[grav.i.ty]

Electric Vampire (Boom De Yada)

2013-05-17T04:46:00.001+08:00

3:11 am, Friday 17^th, 2013

I find myself in reverse diurnal, another way of saying that I am a relapsed nocturnal. My circadian rhythm working against presence of sun, or biomagnetic field it creates as earth revolves and rotates in its orbit around it. My melatonin was triggered on daytime, by the first chirping of bird I am dozed up unconscious. I like to think I am a modern day vampire, sans good look or charming points. As créature nocturne, we are in this world that never sleep, the fall of Berlin wall of communication barrier, rise of the social network Jedi and shit like that, as we communicate more, we sleep less. We talk more, we listen less.

My personal side-table fan acted up. I think I broke it from years of forcing air current through its blade towards me. I am a lazy breather, I have a lung of 35 year old man, when I was 25. At least that was what IPR technician told me on my spirometry. Might as well saving up for LTOT later. These intercostals and those accessory muscles were here just because it is God given anatomy. I find it hard to hold my breath under cold shower for less than 10 seconds, you can kill me drowning in bathtub for less than 20 seconds, as panic takes away the rest of typical human oxygen deprivation capacity. So no sexual asphyxiation sadomasochism for me for sure. No choking, no smothering please. Sigh.

Now I am typing this entry under scorching warm night, to chuckles of those people of African tribes who sleep under the star and grow phototrophic towards the sun, instead of green they are melanin-rich. First world problem. Yes.

I think my thyroids were fucked up. From years of consuming caffeine. It got confused and decided to work as it please. T4 here, T3 there, TSH everywhere *sing to the tune of Old Mac Donald Has a Farm*. I can’t tolerate heat. Static air makes me sweat. I got palpitation at dawn. Thought it might be Somogyi in response to dawn surge of insulin. Then again I am a delusional diabetic. Not on paper, never in real life. At least not yet in near future.

Oh yes, my back pain is here. Hoorah on that. My old friend who stick with me through hard times. Never have I own a friend who actually there, come bearing pain and suffering like my favorite backpain. Stocked up on analgesic patch though we know it did nothing to it but I’d like to cheat my body to think that I am doing something to treat it, maybe placebo effect can cure it, as its existence is a somatization, so will the treatment. Like cures like. The pseudoscience of homeopathy adage.

I was asked many times about my list of hospitals for housemen-ship, to my surprise were their expression of regret that I decided to return to my place; my center of gravity, my motherland. I could have been sure that I am the most hated person in my batch. I’ll bet my toes on that. Like if I were to give them free pass to stab me with no legal consequences, I am pretty sure I will ended up like that poor man on Tarascon cover, only worse; decapitated, amputated and all. I am not a people pleaser, I act on whim and talk on impulse if I think something is intolerably stupid. Or maybe their response just to be polite. You know pretense polite, because it is socially awarded to be one. Though dumbfounded by this current reaction I remain unmoved. Give me one reason to stay, I’ll unpacked. So far, zilch, nada. So leaving is anything but arbitrary.

As much as I am deep-wrecked to leave. I also feel slight percentage of liberation. New people, new possibilities, new relationship, this one to bury.

P.S. this entry written under influence and fueled by hunger. Late night hunger pang and bullshit like that.

Old Dog, New Trick & Unleashed

2013-04-29T05:35:00.004+08:00

Toward the end of this journey, I find it tricky to deal with certain adjustment. Just now, I am setting alarm clock on my phone, which usually consist of three sets of alarm 0600 0615 to 0630, with three minute snooze and 10 repetitions each as I am well aware of how recalcitrant I am. Because I have to catch 0730 bus to Klang, I need to be ready earlier or else I have to wait another hour to catch the next one. Though sometimes, I purposely let myself go and wake up later therefore missing important morning sessions or be a late-comer. But if morning sessions is ward work or clinic work or SDL, I usually opt out to dream work instead. Attending hospital seemed such optional, as long as your attendance is 80% and above, be a kid in a candy store, you may choose your day to skip.

But early today, at approximately 0500 as I am priming my mattress and setting my alarm clock, resting my head and re-evaluating my energy expenditure for today (which usually was badly spent on counterproductive activities). It strikes me like sudden gasp of air, on realization that last week was the end of formal teaching of my MBBS years. There are no more compulsory attendance to clinic or an urge to attend ward work or scheduled teaching sessions worrying over attendance percentage. This is it, no more teaching.

Like a domesticated and caged wild animal released into natural habitat, perplexity ensue with incapacitating deliverance. I am liberated from such guilt and requirement, some sort of sweet release with bitter aftertaste.

I AM FREE.

IMPENDING EMANCIPATION.

MY MEDICAL STUDENT YEAR IS ALMOST OVER.

INSHA-ALLAH, GOD-WILLING THIS TOO WILL END SOON.

Every Sunday night, I usually experienced such adrenaline rush and urgency precipitate by delayed comprehension that there are still too much task at hands not yet done. Haven’t catch up on my reading and revision etc. But not this time, what left to do is preparing myself for upcoming battles. When it is all over, no system will put me on schedule anymore. No more bedside teaching, ward work, clinic work, seminar, tutorial, case presentation, self-directed learning, case write-ups, on-call etc. I am left to fend for myself.

Wow…

…wow

Next time, whenever the alarm ring, I will have no option to snooze and ignore. I need to wake up because it is my responsibility to be so. I have patients to manage, clinic to attend and shift to cover. It is no longer optional, I am responsible for it. Punishable even.

I am trying to embrace this reality slowly, if not reluctantly. I am going to miss all those sessions and carelessness. No more sitting in class pretending to listen and all those bittersweet moment of medical school. As much as I want it to never be over, and chronically persist, that will never happen outside Never Land. I ain't no Peter Pan. I am literally going to be a working adult, if age isn't prove enough.

I am such melancholic bitch. Counting the day to goodbye.

All Sorts of Beautiful, Some Kind of Wrong

2013-04-25T02:43:00.001+08:00

To be honest, I had this title for quite sometimes now. It just suddenly crossed my mind at some random moment of clarity but I don’t know what to write about it. When the stress is impending, my writing productivity (as act of displacement) inexplicably mounting. I rather write than study. And I found out that whenever I am with my Netbook, my urge to write blog entry is intensifying.

Maybe because it felt personal, this little ‘black book’ of mine. Tried writing on tablet, but due to my factitious ataxic fingers, I spend most of my time correcting my spelling instead of writing. So yeah, that one effort down the drain. Sometimes technology is just another way to screw you frustrated; front and back, left and right, up and down.

The exam season is here. First, the end of cycle (EOC) clinical and theory exam followed by Professional Exam III. Yes, back pain, I am anticipating you like a loyal dog wagging its tongue, full Pavlov.

Arghh, something deep inside of me felt such fondness towards the system as it unravel into such way, molded and crafted into pre-perfection if not less flawful. I want to be medical student forever. I am pushing 30 and still I am not ready for responsibility. License to kill. I wanted to be careless and not worrying any consequence it may bring. I know my dark and twisted mind will somehow trying to sabotage something, hell if I know what it is but we’ll see.

Some part of me dreading on fact that we will soon part ways. Oh how we’ll drifted apart. I am a sucker of nostalgic feeling. Those memories though sweet are indeed lethal for you in an attempt to move forward. Like some invincible strings tugging you backward at each endeavor to leave. Like dog on leash. They keep you yearning, vacillating and lingering on past moments. Along come sadness and melancholy in bulk. Come crushing abruptly like a flipped figurative cargo truck.

It never easy to walk away from something good and familiar, something comfortable and warm; but reality is one mean bitch you need to face. Should instead of would. Pocket it all and tuck it neatly in ever-vacant corner of your heart. Know that wherever you go, those pieces are there to keep you whole, covered and dressed. Rummaging through it is like pulling on pointless layers of band-aid, on chronic non-healing venous ulcer. You know you fucked up, but still you want to see the damage there is, pus, necrosis and all (ultime hyperbolique).

:::::ABRUPT MOOD CHANGE (ANTI-CLIMAXING):::::

This memory I will treasure. Bittersweet such it is. All sorts of beautiful, some kind of wrong.

So this is another Pre-Goodbye. My favorite song from my favorite singer. I know it kinda pathetic, but yeah I never said I ain't one.

Don’t Explain (Be Obtuse)

2013-04-19T02:37:00.002+08:00

Exchanging meaningful glances

Repeatedly

Every day, or

Every chances

Never subtle

Never afraid to get caught staring

Smile

Lingering around

Stare

Eye contact

Repositioning

Glance

Less conversation

More adoration

Never closer

Only pining

Est. 2009

A champion of being shy

A winner of being obtuse

A master of long-flirting

Game so extended no one else play

But us…

*Title per Nina Simone’s

We Will Cross That Bridge (When We Come To It)

2013-04-10T02:38:00.003+08:00

We’ll let out the ghost and face it

We will say our heart desire

We’ll light up ourselves a fire

Blow off the smoke

Let wind scatter fogs

Let it gone to the dogs

Let our hearts rush

Let the rain wash

Let the wave bring it ashore

Let less be more

Let river flow

Lot the truth show

We will cross the bridge when we come to it

Or let it burn then nothing’s more to it

- 2:37 a.m. April 10, 2013

Personal Renaissance

2013-03-30T03:52:00.003+08:00

The end is nigh…

Almost reaching the predicted and assumed destination. Feeling like a sprint with overwhelming hurdles to jump over. A decathlon, hell yes long distance triathlon even. I am not as excited as I wanted or used to be. I wanted to be excited, God knows I am, but those enthusiasm faded by time. Lost its color, smell and taste. The sense of gripping it the first time is as good as letting go in the end.

You know the feeling when you finish your favourite TV show marathon on its final season and suddenly you are left hanging empty. What’s left is recurrent thought questioning your purpose of existence.

I used to be too engrossed reading To Kill A Mockingbird that by the end of it I was left confounded not knowing what else to do. Good read always do that to you. That void you used to stuff yourself with hedonistic, momentary high, anticipation and short-live endorphins bingeing, that left you questioning the entire emotional journey you’ve been through. That void is still there, like an infinite sinkhole consuming its insatiable greed.

This is it, end of the line. Cross that line win or lose at least you got to finish whatever your almost thirty years existence meant to be. “Start (your life from) here”, figuratively written on snakes and ladders board game. At times you’ve been fucked hard by those serpents, at times you climbed those ladders and almost reached your goal. Destiny decided by a rolling dice. Mountain of frustrations. Trials and tribulations.

Dice offers you one sixth chance to further while the rest are five ways to screw you. Russian roulette seem merciful in comparison. In a six rounds revolver you chance of not blowing your heads off is five in six. Now how generous is that than a flip of coin; you either live or die at one toss.

My current situation is like replaying those excruciating moment finishing Virginia Woolf’s “Mrs Dalloway”, in the end you kind of rushing through pages unwilling to register any words. Merely scheming. You just want it to end so fast to justify your purchase. By the last word you just close it and throw it away muttering to self “The fuck did I just read,” no satisfaction in it.

By the end of this, you can finally be someone or something you long to be, your transpired dream they say. But like running cross-country marathon, those concluding distance towards the finish line is the outmost ordeal you have to face.

Like Stockholm syndrome, you grown to love this situation that always kept you over the edge. Those humiliation, those hopelessness, those future threatening moments. Liberation seemed incapacitating, compliment means nothing. Too grown in fondness of pain that gratification equals nil.

Was I callous or am I masochistic.

This is it, here and now.

Ad Dictum

2013-03-02T15:28:00.002+08:00

In my ‘My Document’ folder and ‘Blog Entry’ subfolder, there lie plenty of half-written blog posts that were left unfinished. Cause halfway in my writing I decided that I got bored of my own story, and sometimes I was preoccupied with other petty chores and I lost flow and momentum. To start again, I need to revoke the whole entry might as well open a new word document. Some were left incomplete and fragmentary maybe because I had some sort of fugue or absent seizure that I wondered and got lost in the worldwide web.

My body is a temple of caffeine. I am an addict. First step to recovery is admitting the problem. Only I am not planning to recover from such stimulant. I am not a hardcore user (denial), my caffeine worshipping is deluded by my hypochondriac nature. Trying to rationalize myself that drinking 8 liters of green tea steep with 16 bags of tea per day is okay, it’s an antioxidant, it’s healthy, I am Japanese at paradox. My body is so depended on them that depriving myself more than 8 hours will assure me of excruciating withdrawal headache. Maybe the problem is I hate getting sick, in my growing years I am at every family physicians books, and I always give them good business. Getting an acute tonsillitis mean that I will jump from one family physician to another all within a week, assuming antibiotic will work like magic bullet as they were regarded back on those penicillin discovery days, to treat clap.

Caffeine and me is like air to lungs, we have such affinity to each other. It can survive without me, better given O2 concentrated, but I can’t. I am an obsessed lover who has been writing about it like a faithful worshipper. World without caffeine is like planet sans orbit which in case, we’re done for.

I’m burning my incense of sanity, on the altar of addiction. Get down own my knee and pray for absolution.

Temporospatial

2013-02-24T04:44:00.001+08:00

I attempted to write this entry in many platforms. It has many versions addressing different issues. It is call as Temporospatial in my HP Notebook. First I write it in Malay as Temporospasial (for the lack of Malay vocab to it) but I figured out that other than daily conversational Malay, my Malay literature writing is so freaking rusty that it sounded like an Indonesian language with a hint of ‘trying-too-hard’ in its base note. It was called A Temple of Addict in my Acer Laptop and ‘Apprecaiting The Bird’ in my Tablet’s Evernote. Each has not resembles each other in theme and each has lost its flow so expect an abrupt halt and no segue. So, since I haven’t been writing entry for almost 2 months (count me as an exaggerator), I decided to combine them in sub-entry. Bear in mind I was caught in certain mind-frame and state of be-ing (sic) when they were written. They were meant to be read and forgotten. Don’t take it in, I’ll tear you a good one later. Here it is.

Temporospatial = Time + Space

My creative writing convulsion has subsided and I am now trapped in monotonous routine of the uninspired. Living life for the sake of it, killing time, exist and persist. My middle and inferior temporal gyri, my frontal lobes, cease sparks of action potential. Living on consistent supply of glucose (and caffeine) and thriving and downsizing, might as well atrophy prematurely, imitating senility. Deprived of cognitive and high executive function, let just go back to natural instinct and native, re-establishing primitivity.

Space is framework for which we exist and supposedly function. Without evolutional function, we just exist in countless questions. With physical adaptation for survival ensue. "Survival of the fittest" says Darwin, the uglies and genetically mutated still exist.

Point to a spot, put a name to it. Do something in verb. Existence isn’t a verb, die is. I’m trying hard to rest my mind. An oxymoron. Despite my body in a position perpendicular to gravity lying on a mattress and sometimes stays parallel to it, with flexed knee and hip *I could easily say sitting* . Rest is not supposed to be such task, it will rendered it ridiculous; trying hard to do something that consist of doing nothing.

I’m hardworkingly lazy, hardly working, not studying. Taking my lazy stride, moving on my own pace, despite upcoming thunder and storm. They told me not to stand under a tree or tall pole (the only time I'll be next to a pole, either I am visiting Fire Station or dancing around it, whichever comes first). They also tell me not to walk on open field, so I stay at home. They told me I’m lame for that, they told me I should go out more. But the thunder and storm? The pole? The tree?

Heart belongs in a body, safely nested and protected in mediastinum slighftly shifted to left. With skin, muscle, rib bones, visceral fat to shelter it; hugs by pair of lungs. Why should I give it away when it belongs to me. My coronary is not guaranteed 80% unblocked, it doesn’t necessarily working outside of me. It skips a beat or two, something they just sprinting at a glimpse of something endearing; a cheesecake or chocolate, what else do you think? Don’t go all Shakespearean sonnet on me. Another evolved bipedal organism with higher mental function? Will it be in tachy for them?

In this time and some space apart, we are standing deciding. I am a man not oriented to time, place and person of where the other half went to and when shall we meet.

This is a mind purge, understanding not required.

*I decided to keep those entries separate, it has different mood to it. But watch out for those two aforementioned entry later though.

Come Hell and High Water...

2013-01-02T02:49:00.000+08:00

If there is an occult cult worshipping the very idea of how life should stays in vacuum, I’ll be the first in line among extremists, who willingly perjured the sanctity of life by contemplating suicide, or attempted and succeeded. To protest against any motion that so much nudge it. Objecting to the vision of change. Tightly hold onto the state of stationary, routine, and habit. For it feels so good, like lying still on a pre-warmed bed on a rainy day. Or eternal summer where daylight is generous but delicate, so subtle the sunshine is, it gives you a peck of tan, and no judgment.

Life, if not change is a constant state of comfort without seeking anything beyond it. No more, no less. Only scratching line in between it, just right. Neither pain nor euphoric. Treacherous is the path ahead. Risk and vulnerability aren’t friend. Why move beyond point of familiarity? The possibility of ethereal gratification was heard of, not seek upon. This state of not wanting to change is living like an empty vase by the window. Collecting dusts.

My writing has no segue, I’m sorry. It stops (not pause) abruptly and harshly move onto another idea. Transition is pampering. Like desensitization therapy to those with phobia. Adjustment is childish. Maldjustment is childish. Change if not abrupt, to me it is as good as never happen. Cold turkey-ing one state, is like me against inertia. Inertia is constant against movement, movement against rapid deceleration. She is bipolar but not wrong.

Future satisfaction always soon. Its existence so unreal, its absence palpable. Unmoved beyond point where life is just good, expecting different outcome is such wishful thinking. Joining nothing to not much, expecting something.

‘Til this paragraph, I still have no decision about change. But reflection I did. I am at that vacuum. Floating insignificant. For me to become something, I need to settle and make amend with gravity. Be grounded. I heard he’s mean, but at least I will be real. Fall is hurting.

Floating is nothing like flying or swimming or sailing. Flying is liberating and purposeful. There are distances accomplished and force exuded. Floating is helpless, passive and lazy. Relying on air and water current to carry. Current is time simile.

Time never still. It stays temporary. Temporal.

Floating. It is safe at sea but wasteful on air. At least drowning is a change of state from living to dead. One being to something to perpetual nothing.

…this too will end.

P.S.

“Oh you,” Jack Donaghy said “…you are negative, pessimist and endangered becoming permanently sour,” for she is Liz Lemon, pun intended.

Well sour at its very least a taste. Acidic. Try licking vacuity, and tell me how the ‘nothing’ reminds you of something.

I worshipped vacuum. I’m embracing change. I believe in gravity.

Contraindications or Repercussions

2012-12-23T16:22:00.000+08:00

In an attempt to write this entry, I raped the backspace button repeatedly and if it to be compared to ladies, I’d be a father to countless progenies. And then I had an affair with undo button, with my excellent cursor clicking technique, I made another babies. Seriously, you don’t want to mess with redo button, she is promiscuous you’ll never want to revisit the bitterness of repeating same mistake.

If our life to be compared to word processors, how great will it be? We are all presidential with clean slate, no bad history, only good favored things remain. No traces of erased lead or organic ink. No traces of correction fluid or obscuring tape. Don’t like it? Delete and start a new document.

Print yourself excellent drafts, submit it for correction from opinions of fellow intellectual being. The one with higher capacity, they call it wisdom. Rewrite them only to specific parts; rectify, repair, fix, correct wherever needed. Every ‘i’ dotted every ‘t’ crossed. Until you reach ultimate end-result, outcome, product; a life story of ultimate human. Superlative being of perfection beyond imagination.

But alas, life is far from such luxury. We are deemed to imperfection. Ugly like reluctant scars, disfiguring like leprosy, hindering like amputation stump sans prosthetic.

I am as you are; products of ménage a trios. Journey, time and person. We were conceived on various places; nurtured by weather; matured by one another. We are archives specialized in bad histories. Because unlike good memories, those bastards stick the longest. Like an overbearing presence of stalker, a fatal kind that shadow you like personal ghost. That constantly reminds you what a failure you were and probably will ever be.

The stupid things we did we wish we never had. Past debt you’re still paying to raunchy loan shark that is time. Mistakes, errors, faults, lapses, blunders and faux pas. Our life stories carved in stone. Written in indestructible parchment, with indelible ink that neither time nor weather nor force can erase. We are born a parchment. Exist in physical. Written on, scribbles upon, torn, folded and crumpled. Some tossed, some were burnt to ashes.

Life is neither binary nor theory. One that operated not on RAM but reality. No auto-save, no backspace, no option to discard or save. Like an old typewriter, mistakes don’t just disappear however you try to retype over old misspells. Attempts are futile. You will only make it darker and even more obvious, an irony if not vain. You may start a roll onto new line and do it all over again. Or crumple that paper and toss it all away. But it is there in physical, made and done.

Life is all but word processors. Once you fucked up. You wear it on your skin like ugly tattoo. You may choose to regret it, but might as well try living with it.

Life is repercussions…

…of choices you’ve made.

Ante Up

2012-12-04T08:50:00.003+08:00

“There’s a thing I will do, bury a hatchet or two,”

I wrote this entry at 7.30 a.m. Tuesday morning. I am subconsciously re-training my sleep cycle; an important issue my mother have been worried about back when I used to own gritty cystic acne-laden face. Supposedly, on ordinary work day, this time of the day is where I am vacillating between turning in to my warm bed and formulating excuses not to attend hospital or getting ready for it instead. The former always win. By large margin and windfall.

Holiday week is where detoxification and sleep re-training takes place for me. Seems like irony, but when you have no worry whether or not you’ll wake up early to catch an early bus; my mind will quiet itself, and just sleep. As for detox program, instead of going full monty or the whole nine yards to reduce yourself to lemon juice, cayenne, honey and apple cider vinegar and go all the way to Korsakoff, I adjust it to reduce my meal to one serving or half a serving. Used to do it conscientiously that it flare-up anger inside me, what Naturopathist claim as one of detox common sequelae; emotional detox. Wish it can rid me of sins and iniquities.

Now the irony is, the only vice I am unable to wean myself off is actually the biggest shareholder of my body toxin (apart of co-sniffing meth) consolidated; caffeine. I can’t afford to let go of my long term affair with it; if it is compared to a spouse, I might be the rare phenotype that is obsessively faithful up to level of co-dependency. Not studying for my exam doesn't make me toss and turn in jittery and nervousness, staring at depleting box of tea does. Thing I’d lose my toe for.

Entering second and final cycle of medical school. The final countdown. Make or break it. Last bullet. I am 1/4 happy, 1/4 scared, 1/4 vacuum and 1/4 in rumination. Large part of the reasons is that I am losing passion and interest in medical field, I am not that amped-up anymore. But since I am like a hungry rat in a maze race, the finish line is where cheese awaits, either you are lactose intolerance or against the use of rennet (for kosher sake of it), you need to cross it anyway and re-think your decision before they placed you back in cage to suffer another period of hunger for retaining of what’s left of conscience there is. Mahatma Gandhi full throttle.

The Touch (Finesse Factors)

2012-11-23T06:48:00.000+08:00

I should be finishing my final write-up on my last posting for first cycle of 5^th year; instead I am choosing the thanatos path and procrastinate instead. My End of Posting Clinical is next Tuesday, my End of Cycle theory exam follows Wednesday to Friday’ all three postings (Surgery, Orthopaedic & ObGyn). And I am not at all aroused to study, not a flick of action potential in my pleasure centre. It deemed unpleasant, so it’s only survival to fled away unpleasant stimuli (read: pain). My body perception has far exceeds me in this specialty; back pain is here, my sugar and calorie cravings are maniac. Next, do anticipate apthous ulcers and toothache.

I am inspired to write this entry upon reading opinion of writers in The Differential blog by Medscape. I really enjoy their writings, it broadened my horizon but I rarely got a pleasure to indulge on them. I mostly lost in the interweb (read: Facebook) stumbling into some random link and chain of clicking and ‘open in new tab’ that finally rendered me lost. Don’t even get me started on YouTube where you often share common notion of “How the hell did I got here” or “I am at that weird part of YouTube again.”

The clinical year is where we first experience patient encounter; their story and the feel upon touching illness-burdened body; them people except for ObGyn of course. I still remember words of one of ObGyn HOD, whether in HRPZII or HTAR, I couldn't really distinguish; thought it must be the common adage of ObGynist “Pregnancy is not an illness, stop calling your client as patient,” it came with a footnote, “Unless that pregnant lady presenting with medical condition of course.”

Well my first exposure to clinical skills came from one important figure in the name of Prof. Yasmin. How can I ever forget her? There are plentiful individual involved in the teaching of my (our) journey throughout medical school, particularly and specifically in ‘special’ situation our Uni chose [sic] to remain dwelt in. There are countless people to send ‘Thank You’ cards upon graduation later next year. Yes I plan to do that, to have it specially made and send them out to as many contributing people as possible as an act of gratitude. So that there will be blessings in whatever knowledge you acquired from them. In sha Allah.

Prof Yasmin was the one that ignite the fire in me to be a real doctor. During our Clinical Method (instead of Clinical Medicine) class, she taught us about history and physical examination. She taught us about differential diagnoses for which she gave us assignment to list differential diagnoses in every system. I principally copied, pasted and edited an entire legit book of ‘A Pocket Manual of Differential Diagnosis’ and submit the thickest assignment (compare to the rest). FYI, the softcopy that I had was in .chm format, therefore I had to re-edit them in MS Word. My assignment later photocopied by others and I was honored as un-authorized re-authoring author of Ddx book.

I purchased my stethoscope during my prior clinical attachment in HKL in 2008. That was the first time I actually put it to use, on a dummy. With emphasis on respiratory, cardiovascular and abdomen examination, we had our practical examination, still on a dummy. I heard my senior group got real people a.k.a fellow students as model. Nevertheless we were taught to examine systematically and that was unforgettable and really helpful during BMS practical later on. Except for ObGyn examination that I had to learn from YouTube, Ten Teachers and Oxford Handbook, my surgery posting back then was quite a smooth sail. Plus, no big expectation = low stress.

Our first BMS practical posting was in Specialized Centre, a tertiary; Institut Perubatan Respiratory, and this is where our clinical skills were honed and reshaped. Thanks to Datin Aziah for her motherly and excellent way of teaching, we actually got it, and our first patient encounter was sort of try and error. We were encouraged to examine patient solo except for those required chaperon. Hell, I even go such extent by went into extensively drug resistant tuberculosis (XDR-TB) quarantine room. He was a drug abuser and frequent defaulter. He should be jailed for a crime of defaulting treatment and threatening public health safety walking with XDR-TB.

We were lucky to have been posted there as our first posting. We gain confident and that is indeed diamond if not gold.

The skills and art of physical examination is later re-adjusted in an attempt to reach elusive finesse. Some lecturers want you to include this and omit that. Some prefer adhering into specific textbook skill. Some questioned the conventional in the name of relevant. Exposure to international lecturers really open our eyes on various technique of physical examination and how it was taught in different countries.

Some example questionable techniques are:

Why would you want to retract bilateral eyelids to check for jaundice and pallor, patient will not get icteric and pallor in single eye? So checking one is enough to tell that both are.
The relevance of whispering pectorilaquy and aegophony when tactile vocal fremitus is enough. You are going to do x-ray anyway.

Bookwise, gravid uterus requires Pinard, but bullshit, it is quite challenging enough to listen to fetal heart rate with stethoscope, let alone Pinard. My hat goes off to those nurses that confidently locate anterior shoulder and listen with that museum-grade auscultation device in a face of handheld sonicaid and stethoscope. Pinard should be gazette as antique together with iron lung, Kielland’s rotational forceps and fleam bleeder. It should be banned, redacted in every medical book, updated to non-relevant on account of causing embarrassment an unnecessary need to lie during clinical exam. “Fetal heart heard at 130 beat per minute” my foot.

Then again, Medicine is Art.

Throughout my long winding journey in medical school and event prior to that, I have lots of people to thank and it can be traced way back to my parent, as my mother is my first official and unofficial teacher. There is no such thing of time-wasting study. I appreciate my STPM years though I once taught it was wasteful and unnecessary.

How amazing our journey of knowledge has been.

The Shit They’re Feeding You

2012-11-19T02:55:00.000+08:00

I’m supposedly to clean my face and go to bed now, it’s Sunday early morning. I got my adrenaline pumped up as early as 12 am. Nothing specific to do tomorrow, just regular wardwork. As usual, Uni routine classic of lecturer shortage on technical basis. The one left is stretching herself thin to fulfill the entire three batches of clinical MBBS. So she has to allocate entire one day for each batch. I pray her to be strong.

I am typing this entry with nothing specific in mind of what to write about. Just let idea flow through my fingers. As you can see, the frequency of my blog update directly proportionate to my close-to-extinction one hour attention span. I’ve seen myself updating my blog playlist more often than posting an entry. I rarely listen or download any new song anymore. The last album I downloaded was by Green Day trilogy back to back release ¡Uno! followed by ¡Dos! and soon ¡Tré!. Great albums.

We are at the end of our first cycle in our final year of MBBS. End of posting examination coming soon. Mixed feeling. To be honest, I am numb. Not a care in this world. Hanging on temporary hedonistic high. So judge me please.

I Currently Listening to entire album of:

Angus Stone – Broken Brights (2012)
Emeli Sande – Our Version of Events (2012)
Ingrid Michaelson – Human Again (2012)
John Mayer – Born and Raised (2012)
Julia Stone – By The Horns (2012)
The Belle Brigade – The Belle Brigade (2011)
Lana Del Rey - Born To Die (The Paradise Edition) (2012)
Taylor Swift – Red (Deluxe Version) (2012)
OST The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 2 (2012)
Other Lives – Tamer Animals (2011)
Ben Howard – Every Kingdom (Deluxe Edition) (2011)
Whale Tooth – Search Party (2012)

I should restart reviewing album in Audiologism (remember that thing?).

Suggested Random Songs in my current heavy rotations:

Young Magic – Sparkly
Wolf Gang – Lions in Cages
Wild Belle – Keep You
UNKLE – In A State
The Grand Optimist – City and Color
The Album Leaf – The Light
St Leonards – Best Part of Me
Robot Koch feat John LaMonica – Nitesky
Plants and Animals – Bye Bye Bye
Passion Pit – Take a Walk
Paper Route – Better Life
One Two – Without You
On An On – Ghosts
Olivia Broadfield – Happening
Noal Gallagher’s High Flying Birds – Everybody’s On The Run
Milo Greene – Take A Step
Mikky Ekko – Feels Like The End
Mazzy Star – Echo
Magic Wands – Kaleidoscope Hearts
Jessie Ware – Wildest Moments
Iron & Wine – Lion’s Mane
Ingrid Michaelson – Into You
Imagine Dragons – Round and Round
Firehorse – If You Don’t Want to Be Alone
Fay Wolf – The Thread of The Thing
Emma-Lee – Figure It Out
Django Django – Default
deadmau5 feat Chris James – The Veldt
Daniel Ellsworth & The Great Lakes – Passenger
Cider Sky – White Dove
Cat Power – Keep on Runnin
Bronze Radio Return – Shake, Shake, Shake
Allie Moss – Corner
Zach Berkman – Heart on a Mission
Aidan Hawken – Blind
Benjamin Francis Leftwich – I Won’t Back Down (Tom Petty Cover)

Now random:

This entry title based one of Julia Stone’s song in By The Horns. I like the brooding melancholy. Just like I love her first solo album The Memory Machine.
This whole day upon waking up my head was humming to Bonnie Raitt’s I Can’t Make You Love Me. Weird.
On a Tweeter reply of peer claiming that he was LEFT BEHIND in a class, I advised him to be RIGHT IN FRONT. Well that works both way, should listen to my own preach.
I am desperate for inspiration, that I even listens to Marina and The Diamonds. That is one new low. Low blow.
I leave you with a song by Katharine McPhee in TV drama Smash. I think this is one of the strong heart-wrenching renditions of this classic next to Eva Cassidy’s.

Das Kind Mit Dem Bade Ausschütten

2012-11-07T03:18:00.000+08:00

I seemed to stirred such respond regarding my current Facebook pruning. Some might get such impression that I hate the people that I just currently unfriended. Well to be honest, I was doing it for the opposite reason of it. I respect those people.

I restrict my younger sister, my father and lecturers from seeing my updates in their feed, but they still able to see it in my timeline. What would they take me for if they saw me cursing and swearing in my updates? Wouldn’t that just upset them?

“What is this person I brought up?”

“What is this student I taught?”

“What is this figure I looked up for?”

What will they do if they saw all the stupid stuff in your status. Whenever I’m thinking of writing a status, I will stop and ponder a bit, is this what I want those people to see me as? But sometimes my judgment has its own subsidize lapses.

While my fellow batchmate in goldrush hurry to add lecturers in their FB, I am doing quite the opposite. I decline to approve not even requesting. Not that I am this ungrateful son of a mother, I just don’t want them to see me beyond the impression they already taken me for. What if I update such offending status or picture, that will forever change how they look at me.

You see, I removed most of my relatives, I even declined their requests. Not that I am too drunk on my high-horse that I look down on them, but I think I will not want them to see me like this? Not yet? I am not somebody yet, I’ll let them see me when I am finally someone. I admit it stir such jealousy on me of how far their lives has progress, owning properties and progenies. I can’t say that I don’t feel the tickle when I saw their cute little monsters’ pictures constantly appearing in my feed. Save yourself a heartbreak. You know you can’t hide them forever. Remove them. Add them back when you are ready.

Some might just say. Why don’t you just not updating annoying stuff? Well what if I told you why don’t you just ask duck not to quack? It’s just the nature of me, built-in annoying app operating on upgraded OS of bluntness. I took a pinch of hypocrite and lots of unfiltered honesty, (though they’ll most likely mix as oil in water, but in time with such additive they’ll form an emulsion in harmony *I lost myself in my own analogy*) for me to thrive in social network such Facebook. I’m not looking to be popular, I thrived in small familiar community. Even that I need to spring cleaned every once a while. Not that you are dirt or unwanted stuff to be removed, you just some stuff you want to give away to those who can appreciate it better. Stuff that matter.

So please don’t be offended if you’ve been unfriended by me, why bother, it’s not like I am a celebrity or something. I’m just 1/1000 of a tiny dot in a satellite view. A primate. You sure will treasure hundreds or thousands other friends in your friendlist. So I urge you, if you find I am annoying in you FB, be you are my good or best acquaintance, please remove me if you think it’ll decluttered you mind. I will totally understand, no heartfeeling. Please do not sacrifice your sanity just to spare my feeling. Put yourself first, if you think that somebody’s updates constantly irate you, remove them. Why keep it around just because you are friend in real life.

Yes I do unfriend people out of annoyance, save myself a thorn cut. But I mostly remove them because I don’t want to bother them of the annoyance I elicit myself.

Some may say, “Dude, chill. It’s just Facebook. Don’t be too serious. Get a life.”

Well, Arab Spring Revolution and similar movement afterward started in Facebook. I’ll say, it’s an alternative communication now like it or not. You’ll scream if your mobile phone fell down the toilet, do you just stand around and say, “Nah, it’s just an electronic.”

Sweetest Downfall

2012-10-17T23:10:00.001+08:00

Bruised left cheek, lacerated and swollen chin, sprained elbow. Waiting in A&E.

Well where do I start this self-embellish enlightened experience. Let just start with the painful excruciating fact that…

“I slipped myself at a foyer entrance of PKNS Complex buiding, hit my left jaw and cheek on one of the steps and fall on outstretched hand (FOOSH).”

There was an Indonesian woman having a fight on a phone sitting on the stair and I fell down right in front of her. She went like “Ya Allah, adik” and hanged-up her phone wanted to help me. On a sheer embarrassment and adrenaline rush, I stood up immediately wipe my face clean and shake it all off before I went to continue my journey, to bus station. I didn’t realize the pain until I arrived home, I couldn’t move my left arm and I relied heavily on my right. I was lucky I thought, have it been my right, I will be severely handicapped. I told myself that I need to go to emergency department ASAP, I might sustained a concussion as I recalled that my left face hit hard on that edge of stair. There was a bruise on my left cheek and contused hematoma on my left chin. Luckily my growing goatee covered it. There’s a slight cut though.

I am confused, I can’t still wrapped my head around what happened but I fought my way around. I shall clean myself first before return back to HTAR I said to myself, it was 6.30pm. The pain was so severe that flexing my finger was torture. I couldn’t even wrap towel around me. With much struggle, I changed my working shirt to casual, packed my stuff all with full capacity of my right hand. Oxford Handbook of O&G, Shaw’s Gynaecology Textbook, face towel, bath towel, face wipes, hygiene wipes, a bottle of perfume, my tablet charger, my MSU I.D, just in case if I fractured my arm and need to be admit.

Now where do I find transport to A&E? Luckily there was one taxi waiting, it was a Malay seasoned driver. He hesitates at first, but when I told him about my condition, he agreed to send me to HTAR. It was every taxi drivers' nightmare to drive to Klang at this time of day, and I understood. But I am again so fortunate that traffic was not so congested that time. We chatted along the way, he told me last time he went to HTAR was in 2001. Where his wife passed away succumbed to cancer. Two years before in 1999, his daughter died of MVA in HTAR too. So went back to HTAR is painful for him, but he did it for me. He dropped me in front of A&E lobby, gave me his business card in case I wanted someone to take me back to Shah Alam. I thanked him.

I went for registration at Triage counter, having my EM posting there, I understood the system. Triangular bandage was wrapped on me and I sit down to wait for Secondary Triage. While waiting, I flipped through Shaw’s Gynaecology Textbook, I have seminar the next day so I need to read about it. I got mild headache, part concussion, part caffeine withdrawal; tried to distract my head, flip through. People around stared at me, I didn’t moan and groan or cry at pain, I am fine, as long as I keep my arm still. On Secondary Triage I was attended by a housewoman, the system has changed. It used to be run by Medical Assistant back then, must be lot of mistriage that shook the system anew. I told the needed history, having finished my Orthopaedic posting just a week ago, I wanted to save her time. I told her the mechanism of injury and I have reduced sensation of on my left hand, and it started to get colder than the right one. She brought me to Yellow Zone and consult the EM MO, a familiar face, he asked me to go get X-Ray which I went alone. AP & Lateral view manoeuvring was excruciating. Five minutes and I’m done, I went back to Yellow Zone with a film on my hand.

Luckily upon my self-observation no intraarticular or shaft fracture, no dislocation, I am expecting a simple sprain. I am so relieved, and that somatically reduced my pain. I now realized the importance of assurance in medicine, when you reduce your patient worries, you reduce half their pain. Some pain not necessarily physical, it’s the scare and fear of unknowing outcome that add to existing insult.

So I waited in Yellow Zone while observing the crowd, all those HO at their last housemanship posting working so competent and busy MOs consulting here and there. I constantly checking up on my CRT and nerve function; I’m performing OK sign to check my median nerve, thumb-up for radial nerve and adduct and abduct my finger to check for ulnar nerve function. It has been weak, but not deteriorating. Pain has something to do with it.

I sat next to an Indian uncle, I chat cum clerked him, he woke up at 4 pm and lost sensation and motor function of his left arm, his wrist dropped but currently he slowly regaining function. Got himself a CT scan earlier, waiting for report. A chronic diabetic, he lost his left leg and wear prosthetic. That uncle guess that I am a medical student by the way I questioned him, and I confess to him that I am on my final year. My diagnosis, TIA.

Sitting in front of me, a middle-age woman coming with swollen lower limbs and inability to pass urine, she vomited once at home. She has chronic renal failure was on every other day dialysis. Her mother has CRF so does her siblings, her eldest sister died of CRF complication.

There’s a fully covered Malay (niqab) lady with a fretful and crying son, less than 1 year old. According to her, he stepped on hot oil and burnt both his left and right foot. It was scalded, the blisters have ruptured. Her husband waited outside. She was asked question about mechanism of injury. She gave different inconsistent answers, she even stop a while waiting for the doctor to suggest possible mechanism and she paused and agree, first the houseman than came MO. It puzzled me that if his son was on a walker as she told, how did he able to come to contact with hot oil. Was there hot oil on the floor? Was she cooking on the floor? How come he only injured his feet. It looks like that his feet has been dipped into the hot oil on purpose, I don’t know, it beats me what extreme religious person will do. It was when the sister came and question her again that I realized that the doctors suspected it was child abuse.

Next, come one petite Indonesian lady barefoot with bloody hand and face. She was a pedestrian hit by a car. She was badly shivering, some adrenaline, so I took a blanket from a nearby empty bed and gave it to her. I help wrapped it around her and her feet. The Indian uncle sat next to me teased me “Bila you jadi doctor nanti, saya nak pegi hospital you kerja. You take a good care of others.”, I smiled and replied him “Tolong sikit-sikit je uncle,”. I wasn’t even feeling my pain.

Then there is Chinese uncle came with complain of shortness of breath. He was another patient of renal failure, there was nasty weird looking rash interjected by senile pigmentation, and bloody punctured marks on his forearms. He is also in EOD dialysis. I offered my seat to his wife.

When the doctor consulted me confirming me that I have elbow sprain, and prescribed me voltaren and LMS cream, I am relieved. The houseman ask me if I wanted MC slip, and I politely refuse as I planned to attend next day session, where I need to present my seminar. So there I go dragging my bag out after saying goodbye to those people I just met.

It was 9.20 pm and it was raining outside. I have no transport home, I am considering calling that Malay taxi driver, Pakcik Mansor to drive me home but I think I should try wait for bus first. So I brave the rain and wait, it has been 20 minutes, no bus. An Indian auntie sat next to me, I asked her if there will be any bus at this time. She told me there is if we are lucky, so we chatted. She was visiting her relatives admitted in medical ward, he is 70 year-old and very sick. I planned to take a bus back to Shah Alam from Bandar Klang but she told me there was unlikely any bus left, she suggested I should take commuter with her instead and I agreed. I never ride commuter from Klang before so I don’t know where the station is, so might as well follow her.

When we stop at little India, I just walk behind her, she was making way for me through crowded sidewalk so those people will not bumped into me given how bad she perceived I look with a bandaged arm. It was still raining, she hold her foldable umbrella but she didn’t use it. I asked her why didn’t she used her umbrella and she told me, since her umbrella too small to share with me, she felt bad using it on herself, so she rather both of us wet. I was touched on her gesture. I insist her to use it telling her that I am young and healthy, it’s okay for me.

When we arrived in Klang KTM station, the last trip was on 10 pm, ticket counter closed, ticket machine not functioning, so she told me that we shall just wait for the train, and we can pay our fare at station where we’ll disembark. That Indian auntie left at Station Padang Jawa after wishing me good health and I thanked her for her courtesy.

When I went down at Station Batu Tiga, counter closed no one was there, I assumed my commuter ride is free, lucky again. So I just pass through the gate and look for taxi. There were crowd waiting for taxi, only two taxis available and there were people haggling with taxi drivers. As we all know taxi driver will use this opportunity to charge more and refuse to use meter, so there were quarrels. I went to a Chinese male taxi driver who just finished fighting with and Indian guy. I am lucky that he willing to take me home, given there was a lot of people waiting earlier than me and they were soaking wet. I am so lucky.

In that taxi, there were another two passangers. On a front seat, was a Chinese man and sitting next to me at the back was Chinese lady who preoccupied with her handphone. Along the way, that Chinese driver vent his displeasure about his prior argument with that Indian guy. I think because he expected me to be Chinese, he talk in Chinese. I can’t understand the word but I can safely extrapolate from the tone and repetitive bigotry ‘K’ word that he was badmouthing that guy and he is a racist. I kept my mouth shut, so does lady beside me until he dropped me off.

I felt so hungry, so I went to buy char kuey teow, I’ve known the couple for sometimes now but our conversation never exceeds “Pakcik, char keuy teow basah satu bungkus”, “Semua nak?”, “Aah”. Today upon seeing me walking to their stall, they stop working their woks to ask me what happened. I told them everything and they gave me such sympathy gestures also complimentary char kuey teow. I am humbled by their kindness.

I went home, eat my late dinner and try to type my seminar with only one finger. It took a while to get adjusted, and as I wrote in my FB status, I was thankful for bilateral shift and ctrl keys. I am so tired and in pain, having been sleeping for 30 minutes the day before, I succumbed to my body resting call. I went to sleep with seminar half-done. In the morning, I woke up late and my left arm worsened. I asked my group to try to carry the seminar forward to another day and text my lecturer on my absent. So I continue sleeping, losing capacity to shift left and right.

I relied everything on my right arm and hand, and find out it wasn’t so hard. I can do my normal chores with no difficulty. My elbow was fixed on semi flexed position. I couldn’t fully extend and fully flex it. When you injured your muscle, it will become contract and refuse any movement that will aggravate pain.

Today (Wednesday) I went to weekly night market wearing skin-colored crepe bandage around my injured elbow, I quit the sling bandage because I don’t want to attract attention. I went to my favourite Nasi Ayam stall, the owner asked me about my arm, and his mother express her sorry for my condition “Macamana doctor nak rawat pesakit kalau tangan dah berbalut macam ni,” she politely joked and I smiled. She is the mother of my patient back in 2010 in Medical Ward HTAR. Her son has Type 1 diabetes admitted for hypoglycaemic faint. I haven’t seen him helping in the stall for a while now, last time I asked her about his whereabout, she told me that he’s been working somewhere.

The Things I Learned with My Injury

Be careful when you walk, make sure your shoes or slippers have a good anti-slippering grip.
While it is good for vanity, flooring tiles used in some public place should have dragging surface to keep people from slip and fall. While it is good to keep them shiny and waxed, always remember it can be slippery when wet. The tile in the front foyer of PKNS Complex is freaking slippery, if I am of a Western-minded people, I’ll sue the ass of building owner.
You can do everything with only one arm and hand. God (the Most Merciful) being so generous giving us two arms and hands. You need to be resourceful and creative.
There are two ways of looking at things, either you wanted to take it negatively or otherwise.
I learned about people more and realized if I just open myself to others, you can learn a lot of things.
I can rest assured, in a time of need and misfortune, you can rely on our society on being merciful and kind-hearted. That one goodnight sleep for me.
Strangers can be a good caring people if you let them.
Being independent has its own perks. You don’t have to trouble others at a same time you know that when you have no one to take care of you, you can always rely on yourself. My father used to say this “Hidup kena berdikari, jatuh bangun sendiri,”
There is a lot of people out there who are actually care about you that you don’t know of.
Being in pain, doesn’t mean you have to sit around and be lazy. I typed this entry forcing my left fingers to work after some position adjustment, I need to utilized them or I’ll lose its function to contracture. Use or lose.
I am so thankful for my Orthopaedic posting.
If you think you had it bad, there are someone somewhere who had it worst. So be thankful and grateful. As long as you not dead, you are OK.

So it is just befitting that this is my sweetest downfall. I felt blessed with my injury. I learned a lot. Alhamdulillah.

Less Blabbing, More Camwhoring

2012-09-23T17:55:00.001+08:00

Lately I have not been too active in Facebook. Some status updates every other day, funny picture, comment here and there. Some might think that I am busy studying at home cramming my head with knowledge on the verge of finishing medical school. Though I am so glad that people think of me that way, I would like to burst your bubble, it’s a wishful thinking.

I noticed some downward pattern in FB nowadays. Now even attention whores update once daily. It breeds cycle of event. The cause and effect. When you see that your friends not active in FB, you might think that they are busy living life or studying. If you were seen too active in FB, they might label you as loser who couldn’t get a life. Others will mirror the same action and assumption resulting in vicious cycle of FB inactivity, which is not a bad thing at all. Everybody is out and about, upping their cool standard these days. Hipster’s principles apply to everybody. Updating your FB status too frequent is sooo yesterday, uncool.

With slight fall of FB significant, along come rising of Instagram giant. Since it become available for Android users, its popularity surge spiking on steep raising angle. Everyone is an artistic photographer now, every little thing worth capturing. The adage of ‘a picture paints a thousand words’ severely abused. The showing-off trend regarded as ‘in’ and hipsters-approved as cool. The proof is rock-solid with picture rather than mere FB statement; that you are so cool to be here and there, hanging with those cool friends, eating this and that (I fell mostly on the latter).

The one pattern that never seems to cease and at its persistent raise is sharing baby pictures. Some of them are not even neonates anymore, they are toddlers, some babies not even cute anymore, some never even cute to begin with. Baby stop being cute once they reach 1.5 to 2 year-old sometimes earlier. Why are you still flooding my wall with it though? Acceptable baby picture update in my book of baby-pic-sharing etiquette are (1) the first day of birth, (2) 1^st birthday, (3) 1^st day of school and please stop at that mandatorily. Some proud parents even go such extent creating FB account for their newborn, breaking age limit rules. Too excited to share to the world the fruit of their loin, a fertile proof. This offense is done by majority stay-at-home mom, or working mom on weekend hysteria.

I don’t need to see your baby sick, doing boring stuff (watching TV, sleep etc.), acting – too hard by forced of parent – cute, etc. Even society weans their attention to Suri soon right after her adorable face hits tabloid. No awe factor anymore.

If you are too keen on capturing your baby milestones in worldwide web, store it somewhere in cloud storage or Picasa. Even the Optimist Priest will find it offensive feeling obligated to reply ‘Oh, she/he is so adorable/cute/charming’. Putting your baby as profile/cover picture is major offense. Let alone some random baby picture. Beware, those people who add you as soon as you put baby picture as DP most probably paedophile. Kids aren’t supposed to act, wear or appear as adult, they are baiting paedophiles attention. Some even put naked picture of their baby, destroying their child reputation at early age. Go be a good parent, broadcast your child to the world.

“You are literally too stupid to insult.” Stu Price, The Hangover

Plastik Ördek and Irony

2012-09-21T01:30:00.000+08:00

It’s like foretell, a dark one. How honest our society used to be. Rumah Sakit, as a state-the-obvious noun for a place where people go to sick and die *lame joke*, (what’s with nosocomial infection hullabaloo); instead of going sick and leave alive. Because the term hospital was a foreign Anglo-French word hard to digest back then. It’s not like we can expect hospitality.

Society like us sometime hypocrite, Rumah Urut, where you can get more than a massage. Rumah Bahagia the unstigmatized version of Tanjung Rambutan. You can get the like of Tanjung Rambutan everywhere. Back in my state, they called it Bukit Padang. It’s a trademark like Colgate and Maggi. The Indecisive coined the name I think. It’s a hill where we expect to be steep and slope but no, it’s a field where ones can run and play, in theory. It’s a sanatorium alright. But there’s more to it. Like a place where I despise to live. We moved there since 4 years ago. I still hate it like fresh morning dew. Which is an irony of total opposite in a scale of pleasantry. One of the reason why I refuse to go back home. That place is boring, collectively. Too many people, yet too quiet at night, nothing to do but watch re-runs on satellite TV. I am figuratively incapacitated there. Helpless waiting for semester break to end.

I passed by a high school girl carrying a thick dictionary. I’d like to tell her to search the meaning of life and go get it.

I sat next to an old lady in a bus. She felt unsafe and insecure with me sitting next to her and clutched her belonging tightly. Which part of me that gives her the creep I’d like to know. She smelt like most old people, desiccating. Fragranced by Minyak Cap Kapak in unison to all geriatric women. Don’t worry, I’ll meet the like of her come limping to hospital with diabetic foot ulcer and myriad of co-morbidity. I like Geriatric Medicine.

The back passenger pressed a bell that sounded like rubber duck being stepped on violently. The bus slowed, and old lady next to me stood and pressed the bell again within 5 seconds of first. She must be that scared of me, can’t wait to get off of it. Or she must’ve like how that bell sounds like. Irk you and gave you strange feel of satisfaction. A warning of some kind, a symbolism “Stop everything that annoying in this world” if only it be that easy “Stop this fella sitting next to me from giving me the creep”. Stepping on something that sounded like that always does. Try dog poops, and let’s talk satisfaction.

This is mental purge. Context not necessary.

An Acquired Taste

2012-09-17T02:27:00.000+08:00

My productive writing moment is always come when I’m in a middle something more important. To create some kind of diversion that everything else are so unnecessary. Things like End of Posting Exam, Mock Exam or Case Write-up pushing deadline. They are mildly critical compare to my urgent need to write an update despite of reality that nobody reading it anyway. Worse enough, I don’t have any idea what to write about actually, but the urge is insuppressible (<--this is not a valid vocab). You remember like back then when Eve enticed Adam to have a bite of forbidden fruit, yeah totally unrelated, out-of-context.

I’m in a middle of my Orthopaedic posting now. Never have I fell in love in such discipline that I basically know not much. Where anatomy are severely invoked and frequently replied with united sneer or head-low-face-the-floor reflex, pray your name will not be called to answer. But I like it nevertheless, it shattered your big meatball of ego into edible humane pieces so that you will not be too proud choking on larger chunks. You will never know everything. You think that you are that far-high on a horse saddle that some Orthopaedist will whip it so it’ll kick you off fall down to earth eating dirt.

Orthopaedics posting, based on previous collective experience of my friends, always a dreaded posting; for the humiliation and verbal abuse they received from specialist in HRPZ II back then, it scarred some people that palpitation ensue upon mentioning it. I was lucky enough to have my 3^rd year Ortho posting in HTAR, on sheer abandonment and independence.

Well that was until we come to this posting again in our final year. It actually by the effort of our beloved invited Bangalore teachers that we finally get a great second impression to this posting. Their dedication and patience are greatly appreciated. I know that there was some unavoidable moment of disappointment in them upon some of our lacking, but their will and determination bring out the best in us. We are enthusiastic, awaken and re-motivated. I wish they will be here forever.

Special thanks to my Bangalore teachers who brought us their wisdom and determination and never give up on us. They made a great impression on me, a sweet dent in your memory you will swear to keep and hold on to.

I’m listening to Sade 2011 The Ultimate Collection and Sara Bareilles' 2010 Kaleidoscope Heart while writing this, so my mood kind of subtle and relaxed.

Acute Life Choices

2012-09-09T04:55:00.000+08:00

The new complex of hospital where I was born.

Awal pagi hari ini, aku tiba-tiba sahaja terlintas untuk mencari pilihan hospital untuk housemanship kelak. Insyallah jika tiada aral melintang, pertengahan tahun depan akan bermulalah satu episod untuk aku dan rakan-rakan yang lain. Lebih kurang 9 bulan lagi *though complication is still anticipated, not wished*, kami bakal membawa haluan masing-masing ke satu lagi fasa kehidupan, kerjaya di bidang perubatan sebagai House Officer UD41. Where we will face real challenge, real responsibility, reality of being a doctor. *to write about it alone pumped up my adrenaline*

If some of my friends already plan to do Housemanship together, being the only Bornean in my batch, and most hated, I really need to relived them out of their misery. Hahaha.

Mulanya terfikir untuk menjalani housemanship di Semenanjung sahaja, setelah menghampiri 9 tahun berada di sini, sudah terbiasa dengan sistem dan keselesaan yang ada, mengapa tidak di sini sahaja? Telah kenal beberapa Specialists dan Consultants yang ternama di Malaysia dan bukan calang-calang individu, mengapa tidak di sini sahaja? Belajar di antara hospital tersibuk di Malaysia, mengapa tidak?

Jawapannya sebenarnya sudah ada lama. Sejak mula-mula terbitnya cita-cita mahu menjadi The Big D. Oh sebenarnya cita-cita menjadi D timbul selepas PMR, dahulunya bercita-cita menjadi guru sahaja. Manakan tidak, aku adalah anak kepada pendidik. It only natural for a child to follow the footsteps of their parent. Seperti yang pernah ditulis pada ENTRY beberapa tahun lepas, idea untuk menjadi D, bukanlah terbit luhur dari kemahuan diri sendiri, asalnya. Ia telah terencana dan tercetus lahir dari cita-cita ayahanda tercinta. Setelah disogokkan dengan janji-janji manis kerjaya, aku pun akur.

Aku pasti situasi ini berlaku pada lebih kurang (kira halal) 10% doctor yang ada di dunia ini. Memilih kerjaya ini akibat desakan keluarga. Aku jatuh cinta pada prospektif ini setelah experienced the reality of situation first-hand. Walaupun pernah rasa cam nak lupakan hasrat menjadi D, dan beberapa kali nak drop everything and go kerja jadi cashier, finally dah sampai juga ke Year 5. Nak withdraw macam dah terlambat. So, might as well endured it.

Masa tengah search hospital tu, stumble upon THIS blog. It is a good blog of a doctor just completing his housemanship and now entering MO-ship. I ended up spending 3 –hours reading his oh-so-engaging writing.

So the thing I wanted to share is, I have decided to return to my motherland. Jika anda adalah my friends di Facebook, anda pasti sudah tahu pilihan hospital yang saya shortlisted-kan. Sebab seperti reason naïve yang kita berikan dulu ketika mula-mula menceburi kursus bidang perubatan dan ketika entrance interview dulu, menjawab kepada soalan “Why do you want to be a doctor?” jawapan almost textbook anda (dan aku) adalah “Saya nak jadi doctor sebab nak tolong orang sakit,” walaupun reason sebenarnya “Orang kata jadi doctor banyak duit,”.

So berbalik pada niat asal ‘nak tolong orang sakit’, I might as well tolong those people of my motherland. I read somewhere that some of those hospital in Sabah despite Malaysia mass-producing medical graduates, still experience shortage of doctor. Why not be one of those who contribute to the solution. Moreover, disebabkan kebanjiran fresh graduate di hospital-hospital besar di Semenanjung, the only way to gain real (purgatorial-est) experience is to practice in a place that lacking.

Walaupun realitinya, ketika wardwork anda lepak kat café and tidur kat library sama sekali tidak reflect niat murni innocent anda itu. Berapa kalikah anda tuang Clinic Work, afternoon Ward Work, on-call dan mengelak masuk OT berkadar langsung dengan berapa kalikah tilam di rumah anda berasa hangat di waktu petang sebab anda berada di atasnya membuta?

Terasa agak janggal untuk meninggalkan segala-galanya yang ada di sini untuk kembali ke tanah asal. I got everything here; my alma mater, memories, friends, acquaintances, enemies and heartbreaks all rolled into one big ball called experience. Ia juga bermaksud that I will finally get out of my comfort zone and return to harsh reality of life.

The other meaning to this is that I will shed myself of all the friendship built di tanah Semenanjung ini dan memulakan semula hidup making new acquaintances in a new place. Aku sengaja memilih untuk tidak memilih hospital berdekatan keluarga atas sebab-sebab tertentu. You know the hassle of relatives having someone who work in hospital.

Tak tahu lah lepas dah kembali ke Sabah nanti, bilakah lagi akan berpijak semula ke tanah Semenanjung ini. Maybe sooner or never. Anyway, masih terlalu awal untuk memikirkan tentang ini. Maybe I’ll have my last minute change, you know Hibiscus University always have a knack to make you return to it. Bound-for-life kinda curse, hahaha.

Mostly, I have no reason to stay. So why don't I let those who did narrow their competition and actually get posted here.

So yeah, this is a pre-goodbye to who-ever read my blog that happens to be my batch mate. If it happened that I’ll stay, just to let you know that I did plan on leaving, that I don’t really dream of being and eyesore to some of you haters. There is no intention to prolong your misery, but that just how destiny works. You hate, you make friends, you fight, you hate, you friend again, you fight, etc. *see how love never once mentioned?*

But it still too soon to say. Maybe I will find my reason to stay. Maybe I will be the quarter-century-highly-educated cashier of all time, we never know.

Knocking it Out of the Park

2012-08-31T05:12:00.000+08:00

Being too empathic has its own downside. It sucks all the energy from you. Some people just love the attention they get with all their maladies and misfortune and not so third-world country problem. And you, being all eyes and ears needed to face their disgruntled of this world. Sometimes the problem is not as big as they thought it was, it just the matter of perception.

These people are called ENERGY VAMPIRE. They just suck all the energy from you with all their troubles. Sometimes what you need in your day is just a smooth sail. Your day is good, all is good. But noooooo, you need to listen to their redundant problem, sometimes it’s a repetitive thing. They just need fucking re-affirmation everyday, like it was a mandatory for you to make them secure with themselves of they will die a gruesome death of low self-esteem, neglected and un-attended.

A: You see, I sent a text to my boyfriend telling him I love him, you know what he did? Guess what he did. You will not believe it, like, seriously. I was like, what is this? I don’t deserve this.

B: OMG, he told you to go die, rolled yourself to grave, and go to hell?

A: Noooo!!! What’s wrong with you?!!! He text me back with smiley face.

B: Wow, that is a crime. What is happening to this world.

A: Right, he totally not look like that when he smile.

B: I am beyond speechless for his audacity.

These people like to be attended to but they never attentive. Kalau anda ada masalah besar, believe me they will try to top it off you. They just don’t want anyone to gain attention and rob it away from them. They are too desperate. You may be familiar with this conversation.

A: Hey, I have problem with my parent.

B: I haven't poop in two days. I think I got cancer. Ahaaa!!! I win!!! Suck it bitch!!! Now listen how I stepped on dog poo this morning…bla…bla…bla…

So bila kadangkala anda mengutarakan permasalahan anda, mereka tak tahu bagaimana nak respond. They are just too comfortable all this while having somebody to listen to them and and let someone else fikirkan masalah mereka. For all these while, mereka rasa orang yang mendengar permasalahan mereka (yang macam laut takde penghujung tu) tak akan, (syn: mustahil, karut) quasi-impossible times infinity untuk mempunyai masalah sendiri. It just not expected of us to be having our own problem. They see our problem as a threat to them. They need to figure out how to check-out from this uncomfortable situation where they need to listen to your problem and make it about them instead.

A: I’m tired.

B: I know right!!! You see I’ve been really tired too these few days. I think I’m dying. I’m so gonna tweet this and update my Facebook status.

Energy Vampire Dictum:

“If I have a problem, you better listen, pay attention to me, shower me with attention, and listen to all my dire need for you to help me solve my problem. Wait, I need to call seven hundred more people to tell them about my problem. It’s an ingrown nail; go brainstorming to death while I make desperate-for-attention call to everybody I know...and my cats.”

But if you are the one having problem,

“Eh…everybody have problem bitch, get over it. I thought we agree that I am the one with problem, and you are to solve it. Are you freaking try to steal my black-cloud?!!!”

These energy vampires are literally drain energy off you with all their negative energy. You are tired emotionally and physically. When you get yourself away from them, you will feel immediate release. Big difference. You are so full of energy, less fatigue, sharp-minded and happier. You have so much energy for yourself and. All this while, you are submerged in other people trouble, you neglected yourself.

So for those Psychiatrists, I have great respect for you.

Tried it once, tried it twice, don’t like it. Just not worth it.

Pabila Si Dia Merajuk

2012-08-26T05:59:00.000+08:00

Sudah dapat gading bertuah, tanduk tidak berguna lagi;

Sudah dapat gubah dikarang, bunga sekaki dicampak buang.

Waaah!!! Apekah?

Inanimate objects melalui somekind of penyemahan spiritual akan tiba-tiba mempunyai perasaan bagai organisma hidup jualah. Gave me the scare of computer invasion in the future is likely possible more than zombie apocalypse.

I wrote dalam my previous entry about how I upgrade my netbook kepada its ultimate function kan. Arakian, tetiba my 'first wife', si Acer Aspire 4720 tetiba nak mogok lapar jualah tak memasal. Setelah berbakti sekian lama, tetiba dia pun nak rosak charger dan battery jugak. Memang diakui setelah my Mini HP itu berkali ganda improved, my Acer has been neglected a bit. It is because compare to Acer si laptop purba yang beratnya 2.5kg, my Mini HP itu lebih jauh ringan dan boleh diperlakukan pada pelbagai posisi apa juapun.

Macam juga relationship dengan manusia, unless that guy is a chubby-chaser, pastilah apabila si isteri telah bertukar menjadi Syanie pre-(and somehow post-) gastric bypass, tetaplah mata meliar mencari yang lebih hot dan slim dengan body fat kurang dari 18%.

My Acer Aspire sudah 8 tahun berkhidmat penuh dedikasi dengan hanya sekali sahaja ia perlu diformat akibat virus. I have used it to its optimum potential. See I hanya curang sepenuh masa setelah 8 tahun. I must have been doing something good.

Well it's kinda my fault jugak. I left the battery in my Acer laptop and charge it 24/7 365 days. I've never shut down and leave my laptop to rest since Aidilfitri 2010. Seriously, I only restart it and continue running it non-stop. Since I am in Shah Alam the whole 365 days per year so they will be no problem leaving it on under supervision. The thing is I'm continuously downloading new TV series via torrent so I need it to run 24/7 since my internet connection isn't as fast and very limited. So I am running on charity speed after reaching my 3GB threshold just in 1 day.

You see

Low Speed = Long time to download = Long laptop running time

If you can change it, make some adjustment to it.

So apparently si Acer telah tiba-tiba memilih untuk mogok pada waktu yang kinda co-incident setelah I have a backup netbook up and running efficiently. Kalau tidak, memang hidup sangat ralat tanpa sebarang laptop. Harap pada Tablet purba je lah.

This is what I like about being prepared, I always prepare everything ahead because I wouldn't want to be caught offguard. Always trust your instinct, if you perceived something is going to go wrong, act on it.

Last time I have an instinct that I need to back-up my data using Window Back-up but I didn't act on it, two days later my laptop got infected by virus and need to be formatted. There goes my entire music collection, my documents and everything. I was severely depressed and incapacitated.

You need to know betapa seriusnya saya tentang my entire music archives. It is okay to lose my entire TV series collection because it was meant to be seen once, but not my music. Unavoidably, it also the way to win over my heart.

*I don't know why I put that last sentence, hahaha ;-p

Bercinta Selepas Kahwin

2012-08-17T04:11:00.000+08:00

Wah sangat teruja untuk menaip kat netbook yang dahulunya mempunyai kelembapan ganda dua bawah dari mesin taip. Thanks to Intel Atom yang kelajuannya pun selembab atom pada kadar bawah paras beku *sila belek buku fizik*. Bayangkanlah kalau dulu menaip kat Microsoft Word 2010, *perlulah di-mention bagai dibayar* kita dah taip berline-line sekali tengok kat skrin perkataan tu keluar satu-satu ibarat bermain Ouija board dimana spirit-nya instead of dragging the coin or planchette, adalah menaip jua. Tiba-tiba macam nak meniup habuk pada mesin taip Olympus lama, sambil tangan memutar-mutar riben hitam merah yang overused dan berlubang-lubang sebab menekan aksara terlalu kuat.

So akhirnya nekad simpan duit, alang-alang nak beli charger baru bagi mengantikan charger lama yang rosak that rendered my netbook idle dibawah katil selama lebih kurang empat bulan; might as well upgrade-kan RAM laptop ini yang 1GB demikian kepada 2GB, walaupun onarnya adalah processor itu jualah. Tapi kan saya adalah denial dan masih percaya pada Stacie Orrico ‘There’s Gotta Be More to Life’ to my netbook.

My netbook ni biasa digunakan untuk presentation je. Microsoft Word dulu pun jenis yang trial expired, boleh open tak boleh edit. Kalau nak buat kerja kat laptop ni, kadar produktiviti kepada kekerapan screen freeze (sebab tak cukup memori) adalah pada graf linear. Sangat berkadar langsung, kalau plot dot demi dot memang semua menyentuh garisan pada precision and acuity diluar batasan logik. Walaupun telah di-activate-kan menggunakan activator KMS yang tak boleh harap itu *pengajarannya di sini belilah lesen ori*, akhirnya setelah menggunakan daya pujuk rayu dan muka lapar insan berpuasa, dapatlah di-install-kan menggunakan activator kat kedai computer itu jualah dengan percuma. Sila jangan under estimate-kan kuasa godaan anda pada waktu-waktu desperate.

Kini dengan adanya RAM baru, netbook ini pun berfungsi seperti maksud sebenar teknologi modern mobility, bukan sekadar untuk mengecek Facebook di Starbuck atau restoran mamak kerna mahu hoard Wi-Fi free dengan fungsi menaip yang minima kerana semua website telah di-bookmark-kan bagi mengelakkan malu apabila kawan nak pinjam Netbook nak update status Facebook; seumpama lebih baiklah anda membuat signal asap, nescaya lagi pantas override screen freeze yang memanjang. Dahlah ReadyBoost function tetiba disable.

So fungsi entry ini ditulis hanya untuk memaklumkan itu sahaja. Tiada niat lain selain dari menunjuk-nunjuk yang entry ini ditaip pada netbook *yang murah je pun compare to Galaxy Tab Plus* yang telah dibeli setahun lebih tetapi baru sekarang berfungsi sebagai netbook sebenar. Macam cerita orang kawin paksa, gaduh-gaduh dulu tapi lama-lama ngandung juga.

Okey mengarut, OD caffeine.

Bye...

*mesti sakit hati apabila tajuk tak seindah entry*

When You Let Your Head Talk, It Scrambles Incomprehensible S**t

2012-08-12T08:17:00.001+08:00

Fear not the uproar of crowds, it’s the silence of solitude that will free you – Aniron Oh

Before you can muster the strength to put your finger on it, turning unfathomable ideas into words, you need to realize that solitude brought you transcendence. Flummoxed?

The talk of Susan Cain in (one of thousands) TED Talks about introversion, about the power of solitude, is my liberating and inspiring moment. I used to be too keen and stressed out on how to please everybody. How a foreign piece of puzzle such me can fit into a big picture where none of them were my pattern. To be into conformity of what society want me to be, what my parent consider befitting, what my friends expectation steer me into. I left shards of my identity behind, to dogs and vultures of inconsolable past regrets.

I insist for my readers to watch this

I just want to have a quiet talk with myself. A dialogue. A monologue to be exact. The conversation where judgment is bearable and soothe-able at most. The talk that won’t wake me up in a middle of night to a nagging thought that I am lackadaisical, merely enough feeding my Ego but not my Id (my innate and primitive instinct and desire).

I live in a world where control is considered as strength. I have an anorexic sense that splurging and letting yourself go is not an option. Then there was religion and ideal and social orthodoxy. Sinners are those astray. Sins are those living beyond teaching of thick bounded scriptures.

Thou shall repent and ye shalt be forgiven.

World is full of hypocrites, judging without any slight tendency of wanting to be judge. Tolerance is sign of the weakest faith. I used to have an Ustaz teaching Al Lughah Al Arabiyyah who without hesitant slapped you if you smile in his class, he said “I studied in renown university in Egypt. I tell you this, Arabic people will hit you bad if you so much hinting a smile. It’s a sign of weakness.” I don’t know whether to believe him or not but I won’t be smiling for him for sure, and I hated him that I failed subconsciously in the subject. All of my Arabic teachers were mean, have they become so judgmental that even smiling is a punishable act. But I did score my Islamic Study though. I still remember calling him ‘Structure’, some codename of sort. Because he has a weird skull structure he might’ve sustained from all the slaps the Arabs gave him to beat a smile out of him (it works). Or he might be those Neanderthal still resenting bipedalism, for gravity punished him with varicose veins.

Pleasing society can be tiring attempt. They will advertently place you into array of colors in their morality scale. If you don’t fit into smooth pastels, must be some outrageous striking (headache-inducing) color spectrum you are? Maybe just plain boring grey and black.

If I were to live as my original being, warts and all, they might’ve stitched onto me a modern scarlet letter,

...only 'E' for ebony.

Re-Emergence of Blog That No One Care Exist

2012-08-02T07:19:00.001+08:00

This is not my first attempt to get back to writing. I always second-thought myself in an unauthorized monologue that gone unpublished (cause it was never written in a first place).

My head was murmuring this question;

"Really? You want to subject yourself into picking your brain and feel morally obliged to update your vanishing readers on your life story that was not much different than blank pages in between chapters? In any given day chances are you might probably see flattened silverfish/es than a gist of ink on it."

Yes, my head always too critical of me.

Pardon me for making this blog private for a while because I need to steer clear from those investigating people. The thing is I found out through Feedjit that somebody Google the phrase "kehidupan pelajar perubatan MSU" and that got me nervous. It was worst than people Googl-ing "pelajar perubatan MSU terlampau..." before it was autocomplete with "...hensem" at the end of the query. The search phrase issue happened only weeks away from the MMC ordeal that I suspected some people really gone to great length to investigate. So since some of my entries were so rich of 'appraisals' toward our alma mater, and I am not too keen on self-censorship or re-editing much less crying over spilled milk or sputtered spits, I chose to make it private instead, until the issue was done dealt with. Just in case.

Lots of things happened since my last entry and most of them were stored somewhere in my hippocampus or subconscious. I wouldn't dare rummaging through it too deep cause that may unearthed some of those which I chose to be remained buried. Skeletons and all.

I noticed that my fellow blogger didn’t update their blog too and I am sensing some unanimous solidarity conforming to writers’ blocks. Maybe they are just busy dealing with their life chores and challanges. But I always see him as litmus of blogger ideas deprivation. If he didn’t update his blog as he routinely did, there must be something really wrong in the worldwide webs. Whose blog am I going to read? Since she also chose to cocoon a hiatus.

So maybe by the re-open-for-public-ation of my blog and this new entry, I might spearheading or at least incite some sort of pruritus (you see I can easily choose 'itchiness' instead) in them to re-activate their blog with mind-blogging and thought-provoking entry. *hyperbolic hypoglycaemic*

Come on people, update your blog. We are among the frontliner of creative (if not redundant) writing. We need to inspire each other to write.

Lots of stories need to be told. But first let’s pray that I will be able to recollect them sans mutation of facts.

This is me, and my return to blogosphere.

Cheers!!!

*fake champagne and a slice cake will do*

Urban Oddities (Oh Beast!)

2012-07-15T20:00:00.001+08:00

This is a scheduled entry...

Okey, hari ahad bangun awal pergi ke pasar (rare event). Bukan pasar ahad pun, Pasaraya Hero. Kalau nak perhatikan perangai orang, kat pasar borong pun boleh. Beli sayur sebungkus dengan telur 10 biji bawak pakai trolley, wadahel. Dah tu siap buat pandangan horror tengok aku bawak barang sebakul penuh. Well encik, that is what we call as strength.

Pulang dari pasaraya, nak naik tangga macam biasa. Ada tiga orang masyarakat urban kat depan sangat terrified dengan idea naik tangga. Seorang perempuan ni, mengeluh sepanjang flight of stairs. Macam azab sangat naik tangga tu kan. Aku kena tunggu kat belakang lama, sebab tak nak bontotnya di mukaku. Berikut antara keluhan yang didengar.

"Tak pasal-pasal lepas ni kene gi klinik mintak analgesic,"

"Patahlah kaki macam ni,"

"Baru tingkat 4 ke?"

"Matilah macam ni!"

"Lepas naik ni, taubat tak nak turun dah."

Well FYI, orang kampung aku naik turun bukit tiap hari tanam padi dari muda sampai ke tua cari rezeki nak bagi anak makan tak kecoh pun. Siap bawak anak kecik and bakul berat kat belakang. Kau kenapa?

Some people hate the idea of walking or exerting. Nak beli nasi lemak 100 meter kat depan kena naik kereta. I found it funny people sanggup spend ratusan ringgit nak kurus termasuklah join membership gymnasium semata-mata nak exercise kat treadmill etc, sedangkan all those stuff you can get free of charge with daily activity and you can also jogs. Bukankah cardiovascular exercise cuma perlukan anda increase 50 to 85% of your maximum heart rate. Berjalan dan berlarilah selagi boleh waktu muda ni. Kang dah tua kena gout-lah, arthritis-lah, lelah, heart failure NYHA Class IV etc.

Paling obvious kalau di ACC kat hospital kalau nak naik lif. Orang yang capable, cukup anggota berebut bersesak naik lif nak naik satu tingkat. Yang ironinya mereka tu semua nak pergi Klinik Perubatan because of hyperlipidemia, diabetes and myriad of preventable non-infectious disease. It seems even berpenyakit still tak nak ubah lifestyle. Fine-lah nak sangat masuk statistik morbidity. Paling geram gila kalau jenis orang yang turun setingkat pun nak naik lif.

Well...urban oddities