I'm Not Asleep, My Eyes Are Just Closed

Many, many years ago, when I was still young and starry-eyed I dreamed of becoming an author. The type of author who wrote the books that I loved. The kind of author I fiercely admired. But then other stuff happened, and reality set in. Even if I did do a different course at university, even if I did work in something related to writing i.e. journalism, editing, etc, I'd never really have a talent for writing the kind of books I wanted to write. I can't even tell a story or a joke verbally much less make a coherent story last 300 plus pages. At some point I thought, maybe if I had enough life experience, then I'd have something to write about. (Yeah, life experience, what is that anyway?) Then I realised, there was nothing unique about my existence to make it worth writing about, and certainly not special enough for anyone to invest money in it. Sure, maybe my life is interesting to me sometimes, or to certain relatives and friends, but one cannot base a career on that. At ...

Weddings can be nice events. Weddings can leave you with a nice warm 'awww' feeling. I enjoy a well edited slide show presentation of the happy couple throughout their lives as much as the next person. (Key phrase here is well edited, people). But weddings can leave me feeling a little blue. Especially when you're there on your own. And when the guy next to you at the dinner table asks you why you're not married yet. And asks old how you are. Ffffffffuuuuuuu----

I haven't posted ANYTHING in a while. Well, that's what happens when Facebook gives you the opportunity to bleat whatever shit you have in your head without the need to form proper sentences. Also, I haven't really had the inclination to write anything. There's a scale to these things. Sometimes frustration and anger inspires you to write and write. But there comes a point where your frustration wearies you to the point of numbness - where writing does nothing but dig up all your problems for you to sniff over. So, I shut up. Because to write about it became like complaining and I wasn't getting anywhere with it. Also before that I dropped into a misery-hole of the mind where no creativity came forth and any energy I had was put into getting up every day, putting a smile on my face and going to work and doing what one has to do every day to be human. I also decide one day to not be so introspective about everything. I tend to direct energy inward (o gawd, I sound ...

Every experience one has had adds a little spot of colour on to the background of the personality one is born with.When a childhood is spent in a rough-and-tumble household, when the school-age years is spent in a competitive environment, when one learns throughout young adulthood to rely on oneself to achieve one's own goals and to feel the consequences of one's own decisions, one develops a certain attitude that is self-centric. I ponder my own problems, I make my own decisions, I take action on those decisions alone and I accept the results of those actions. I find it far easier to get angry at an injustice, or to face a fear as a challenge, or to extend kindness to a stranger. It is far harder to comprehend the wants and needs of a loved one; the emotions are too complex. It is harder too, to find yourself at the receiving end of kindness, to suddenly realise that someone finds you deserving of kindness and compassion. It is not that my self-esteem is so low, it is just t...

So I haven't posted in a while but not as long as I thought since I didn't think I posted anything at all this year. But I clearly did in March even if it was just to curse at my work conditions. Aaah, work.... who doesn't curse and moan and whinge about how shitty their work is or how much of monster their boss is or how they have got the nastiest bitch for a colleague? Yes and I did plenty of that on Facebook but as more colleagues and cousins and aunts get added on my friend list, venting on Facebook has become less attractive really fast. And no one wants to be that asshole who puts everybody off by spewing vitriol on their status updates every day. And so I turn to you o Blogpost, to once again give vent to my bitter, misanthropic feelings about the human race in general without the repercussions one gets from the hurt feelings of friends one hasn't spoken to in years. Updates soon.

From a patient in a ward: "Doktor mesti belum kahwin lagi kan?" "Ya, belum. Kenapa?" "Sebab muka doktor ceria je." From a patient in clinic that I hadn't seen in a while: "Waaah, doktor sudah gemuk." From an Air Asia flunkie at the departure gates: "Are you pregnant?" From the lady sitting next to me on the plane: "Kamu kerja kilang ke?" From a colleague: "Ko ni poyo." Thanks everyone, I'll be here all week.

I've been having a disturbing number of flashbacks lately. I'd eat in a restaurant and think of the time I ate there with my Dad. I'd hold another woman's baby in my arms and think of the time when I held my own niece and she'd hug me back. I'd listen to Rufus Wainwright and my heart would clench with nervousness as I'm reminded of the long car drives to work in the Emergency Department. I'd drift off to sleep only to wake up with the remnants of a nightmare where I'm endlessly sewing a patient's uterus. I went into work one morning and heard about my colleagues bad on-call. Instead of feeling sorry for him, I was frightened and nervous the entire 24 hours that I was on-call. I had a horrible feeling that there would be more deaths and the dying seeping onto my day from yesterday. I barely slept that night, even though nothing more than a ruptured ectopic pregnancy happened. Some days you wake up and you have an awful feeling that something bad i...

I hate my new stethoscope. It looks like a vagina. And I see enough of those on a daily basis without having a plastic replica of it hanging around my neck. Having lost the stethoscope which I've had since I was a first year medical student, I ordered one through a friend who bought it at the hospital medical shop. Get the new high tech, light weight one, she says. It comes in all sorts of fun colours. I think I'll buy the usual Litmann Classic, I say. I've always used that one and I quite like it. No, no get this new one, it's much better. Besides looking like a vagina, my new stethoscope comes in a range of cheap- looking plastic swathed in a strange disco glitter which somewhow manages to look drab as vomit. I hate whoever's taken my old stethoscope. It's got my name engraved on it but that hasn't stopped them from saying "Ooh, I'll have that then." Death to the stethoscope stealer!

I was on a plane home and was making small talk with the lady who sat in the same row as me. I'm not one for chit-chatting but you know it's one of those things when you are on a plane: it would be rude and perak not to say a few words to your immediate neighbour. Especially since I had just climbed over the her lap to get the window seat. Neighbour: So, where do you live in KL? Moi: I live in Subang actually. I'm on leave from work, so I'm going home to see my parents. Neighbour: Oh, so you work in a factory here? Moi: (trying to keep a straight face) Uh, no. At this point, some would say that I should have puffed out my chest, turn up my nose and say in my haughtiest voice, "Hey, saya doktor tau!" Truthfully, it would be more embarrassing for me than her if I did say that. Not that there's anything wrong in being a factory worker, and I'm not so full of myself that I'd get offended if people don't lick my arse and say, "Ya Tuan Doktor...

This week I celebrated my 28th birthday. This week I was accidentally stabbed with a needle contaminated with the blood of a patient with Hepatitis B. It was all going so well, I thought. The patient had already been screened for HIV and venereal disease and she was in the clear. What are the chances that she would be positive for Hepatitis B? Well, 100% as it turned out. I wasn't terribly upset at first. It was a small nick that didn't bleed much, though it surprised me enough that I yelled in the operating theatre. Everybody froze when they realised what had happened. My colleague felt bad for accidentally stabbing me with the suture needle. As I pointed out, it was an accident. I was double-gloved and we were all following the correct procedures, so it was unfortunate that I got a needlestick injury. What pissed me off was the attitude of the staff when I was trying to get all the various forms filled out and sent off to the correct persons. Their primary concern seemed to b...

1. The limited pressing new Delays EP ‘Love Made Visible’. Only 2000 copies available, aacccckkk! 2. A new set of headphones – my long-serving and long-suffering JVCs are falling apart. 3. All the episodes of Dexter that I haven’t seen. The longer I go without any new Dexter the higher the chances I will go to Television Without Pity and ‘spoiler’ myself. 4. World peace. Nah, just kidding.

5058 It’s mocking me. It has been 5058 for a good half an hour now. Surely somebody must be working behind there. I see people moving about but no change in the queue number. I am number 5079. Welcome to the Immigration Department. 5059 I’m bored out of my skull. I’ve read through three different newspapers, including the classifieds, the ingredients on the gum wrapper and all the notices on the information board. (My gum contains sodium stearate which I have never come across in chewing gum before. This is also an indication of how bored I am that I actually bought gum to chew.) 5060 I’m out in the lift lobby calling the hospital to say I’ll be at least another hour an a half. That is actually wishful thinking on my part but I hope to get my papers sorted today. A dozen men in chains march past accompanied by two immigration officers. Both of them are carrying batons. Somehow, they all squeeze into the men’s toilet. I wonder if they get their chains taken off. That reminds me. I need ...

I should have known better than to attempt anything too strenuous considering my family's general history of mishaps when we get too enthusiastic over sport. Sure we may have arms and shoulders that look like they could comfortably haul rice sacks by the ton but we're actually fragile weaklings that break under the threat of a little light gardening. Coz we're city kids and we have no idea what the name of that tree is or what kind of salad we're eating or that is the sound of a frog croaking and not somebody's screwed up car horn. What do you mean go play outside? Do you want me to get run over by a car? Cycling is suicide. There is also the chance that you I could fall into an open drain, like my brother once did, subsequently cutting his head open. I'm not even 30 yet and I can feel my body falling apart already. That's the consequences of physically abusing your body when you're younger and thinking you can get away with it. Yes, you may have bounced...

First of all, apologies for the embarrassment of bad poetry in the past 3 posts. Let's just say, I was seized by the Poetry Fairy and found myself so enthralled to its charms that I was unable to write any coherent thought in plain English without spraining myself. Having said that, I did derive a surprising amount of pleasure from writing poems - quite giddy, in fact - but I'm afraid my muse has left me for now. All has returned to normal. Almost. Hee. *looks dreamily out of moon-lit window for the flicker of Poetry Fairy's wings.*

My sister KJ goes on a five week long trip through the 'wilds' of Europe today. She'll be with friends part of the way and on her own at other times. With her inquisitive and open mind, I know she'll get the best out of this trip and she'll come back with lots of funny and amusing anecdotes to tell the family. I hope she doesn't get the runs like she is wont to do while travelling. So, may all your flights and journeys be safe. Hope the weather stays this good. Hope your feet won't give you too much trouble. And.......... Aren't foreign words funny? God bless KJ, come home safe.

Broken rasp. Eyes you can drown in. Teeth. I've heard it said that the people one is physically attracted to look a little like oneself. Makes sense, especially if you're the sort who's so in love with yourself you'd look for a partner with your own 'good looks' . What do you look for in a partner? Oh, it's one of those questions, is it? Like, if your house is on fire what would be the one thing you would save? Or would you choose to be extremely beautiful or insanely clever? You're avoiding the question. Mmmmmm.... I'm stalling. Is it that hard to answer? It's not a frivolous question. I would like to give some serious thought to it because I am a serious woman. No, don't laugh. Sorry. I guess that's what comes from asking such a question to an obsessive pedant such as yourself. I think.... I will take that as a compliment. Well? Sigh. What do I look for in a partner? Well, it's changed over the years. I used to have a check list of ...

Don't choke on your karipap. It's hard to imagine a woman who had always given me the impression that 99.99% of music is an assault on her sanity would be getting jiggy with it with the punters down at the local club. Oh God, that image has already given me a headache. My mother can't drive and she frequently complains of the music I put on the car stereo so I had kindly burned two CDs worth of songs by The Carpenters (which I know she likes) and things like The Beatles' Yesterday and Beautiful Maria by Los Lobos to play in the car from time to time. But two days ago, I took special delivery of double A-side single Lost In A Melody/Wanderlust by who else, but Delays , and The Mother freaked me out when she said, "I like this song. It's catchy." To hear what The Mother developed a liking to, click below. Lost In A Melody (Tom Middleton Cosmos Remix) by Delays. Rough Trade Records (2004) Oh and the other day, she asked, "Why don't you play that p...

I was at the Maritime Institute in Jalan Yap Kwan Seng waiting for my dad to come out of a seminar becauseI needed the keys to take his car for repairs and servicing. So there I was twiddiling with my handbag in the corridor when the doors of the seminar room opened and a whole bunch of fit men in tight, white Royal Navy uniforms came out. Hubba-hubba! Unfortunately, my dad came out at the same time and started talking to me. All I could do was stand there with MY DAD while all these hunksome sailors passed me by. BAH! They're all probably too old for me anyway.

My dearest siblings, Greetings from your sister in the homeland of teh tarik and apolitical slackers. I hope you are all well in foreign lands. Thank you all for your e-mails expressing mirth at my having to face the Melaka Mob at a nuptial-filled weekend, while you all get off scot-free. (By the way, I hear summer in the British and Irish isles is pretty miserable right now, and I do believe it is bitterly cold in the Southern Hemisphere, is it not?) Truth be told, I rather enjoyed myself at the family gathering. Meeting the Melaka Mob doesn't seem to be as much of an ordeal as I remembered. I had two new baju kurung made, mainly because Mak U insisted on a theme of blue for An's wedding (and all relatives must comply) and because raya will be soon and I haven't had a new baju kurung in about five years. I must say I looked extremely adorable in my new outfits. I could almost pass for gadis Melayu ayu except for the fact that I hunch and stride like a man. Sadly nob...

1) All the college kids look really young to you 2) Salespeople call you kak 3) Most of the songs on Mix FM you have in your record collection