethra. (Have to catheterize her first) Oh my. I never knew I could pee from such a wee hole.

The black tuft of hair emerged, and she bore down. Seriously, the health ministry should consider making doctors wear a cheerleading uniform beneath the sterile gown. Give me my poms poms! I was ready to do a cartwheel to the constant shouting and encouragement from the “crowd”.

Sambung~ sambung~ panjang~panjang~~~~~~ OMG, I felt like I was the one giving birth. The poor woman was straining and whining at the same time, I swear, that must be the biggest poop she has ever moved.

I injected LA. Episiotomy. Taught her how to push. It was like heaven when those fat cheeks popped out of the dilated orifice. Pushed again and there it was – birth of Ekzekiel!

Best of all, I sutured the vagina. I know I have never done this before but well, students have got to learn =p Well, she didn’t exactly ask if I was a doctor… so naw, she’s grand! I promise I didn’t mutilate her private part, in fact, I suspect she will have a better sex life in the future =p

Joking.

She was brought to the postnatal ward immediately after. Sleeping soundly, without a clue that she had just made a medical student the happiest person alive.

IMU-ians reunite!!!!

2007-07-08T12:11:00.000+01:00

It was almost like ‘truth or dare’, except that everyone bared themselves willingly. Oh no no, the love handles didn’t make it to the light, am talking about the disclosure of our deepest, darkest secrets.

We swore to not breathe the secrets ever again, although I realized there is no such thing as “I promise not to tell” because the power of the gabber can transcend the borders of Seremban, Australia, Canada, NZ, UK….

Very scary.

It was so nice seeing friends who had shaped my past. They are still parts and parcels of my life, but listening to stories of others and themselves kind of brought back fond memories from IMU.

And OH, there’s this amazing screening questionnaire that you must use if you are into digging stories. You know, the juicy details of someone’s relationship / conquest :

Tribute to Vas – The L.T.L.S.S screening question (it’s abit like the cage questions)

How Long have you been together?
Does he/she Treat you like how you should be treated?
Do you Love him/her?
Are you willing to Sacrifice for him/her?
Have you had Sex?

Sensitivity and Specificity – 100%. Definitely a cost-effective and efficient way to screen the population. Try it!

Updates! Yi wei is still as gorgeous as ever although I’m now recruiting an army to spank her because she thinks that she’s FAT. Yee pei’s still dripping with sarcasm (though, I got to know A.L.O.T about her now *wink*) Vas, Mr. too-hot-to-handle (if you can recall the newspaper clipping) has grown so hairy and who can’t stop talking about Rusty his Gf, also deserves a spanking because he thinks he’s FUGLY. Hiang liang, who has invited all of us to be EXTRA-s in his music video this coming Saturday (Jln. Duta, KL) has a swollen head now, literally big-head.

yeeee pei. you are singled out beacause of poor QC in that picture.

Disgusted? Touched? - I don't know.

2007-07-06T11:29:00.000+01:00

Being in the labour ward is like being struck by a certain realization. One thing for sure, I now have a burning frustration towards men, whose most strenuous exercise would be climbing on top of his woman… and then go for lunches when their wives are in excruciating labour pains.

…. And then claim the child by tagging his surname on “it”.

Oh yes, I call babies “it”. Honestly, I was never that kinda girl who goes all motherly and ooooooooh and ahhhhhh when I saw a baby. The female instinct has not hit me yet. Well, I would like “it” if…

….If she was a girl, if she had pig tails, if she was dressed in pink, if she didn’t cry, didn’t poo and only smiles when I bite her rosy cheeks.

I assisted in a delivery today. It was a spontaneous vaginal delivery. It’s not my first time seeing a baby being expelled from the vagina, but I swear, each time I witness it, I feel that I’m dead and then alive, and then dead again…

The mother’s fists were white from clutching the bed rails, and she was drenched with perspiration. If it was me, I would rather just die than having a GRAND team of midwives, house officers, medical officers, staff nurse, medical students, ELECTIVE students staring at me, anticipating a torn vagina.

It’s not funny.

It was literally like a market place when she was encouraged to push.

“TERAN TERANnnnnn (apparently, it means ‘bear down’ in Malay). Dik Dik, rasa nak berak?? (you feel like poooo-ing??)” OMG. I was literally twisting in agony when the houseman cut her vagina without hesitance.

After a major drama of shouting, screaming and crying, “it” glided out of the birth canal along with some stool. “life comes with shit” so true, yeah? The mom looked like she just had a helluva tour from hell.

I opened the ceremony by cutting the baby’s umbilical cord. Being a girl whose motherly instinct has yet to blossom, the moment I cut the cord, I felt my heartstrings tugged.

Choosing to ignore the unexplained emotion, I made up my mind, there’s no way I would attempt a vaginal delivery. NO WAY. Elective caesearean is the way – that is what I’ve learned so far.

p/s: By the way, do you know that we have to put the placenta in a bag and weigh it? It’s so much like weighing a pig’s liver!

Is this normal or sick?

2007-07-03T14:20:00.000+01:00

If someone had swapped body with me on a freaky Friday, the person would have thought I had dismantled my bones and then put them back again – that’s exactly how I feel right now, I’m so tired that my body parts feel as if they aren’t mine.

However tired I am though, there’s something worse troubling my thoughts. There’s a pressing need to share this worry with my fellow colleagues, as I’m worried that if not treated promptly, I might be evolving into a monster unknowingly.

I spent the entire day in the Gynaecology Operation Theatre today.

Oddly enough, I find that the OT exudes a certain allure. And the source of its appeal – the smell!!!!!!

Hold your vomit, but honestly, my stomach was growling hopelessly when the surgeon sliced the fatty layer (Campers’ Fasica) with diathermy. When she burned the bleeding parts, I swear, burnt fats smells identically to BBQ!

I tried to ignore the disturbing pleasure until there wass a woman with a huge ovarian cyst. When the covering sag was excised, the filling just spilled like CHOCOLATE syrup, covering the bowels. They call it a chocolate cyst, but it simply worsened my hunger pangs.

That's when I thought my mind could be warped.

Lastly, an old woman with a growth in her cervix. I hate to say this, but when her vagina was spread apart, the bright red growth within stared at me like a ripe strawberry. I promise, there was a STRAWBERRY in her cervix.

… and it would be perfect if I dip it in the CHOCOLATE syrup from the other woman’s ovary.

BBQ, Strawberry with chocolate topping. I had to grit my teeth to sustain my caveman desire for food as I left the OT.

Hospital revelation

2007-07-03T11:19:00.000+01:00

It all happened right in front of my eye, in lightning speed. All that was stuck in my head was the senior M.O or probably consultant’s (No idea!) index finger, giving orders like death sentences to 3 house officers whose heads are just ONE inch to the floor.

Talk about hierarchy in the hospital.

No matter where you are, hierarchy is a fact made of steel. I am starting to worry that I might not be able to cope if I have to work back home in the future.

Yes, I complained whenever there were coffee/tea breaks back in Glasgow because they are just so annoying. Why let the class drag on for 3 hours when u can finish it in 2?

However, when house officers are expected to know about 40 patients by heart, be in the ward by 7am, sometimes work consecutively for 60 hours…

I think I prefer my tea break. But I think just in case I suffer from systemic shock when I start working, I suppose it’s not too bad an idea that I start kicking the tea-drinking habit.

My best friend!!!!!

2007-06-30T15:56:00.000+01:00

There’s a very special girl out there whose path crossed mine in the most amazing way – we share similar, if not identical plights in ALL our relationships.

I must say, every single relationship.BFzhai MERGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She’s my best friend, Bfzhai and she is a professional shopper, people pay her to SHOP. Haha. I suppose that summary on her is sufficient.

It’s funny how certain friendship can withstand the test of distance and time. Without constant communication, I always feel bonded to her in a way that’s not describable.

The very few wonderful things in life include an everlasting friendship. There wasn’t a trace of awkwardness at all, although we haven’t really been in touch for the past 1 year. She’s a workaholic and I forgot about her birthday (she has every right to kill me and drag me from my grave and kill me again, but she didn’t) … yet, seeing her again is rejuvenating

Friendship. This is what you call friendship!

There she’s, with bliss written all over her face. I think after all the toughest life decisions we girls go through or are going through, we all deserve a break.My Love GURU-s

And the break is when you’ve found the right one. So happy for you, bfzhai!!!!

Decisions decisions

2007-06-28T19:08:00.000+01:00

Life revolves around decisions, every step you take in life is a decision. Even opening your eyes in the morning.

What’s the art in decision-making? I desperately need help.

Stepping into the 24^th year of my life, I realized I have never truly made a decision based on what I want. My train of thoughts, my desires, are influenced by people whom I love most. Sometimes, I even wonder, if my thoughts were never “moulded” into wanting to be a doctor, would I actually be an artist, painting on the streets of France now?

Possible. Because that was what I wanted when I was 7.

The fear of making decisions stems from the fear of making irreparable mistakes. What sort of person would gamble and take the risk in his pursuit for happiness? If you chose to sail on choppy waves, would you be guaranteed an island of bliss?

What are the odds?

I hate it when I can’t think. I remember I was overjoyed when mom bought me a big bottle of Ribena, I wanted to hold it badly but mom didn’t let me…

She said “Do it and you would lose the Ribena.” I insisted.

Within seconds, it slipped out of my hands. Are mothers always right?

Abortion?

2007-06-28T17:15:00.000+01:00

I cringed with pain during every swift movement of the curettage. As if it’s not painful enough that there’s a metal piece as large as a ladle spreading the vagina. I know if she was 0.0000000001% conscious, she would rather die than have her legs opened in front of a team of 10!

I always thought we should put the mother’s emotional concerns as priority. If a teenage girl wants an abortion on the grounds that being a single mother would tar her reputation, scar her future and cause irreparable emotional trauma, I would happily do it for her.

It’s perfectly reasonable.

Today, my heart went all the way out to the shredded bits and pieces of MOLAR tissues that were being scrapped from the woman’s womb.

They are just fetal-tissues-gone-wrong, yet, I wept for the grape-like structures that didn’t make it to the world.

Seeing something that could potentially be a human being being killed by a curettage is unbearable. If it was a partial mole with fetal body parts, I don’t think I could deal with it.

HOW can people kill their own babies? Put them in vials and send those little fingers, little toes to the laboratory? *shakes head in despair*

I think, my view on abortion has changed.

Correction

2007-06-26T11:08:00.000+01:00

Correction (refer to the previous post).

I think I'm actually very HAPPY.

What else can I ask for... when I have got good friends who remember my birthday, despite being miles away, (although I suspect it's the work of birthday reminder, nonethelee), when I have my family with me on this day, when I have people who love me?

OK, I take back my complaints.

My birthday

2007-06-26T10:17:00.000+01:00

Alright, it’s my birthday. I can vividly recall last year when I blogged about the same thing on the same day – 26^th june 1983.

This is not a gimmick to fish for birthday wishes or prezzies, I swear. It’s really confusing, I did not look forward to my birthday at all. I got up at 4am, a bad habit I started 2 days ago after I came back to Malayisa.

And there wasn’t a streak of excitement. Surprisingly.

When I was asked in the ward “doing anything interesting tonight?” if it was last year, I might have shouted on the roof “it’s my BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!”

But no, I said, nah. Nothing much.

This is really giving me the creeps. Could it be a manifestation of some underlying pathology?

Maybe…. Possibly….

I’m still suffering from jet lag. Hence, too tired
I started going to the hospital from 8-4 everyday immediately after I traveled half the globe.
I’ve had 2 cakes and the most amazing surprise party in Glasgow. Another cake from aunt. So it’s enough.
Simply, I don’t like the extra number in my age.
Perhaps, I just have no one to celebrate with.

Sounds sad, no? well, as consolation, I got to put on scrubs today and witness 2 hysterectomy. Not bad a day. I should have asked the surgeon if she would let me suture the patient…..

…. As my birthday gift. Maybe I will ask tomorrow, as a belated gift ? =)

Home sweet home, with mixed feelings

2007-06-24T16:30:00.000+01:00

I stepped across light, darkness and then light again, I shed a few tears while watching ‘The painted veil’ on air, stuffed myself with Qataric food and mused about where the pee goes when you flush it down the floating toilet.

That pretty much summarizes my 24-hour journey back home.

Malaysia. Aw. It felt wondrous when the air stewardess skipped me while she was passing out the clearance forms for non-Malaysians, it felt magnificent when I could boldly walk through the green lane without being bombarded with security questions.

My maroon red passport simply made an approving click after reading my thumb.

The most bizarre of all, I felt an explosive joy at the sight of a sickly orange vehicle with ‘Bus Sekolah’ printed on it. The familiarity was overwhelming.

I had 2 birthday cakes today and the most scrumptious meal I’ve had in ages. Seafood. I forgot how it’s like when I didn’t have to worry about buying onions, about doing my laundry. Home is good.

However, I must say, I’m not overjoyed for leaving Glasgow, especially when there are things which I miss dearly there.

Perhaps, the rain?

p/s: 8.30am in the O&G ward tomorrow. I might fall asleep in a mother’s womb.

PASSED!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2007-06-18T15:21:00.000+01:00

If I were a better writer, I would be able to describe the expanding pressure I felt in every single organ as I was clicking the link “exam result”.

My head was going to explode anytime and the back of my eyes was literally excruciating. This system where you check your results online is really not the best idea of fun, especially when med school is such a lousy joker – kept us constipated with suspense over the weekend when they had promised that results would be released on Friday.

Cut the long story short : I PASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m sick of saying “hi, my name is Zen, 3^rd year medical student. May I examine you?” I was a 3^rd year in 2005, 2006 and 2007!!!! Freakin’ 3 years.

(Just in case you think I’m one hell of a bimbo, I did not fail for 3 years owkay =p)

Thank God. Thank God. It’s seriously by God’s grace that I now can introduce myself as a 5^th year student (EHEM EHEM, that’s coz we have no exams in 4^th year!)

I promise, I’m not going to risk my life like that ever again. I promise I will study everyday starting from…..next year!

Hehe.

Me? Opera? haha.

2007-06-16T23:17:00.000+01:00

Caryn’s response was “YOU WATCH OPERA ONE MEH!?”

Haha. Yeah, I know I don’t. and I never thought I would. Maybe ballet, maybe a play, maybe an orchestra. But opera!?

But well, I did. Tell me about how the world evolves and how people change over time. Never expected myself to be in a elaborate theatre, knowing nuts about O.P.E.R.A.

The only thing I know that’s remotely similar is Oprah Winfrey… wait a min, Oprah = opera. OK-lah, close enough.

I did my homework though, I wiki-ed AIDA (The opera that I was gonna watch) before heading down the cultured route. You know, I don’t want to look like a complete idiot or start nodding off with glass-piercing Sopranoes at the background.

That would be too un-cool.

Guess what? Nothing could beat spending Friday night with a bunch of cool kids in an opera theatre. Gray hair and wrinkled faces crowded the theatre, I was probably the youngest one around. My hunch was that they knew I was pretending to be “CULTURED”.

Funny though as it went on, I started enjoying it, and I started to feel more at home with my grown-up cliques. Guess who’s ageing?

Home soon

2007-06-10T16:30:00.000+01:00

It’s as if it was yesterday when I lugged my 32.3kg luggage up to the 3^rd floor. Today, there were 4 boxes! Time to shift out!

It’s been a year and it hardly felt so. This is a very messy year I would say, half the time, I didn’t know what I was doing. Be it Uni, Hospital, friends, personal relationships. Eventful, nevertheless.

I wouldn’t trade it with anything in the world, though.

Mom called and said they are all excited that I’m going home. And yes, they did sound so. Am I excited? I don’t know. Being worried seems more apt.

I feel like I have a thousand and million things to deal with when I step foot again on the Malaysian soil.

Trish's visit to the shopping land.

2007-06-05T20:58:00.000+01:00

TRISHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA the dungu!

She finally stepped foot on Glasgow and we girls rocked the town =) It was almost like IMU days when we were young and silly. haha, although I would say, Trish hasn't changed much.

Haha - the young & silly part.

The best kind of visitor, is the kind who tells you - "I don't bother about sight-seeing, just bring me SHOPPING!!!" (Which explains the young and silly part).

Thanks to San San though, or else these Galway-ers may never get to see the real Glasgow. Although, just the outside of Scotland's-must-see museum would be sufficient. The weather was such a pain in the arse

When it comes to posing, I still cannot beat her. She just has this magical way of portraying us as "Megaly-s" in all pictures.Hippo and Heado-megaly.

Such a pig lah. I miss IMU.

RIP. my dear friend.

2007-06-05T20:44:00.000+01:00

I never quite believed in “depression”. To me, it’s just a state of mind that could be overcome. In fact, often I shamelessly brush people off when they say they are depressed.

All the crap I read in Psychiatry - It’s just for the weak ones.

Unti she left. Everything felt so unreal. Because she was someone whom I had crossed path with, someone whom I had gone with to Sri Petaling’s Pasar Malam, whom I had worked out with in Celebrity Fitness, whom I had gone with to Singapore…U will always always be remembered, val.

Whom I had slept with on the same mattress…

?????????????????????? Why? I remember choosing to dismiss it when I saw the scars from self-harm on her forearms. I chose to ignore them.

I’m sorry, my dear Val. I’m so sorry I never took you seriously. I’m sorry.

It cost a priceless life to teach me a lesson – no matter how happy someone appears, how vibrant and enthusiastic someone is, there’s always a risk that you might lose him/her tomorrow.

Really. I respect your decision. No matter where you are right now, I hope you are smiling.

Told you! Oriental beauty!

2007-06-02T00:14:00.000+01:00

Miss Universe 2007 - Riyo Mori

Inspired by Justin’s blog, I have to say, I’m impressed. Dead impressed, honestly.

I knew it. Oriental is exotic. Good stuff definitely. I cannot understand why the ang mohs think Asian girls ALL look the same. HOW!?

Really, like HOW?

Oriental beauty is unparalleled. Generally, I must say Caucasian girls are prettier, at first glance. Or overall, they come in more varieties. You know, in probability, there can be a million and quadrillion combinations. Blonde hair, green eyes, ginger hair, honey eyes…

(That’s how they describe people – by colour. That explains why Asian girls supposedly look the same – because they all have dark brown hair and dark brown eyes)

But when you get a steamy hot Asian girl… that’s it, unbeatable.

Miss Japan! Way to go *Hats off* Well done!!!

Is there another word for "tired"?

2007-06-01T23:56:00.000+01:00

I never seemed to understand the whining about doctors being overworked, like a dog.

It’s just my SSM (Student selected module) now, with the daily 9-5 schedule, I already feel as weak as a 100-year-old. Although it’s in my clear consciousness that I have to read up on Neurology because I know nuts, every night as soon as I remove my shoes, the only thing I want to do….

…. Is to dismantle the 267 bones in my body and slump into a pile of skin.

I practically lose consciousness every night. It’s dead tiring. So tiring that it surprises me.

And all I do in hospital is standing, tagging along with the consultants as they discuss about cases, talking to patients, and the hardest work is perhaps holding a 128Hz tuning fork.

???????????????????????? How can I be tired?

I’ve no time to settle my bank stuff, my books from the library are way overdued – simply because every time I leave the hospital, it would already be 5pm. Sigh.

Still, hospital is a great playground.

London

2007-05-27T17:07:00.000+01:00

Ok. Been there, done that.

Collectively, I only had 4 days of holiday after the grueling exam. Wait, barely a holiday… a coffee break would be a more apt description.

Before my unreliable memory betrays me, I should scribble something about London.

I know it doesn’t make sense that I’ve been out to Europe, but haven’t even stepped foot on London. Born and bred in KL, I should be the last person complaining about the level of pollution in London. But, I swear, my sputum was black at the end of each day – as if I was out clubbing the night before.

All in all, I like the place. It’s awesome. But it's mainly due to the fantastic company and the hospitality I received. Thank you, S. Although, old habits die hard… because my sphincter only responds to familiarity, I was constipated for the entire trip. I NEVER once in my life forgot about contact lens container and solution, as they are dearer than my own life.

I did, and I saw London with 2 pairs of eyes. (The superstition of wearing glasses ONLY on exam day was hence breached)

Picadilly circus - really, I was looking for a CIRCUS.Mr. Big Ben.The guard changing! Queen, I wonder how do you feel about waking up to a band everyday?
Trafalgar square
Tower bridge. I saw it split into half!
British Museum

First failure, crushed and defeated

2007-05-24T16:47:00.000+01:00

Perhaps it’s wee too strong to use the word “failure”. But a “fail” is a “fail”.

I’m defeated and crushed. I knew something was amiss when I left OSCE. I knew I did something wrong but the brief 5 minutes was nothing but a haze.

I allowed the rest to convince myself that it was my paranoia acting up. Thus, I pushed the gnawing uneasiness to the back of my mind and enjoyed London. However, I must say, the creepy discomfort never left.

There it was, a devastating mail asking me to attend a retraining/retesting session on basic life support. I have to say, nothing felt worse than one’s first failure in life. My fear was confirmed, I did something terribly wrong INDEED.

I shocked the patient twice. Although I knew by heart the steps to basic life support, the minute details required in handling of the defibrillator.

Honestly, it hurts.

I cried my eyes out. I guess in life, there would always be a “first time”.

I feel stupid. I am just stupid - of all things, basic life support?

Humerus ? Humourous?

2007-05-09T22:35:00.000+01:00

You know how it’s like when you look at your Form 5 “Karangan-s”, and you gawk in awe?

“MAN! Did I actually write those essays? In BM? With Puisi and all?”

***

Indeed, when I look at my IMU notes now, I’ve to say, I’m just plain impressed by the brainpower I had…. All in the past, all in the past *Shake head in dismay*

How on earth did I manage to remember those joints? Details like Capitulum? Coronoid process? (I’m flipping through Netter’s) They all look as insignificant as a bacteria on my hand.

Hell. I might get tested on these things next week!!!! And honestly, I know nuts.

Why is it that no matter how much of Ginkgo Biloba and Ginseng I load myself with, I still feel stupid?! I’m not retaining any thing?!

???????????

How did I manage to write things like “terjumrah ke dalam lembah maksiat…?” (That’s the only memory I’ve of Form 5 karangan)

*Karangan = Essay
*Puisi = Poem

p/s: By the way, I can’t be bothered. I’m still gonna watch my “Desperate housewives” tonight. Whatever-lah!

Thank God I quit!

2007-05-05T19:26:00.000+01:00

I can’t recall if I had publicized my grand resignation from Subway. If I didn’t, here I’m telling the world : I had quit!

I did something equivalent to breaking up with a post-it – I scurried into the store and left my resignation letter on the table, without breathing a goodbye. Cowardy is the word.

That marked the end of the days of free sandwiches and donning the Subway-1965 green cap. I lived in mild remorse ever since. Sometimes I lie in bed, wondering, if I had done the right thing.

Today, it struck me, THAT was the boldest and best decision I’ve ever made in life!

They wanted me to work today and tomorrow (effectively 1 week before my exam). Initially I thought 18 hours of work wouldn’t really matter, because if I fail, it wouldn’t be because of THIS 18 hours.

But hell yeah. Cowardy or not, I made the right choice. If I had to work today (With my brain jammed and bowels so cramped with stress) I swear, I would have a nervous break down.

I’d then invariably fit the Schneider’s first rank symptoms – Schizophrenia.

Again, thank God I quit. Screw the pounds.

Visit from the London-ers

2007-05-04T00:13:00.000+01:00

It’s so nice to meet up with old friends – from London, albeit just the brief 2 hours. I’ve forgotten the ecstatic rush one gets during rendezvous with people who share the same past, the same frequency.

The rush =) (COME VISIT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

At least, you don’t have to just talk about the weather, and plans for the weekend *roll eyes*

Oh well, the UK definitely didn’t change people dramatically. Perhaps, just 8 months wouldn’t really make any difference. Although J has adopted the short-skirt-with-ankle length tights fashion sense, which I sometimes still struggle with =p

I brought them for Dim Sum (See what I mean when I say UK didn’t do much harm to my friends, they chose Dim Sum over Haggis!) and Scotland’s-must-see museum (The rojak one that lies opposite my house)

It is rejuvenating indeed, to get a break from my stack of PBLs - Actually, it’s just an excuse to get away with studying. Oh NO NO, it’s for friendship *wink*

Some food for thought though, they reckoned I looked unhappy. Is it the UK or is it the pending exam? I shall think about this after the exam.

*Picture updates later*

Stupid heater

2007-05-01T20:39:00.000+01:00

When the overjoyed yells herald the arrival of 17°C, I moan.

My “ang moh” friends are ecstatic that the days of gloom and rain are finally over! When E put her hand out of her car’s window to capture the sun, she let out an orgasmic shout of joy …

“OHHH! It’s burning!”

???????????????? (sorry, but I thought if the sun died like in the movie Sunshine, I’d happily let it do so.)

As if the tension that forms a tight band around my head is not enough, my room’s heater has gone absolutely berserk as well. I suspect it’s the season when every single creature wants to be part of the “heat”…. Wants to radiate heat.

My stupid heater just wouldn’t stop the miserable humming vibration. It is unprovoked, and only relieved when I turn it on. Ehem. I mean, when I switch it on.

BUT I DON’T WANT TO! Who wants to use the heater when it’s 17°C ??? I can’t concentrate when all I hear is the hummmmmm… hummmm..hummmmmm…. – as if it’s mocking my imminent death in 10 days time =(

Can someone repair the heater for me? Shut it up!?

Never been so stressed

2007-04-29T19:17:00.000+01:00

There is nothing more apt in describing my current state
Why do I feel..
The impending doom?

Inspirational musings???

2007-04-28T22:06:00.000+01:00

Despite my constant lamentations about exam stress… I had happily, willingly sacrificed 3 hours for “sisterhood bonding” today.

Contrary to what the species from Mars think, bonding sessions like these are not mere excuses for biatch-ing, gossiping and criticising the latest fab in the glossy mags…

Definitely not. In fact, they are inspiring and rejuvenating!

Ok. I admit, girls talk a lot about guys. Likewise, I presume. Sometimes I think it’s really unfair, the way our brains are structured – we could cling on to the most minuscule detail and brood the entire day. Unfortunately, plenty of times, it involves you, from MARS!

I wonder, do guys analyse and re-analyse and re-re-analyse situations?

Or, do you RE-RE-RE-RE-RE analyse?

Oh well. Despite the overwhelming load of studies, miraculously, girls can manage to generate quite a few Megabytes of brain cells for relationship-related events. Honestly, I do like it when girls get together and “compare notes”, mail each other to ANALYSE sticky situations. These are the fun parts of being the descendents of Eve..

Do you know that girls get quite upset if they text you and you don’t reply till the next day? Or you don’t reply AT ALL? And do you have the slightest inkling that a guy should NEVER let the girl end the text conversation?

Even if she has said bye, you got to text her back and say BYE! GOOD NITE! Aye, sisters?

my EYE!

2007-04-26T18:32:00.000+01:00

I know I’m stressed out. But didn’t know I’m THAT stressed.

I almost scratched my left eyeball out of its socket. Literally. I was removing my contact lens with what I thought was an effortless task - with my 9 years of experience.

So the bathroom was dark and I wasn’t even applying the recommended technique i.e Right middle finger on right upper lid, left on left, remaining digits on the maxilla then contract your levator palpabrae superioris (exams fry ones brains!)

I assumed that my eyes were huge enough for a simple manouvre. I thought I had removed the left one. But nothing appeared on the pulp of my finger.

Touched my cornea again. Felt weird. I was like a direct massage on the white matter.

As if there wasn’t anything. I had this sudden fear that it might have rolled to the back of my eye!!!

Scratched it again. Nothing. Again, nothing.

In the end, I put on my glasses. I never found that contact lens. Perhaps, it will necrose its way out of my conjuctiva tonight.

The "looking forward to" syndrome

2007-04-23T20:30:00.000+01:00

…someone told me how frustrating it is to wait for a mail, a letter, a call, a text, even a voicemail on the answering machine.

I equate it to anticipating something you cannot get.

As pathetic as it sounds, I love leaving my mobile phone at home, like deliberately. So that when I finally check it, and if I get loads of texts and missed calls, I get the ecstatic high.

Aw yeah. A better way to achieve euphoria compared to popping pills.

This is called the “looking forward to” syndrome. Every cell and molecule of my body is now infested with it. Every single thing which I had deemed insignificant fires my neurons. I guess when you start peeling the calendar to your exam date, everything other than books seem unbelievably appealing.

I think I check my mailbox every 10 minutes. I check my phone every 2 minutes.

The most exciting thing I did today was inserting my index finger into someone’s bottom – a manikin – OSCE practice –lah!

*For the St Georgeons who read this post, I’m so jealous of you! You are done with exams!

M.I? IBD?

2007-04-22T20:17:00.000+01:00

It feels like a marathon, a never ending run. And as I run, my bowels broke into a chaotic protest.

It’s been 2 days and I think I’ve been in and out of the toilet for 13 times. It’s not funny. The worst of all, it’s not the normal kind of diarrhea.

Combing through the GI system, I’ve diagnosed myself of Inflammatory Bowel Disease.

Actually, no. It’s more like the psychogenic diarrhea I always have prior to exams. Oh No. I know during moments like this, keeping calm and composed is crucial. But I just can’t. I’m so scared. Freaking scared, if you know what I mean.

I have a feeling of impending doom. *Sweat dribbling, acid reflux etc.*

Are we still living in the past?

2007-04-21T17:13:00.000+01:00

Living in the past? As some friends struggle with acclimatization, I wonder...

Often, when you pack your belongings and flip to the next era of your life, you are left with no choice but to close the previous chapter. Sometimes, mere closing is not even sufficient, you have to learn to SEAL it.

By the way, I’m not talking about Subway. Quitting a job is not THAT significant.

I would say that I’m one of those people who have gone through a few transitions in life. I virtually left my footsteps all over the places. Short stints in Aussie, UiTM, IMU, now Glasgow. They all feel like travel lodges to me, I’ve always known that I wouldn’t stay long.

I agree that most of us still hold on to certain fond memories, memories that are dear to our hearts. But sometimes, it’s always better to abandon your dependency on them.

Not cold-hearted, rather, as a means of protection.

I’ve never dared to invest too much emotions in a certain thing, a certain place etc. Because I’m scared of disappointment. Call me a coward but I’d rather be contended with the present than to reminisce on the good ‘ol days.

Cheer up, k? =)

I Quit my job!!!!!

2007-04-21T02:00:00.000+01:00

People say, if you are a chinese, you wouldn’t be concern even if the world collapses… as long as the $$$$$$$$$$$$$ sign still blinks!

Oh aye. So true. I quit my job today! It kind of feels like a chunk of meat being torn form my body.

YES. I QUIT MY JOB! How many times do you want me to repeat it.

It’s been a mere 4 months and there goes my free Sub (CHEH! I don’t like subway sandwiches anyway), there goes my free choc drink (CHEH! I still have Milo!) and there goes my free cookies and muffins (I can bake better ones! CHEH!) …

Still….sob sob sob. I feel quit irresponsible really. I quite like the job and was expecting to work there for awhile. But they declined my request for a study break (which they had agreed earlier) and wanted me to work on the immediate weekend before exam! How is that possible? I refused to compromise and decided to fire my boss!

At least I had the decency to write a resignation letter and not throw the Subway wrap at his face (well, I wouldn’t have the guts anyway!) Oh well. I know I did the right choice. I just know it. But why does the dull ache somewhere around my chest persist as I see the blinking dollar sign diminish?

sigh

2007-04-17T23:38:00.000+01:00

I AM SO UPSET. SO SO SO SO SO UPSET.

First crush

2007-04-17T02:28:00.000+01:00

This is the period when I downscale my weighing scale, for psychological comfort. Exam preparation is always miraculously tied with gaining weight.

Here I’m munching on my snack, a perfectly 1-min microwaved bread with Cadbury choc spread… a traumatizing fragment of my childhood conjured up.

I remember my first crush. I was 9. More precisely, a fat 9.

I was the biggest girl in class, and teacher always placed me at the last row. I remember the night before Standard 3 started, mom combed the entire town for my uniform, but there was no size for dark-blue pinafore for me! I think I won the throne as the biggest primary school girl.

Our helper had to sew a uniform for me, overnight.

To make things worse, the raging hormones made their presence felt by leaving volcanic marks on my face.

It was a horrendous childhood. I remember stealing glances at the skinny boy at the first row in class, blushing each time when he walked pass.

I had rosy imaginations of us eating chocolate bar in the garden, until he yelled at me one day….

“FEI PO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” (= Fatso)

I had never felt uglier and more insulted.

Really, such a childhood *shake head* But heck, I love my Cadbury choc spread + brown bread now. I think, being obsessed with weight is just pathetic.Hehehehe! Who cares.

'Ze Sun

2007-04-13T16:07:00.000+01:00

I recall having my face twisted in a comical smirk, when I first came across “Seasonal Affective Disorder”…

…..about how people “bask in the sun” during summer…

…. About how the light affects animals’ pineal glands and boosts the copulating mood.

I thought, only people who has 72 hours a day can come out with things like that.

However, just recently, Glasgow hasn’t been its miserable old self. It’s bright and sunny! I was in Botanic Garden yesterday, and heck! Everyone was out sunbathing on the grass, nevermind the creepy-crawlers that squirmed beneath. Even the squirrels!So damn GREEN! I thought the only green thing glasgow has is Celtic!

It's bizarre how these things were just uninteresting PLANTS to me back home. But i Ooooohh and AAAaaaaahhh over here!?!??!?I swear this big guy has got "sex" all written over his face!

I doubtlessly am having surges of serotonin because I’m not complaining about the fact that no one has turned up to teach us at the hospital today… AGAIN….for the umpteenth time.

Sitting at the café, I felt like the only idiot with a gray sweater. The sun was kissing our skin repeatedly as we talked about the inevitable fate of sitting for year 3 exam. (4 weeks!!) I used to duck and hide, satisfied with only nil UV exposure. Today, I was “basking in the sun”.

Puteri lilin sudah gilar.

Now I feel bad for studying because the weather is too good. awwwww..can I just put on my pink tube dress with polka dot (haha. I don't really have that kinda thing!) and go for a picnic?

Holiday ?my toe.

2007-04-10T00:06:00.000+01:00

“Lalalala. You gotta get up at 7am tomorrow! Stobhill Stobhill. And you might just be abandoned and not get any teaching at all! Lalalala..”

“I want to ponteng. I want to. I really want to. I’M DYING TO!!!”

“C’mon you fat arse, skive it and you are gonna fail. Stupid girl!”

“Hate it hate it hate it. Exam’s soon and I know shit!”

SNAP OUT OF IT ZEN! Snap out of it! I have these running commentaries in my head since cooking that Salmon in the evening.

Honestly, I’m still in denial. I can’t believe 3 weeks is over. At least my friends have gone to London, Newcastle, Greece and done things which what normal people would do on a HOLIDAY.

Unlike someone, who stayed home and be a guard dog!!!!

At least, if they didn’t finish doing their PBLs, there’s an excuse.

Darn.

I insisted on taking easter holiday to S.T.U.D.Y. But all I’ve achieved so far is counting the amount of air molecules in my room.

I’m depressed. And I think signs of Schizophrenia are manifesting. For starters, I’m hearing voices outside my head. Talking to me, talking about me - About how I should drag my heavy bum out of my bed at 7 am tomorrow, especially when my biological alarm goes off at 12.30pm everyday.

Holiday? My foot.

This is where I spent my 3-weeks easter break. By the way, it has 14,37850000 air molecules.

A day in Loch Lomond

2007-04-06T01:31:00.000+01:00

I forgot how the sun looks like. Glasgow has been exceptionally sunny for the past few days. Putting on shadesdoes not make me stand out like a nutcase anymore.

Loch Lomond. Each time I go there, I feel different. This time, I swear, I could smell the sun.

He calls it "STEVE".
The next target would be the Oyster Bar --> Dan Brown and Tony Blair's favourite place in Scotland!

We are Ameircans?

2007-04-06T00:48:00.000+01:00

Disclaimer : This post is only for the intelligent and for the ones who can take insults. (joking joking).Do not proceed if you do not fit into either category.

I know my posts about Subbie kind of show how uninteresting my life has become- revolving around a sandwich den, with tomatoes and onions being my best friends.

I promise, I’d stop talking about subway … after I attend to this compelling urge to share.

Now, the intelligent part. Despair not if you can’t understand, for the below complicated situation is only for the smartest.

Two 6" sandwiches cost more than 1 footlong sandwich.

2 plus-sized teenagers who looked nothing like that of the Celts descendents walked in. They asked for a footlong sandwich. Fair enough. Big food for big people.

“I want oil & vinegar on my sandwich.”

“Sorry, we don’t do oil & vinegar.” I squeaked.

“Mustard then.” “Honey or spicy?” I had been programmed to ask.

“The normal one. We are Americans, you see.”US = Mustard? Maybe I’m plain dumb, but I couldn’t see the connection.

At the till, the brother really drove me nuts.

He insisted that I charge him for two 6” sandwiches (which is more expensive).

ARGH. I don’t know how to explain this!!!!!! Now, this is his sandwich.
But the AMERICAN guy wants me to charge him like this à two 6”?!

??????????????????????????????????? WHY!?

Why did he insist that I should charge him more!? Did he think he’s damn smart?

His nonsensical request really puzzled me. I swear, when he walked away, he left us shrouded in deep confusion, which could only be explained by his grand introduction.

“We are Americans.” I guess that's why psychiatrists earn well there.

Lonely or not.

2007-04-01T17:50:00.000+01:00

I was walking down a lonely path back home when I was gently tapped on the shoulder – a very friendly girl whom I hardly speak to.

Silence. Then I decided that I should resort to the 3-questions-rule.

1. How do you like Glasgow? Miss home?
2. How was your weekend?
3. What plans do you have this weekend?

People here ask these 3 questions all the time. Honestly, just memorise them and I promise you’d be a social butterfly who can survive any awkward silence. The only difficult part is choosing which question to ask. I picked NO.3.

“Study loh, then online.” The reply was brisk and simple.

“Oh yah, I always see you online.” The appropriate social response.

“I’m just online but I hardly MSN. I like seeing everyone online, it’s like they are around me. So it doesn’t feel so lonely.”

Ouch. It hit me hard. I just realize, no matter how acclimatized you are, when you are far from home, you will always feel lonely, at some point in life.

My answer to question NO. 1 will probably always be a desperate “YES”.

- Yinni, you’ve no idea how glad I’m that you are “sacrificing” yourself by coming to Glasgow =p

Gay?

2007-03-31T07:02:00.000+01:00

Always choose your words wisely, especially on a Friday, pay-week night, when alcohol intoxicated lunatics loom in town.

Especially when they stagger into Subway.

Alcohol is such a mind-boggling potion. Does it do more harm than good? In books, yeah. In reality, it’s a magical concoction that makes everyone one big happy family.

Flood the war zone with alcohol, and I guarantee Iraqis and Americans would be brothers tomorrow.

Sorry, I digressed.

Two guys were chatting happily away when they ordered their sandwiches. Being the “intelligent” being who despite being taught to NEVER ASSUME, insists on being stubborn… I asked, naturally..

“Are you guys paying together?” (C’mon, everyone would ask the same question yah? So I’d know how to put through the till!)

But the guy jumped, cursed and went berserk. “WOOOU WOOU WOOOoooU, do you think I’m gay!? What ARE you trying to say!?” and he shouted at me. I turned away.

He shouted again, " HEY HEY YOU! YOU THINK I AM GAY!?!?!?!??!!?!"

I was dumb-struck. What the hell!? Seriously what the hell. I was exhausted and was serving this stupid man sandwich at 3.45 am in the morning! Stupid man!SO CUTE!!!!!!

Tagged by a weird girl

2007-03-22T00:09:00.000Z

I got tagged by Linda. This is out of courtesy, and to keep my bloggie alive =p

6 weird things about myself. Well, Linda… why? Why must you tag me? Of all the weird people on earth, you gotta tag your most un-weird friend?

1) I LURVE the smell of petrol. Hey! It’s an expensive taste! 32c / Litre! My particular favourite : V-Power!!!!!

2) I am going to name my sons Pino & Gracio. (Wine lovers, you know yourself. I don’t even love wine, but I think the names are cool) and my daughter’s gonna be Chardonnay!

Actually Jack Daniels would be quite cool.

3) I can sleep any time, any where and I am not narcoleptic! I reckon it’s a talent. I once fell asleep when a lecturer was speaking to me. He was appalled. I think he had never been more insulted in his whole life.

Oh yah, I had a car accident because I slept, at 12.10pm right after a KFC meal.

4) McDonald’s Fries dipped in Choc Sundae

Milo and Egg

I can’t understand why people can’t stomach the most exquisite cuisines on earth.

5) I can constipate myself for 5 days. Totally. Now, if THIS is not a talent, tell me what is it?

6) I am obsessed with teeth. I get recurrent dreams of losing my teeth, being chased by a giant tooth etc. I look at them so closely that I know the width between my enamel and dentin. (see! I can even name the structures!)

Now, tell me which part is weird. *shakes head*

What holiday??

2007-03-21T23:12:00.000Z

I am so tired.

It's easter. Is it not a holiday? NO folks, far from that. Gone are the days when you can just devour the lecture notes and regurgitate them during exams, gone are the days when PBLs are just "something" to fill the timetable - a session when you copy-paste half an hour before, present crap and spend the rest of the session biatch-ing with your gal pals.

PBLs. You rule me now.

I am trying not to neglect my blog... but I feel that it's slipping away. This is bad, real bad. Perhaps, I should make it a point to blog when I am in the toilet =p Time, pressing for time!

I just love freaks!

2007-03-12T01:31:00.000Z

Night shift in Subway on a Saturday night-call it a mad zoo or hell… I am glad I came home in one piece.

My Temporal-mandibular joint hurts from asking the same questions, “what salad do you want? Everything? Jalapenos, pickles, olives as well?”
*When they say “EVERYTHING” they don’t mean EVERYTHING*

Have you guys ever noticed a menacing-looking bald man in black, with potholes on his scarred face and tattoo on his arm? *drum roll* tadaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…..

That’s my BOUNCER! Oh yeah, bouncer in subway. Welcome to Glasgow!

Robert is the scariest looking person alive, he sends my fear neurons firing every time I get 1m near him! Remember the old English saying, Never judge a book by its cover? I was quite sure Robert would turn me into Meatball Marinara until he spoke…

“Meee meeeee meeee meee meeeeee…” girlish high-pitched voice. S.W.E.E.T.

My bouncer is a girly gangster. He rocks!!!

The night rocked on….Until a sober-looking guy walked in and demanded for “EVERYTHING” on his sandwich.

EVERYTHING = Ham+Turkey+Beef+Steak+Chicken+Bacon+meatball! Total=£22!!!!! For one freakin’ sandwich. I warned him.

Freaks. Real freaks on Saturday nights. Hugging his disgusting, massive sandwich, he staggered out of the store, shouting “Tips for you!”

In the cookie jar, there was a £20 note!

Don’t you just love people who spend £42 in Subway!?
I do, I do.

A.N.G.R.Y at Malaysia!

2007-03-05T01:42:00.000Z

I am just so mad!

Why is it that when the Scottish want to do elective here, all they have to do is walk in to any local hospital and open their mouths? Why is it that when the Irish want to do their elective back home, the ultimate effort is to punch a few buttons on the phone?

But me! A born and bred Malaysian, keeps getting doors slammed at my face? I have been applying to different hospitals since January! Since JANUARY!

Why I feel like strangling the management people…

1) They don’t have to decency to email you and tell you that you’ve been rejected. They keep you shrouded in the dark and make you wait with hope.

2) You call up and they PRETEND that they can’t hear and ask you to mail them.

3) Mail them but NO reply! No internet?

4) Call again… and again and again.. nobody picks up the phone!

WHY? WHY? WHY? This freak place. Don’t get me wrong, I love my country with all my heart. But why can’t I get anything as simple as that settled? I do have a Malaysian passport and a Malaysian I.C ohkay!?

If you want, I have my Malaysian BSN card …or driving license too!

Now I see why so many overseas doctors are stuck abroad although they are wiling to go home o serve their countrymen. Because Malaysia doesn't want them!Rather than the other way round..

CRAP –lah!

I ponteng-ed.

2007-02-27T12:51:00.000Z

HARLOW --> zen here.

Yes, I skived. YES.

Ponteng not?

2007-02-27T10:15:00.000Z

Should I? Should I not?

Should I SKIVE? Should I not? Exactly 2 hours and 20 minutes to PBL… and I don’t feel like going!!!!!!!! I really really don’t want to go =(

It’s 45 minutes bus ride. To and fro. PBL itself probably takes 1.5 hours. Oh yah, and the bus is NEVER punctual. Sometimes it takes 45 mins to wait for a bus, in a neighbourhood as safe as chow kit.

45+45+45+90 (mins) = ????? WAH LAU. I can use this time to give birth to a pair of twins!

But skiving is not good. If there’s a first time, there will always be a second time.

You see, that’s why med school should never send their students to faraway lands.