Good kick in the butt.

I’ve always been a bit of a fitness fan.

Yeah, just a fan. Never a fanatic.

Oh, there were the odd periods where I would exercise religiously for 2 to 3 months on end. And then it’ll just taper down to nothing. As per usual. The last time I trained with a purpose was when I was training for the dance comp in March.

So I decided to get serious. And join a Transformation Contest.

Once you’ve finished laughing, do read on.

Got this in the mail today.

I finally got it, Sociologist!!

On the back, it says, “Take one convenient, single serve packet of EXO after physical activity for best results.”

So I decided to take it after my long postponed workout.

Then we have this…

This only looks more threatening because of its green poo-ey shapes. I do NOT want diarrhea. Not yet, anyway. But maybe this coming weekend?

And because shame is usually the greatest motivator ever…

Uh huh. So this is my before picture. A pre-requisite for me to entering the competition.

My following measurements (in inches):

Neck: 15.5
Bicep: 13
Forearm: 11
Chest: 38
Waist: 35
Hips: 36
Thigh: 22
Calf: 16

This goes on for three months. Today is Monday, 31st August, 2009. Lets see where I am on Friday, 11th December, 2009.

And my scathing piece on Malaysia’s Independence Day can be found on Google’s Blog Search, keywords: 1Malaysia is a lie.

Click for bigger version. Else, just keep scrolling down and read the real thing just a few mouse scrolls below.

For what its worth, Malaysia.

I am a Malaysian.

I grew up in a small yet booming town where oil was found and everyone had hopped on the bandwagon.

I did kindergarten and I grew up speaking my mother tongue and learning three different languages.

After a brief stint overseas as a kid, I came back and studied in Primary 4. I had to learn everything all over again. BM, verbal Chinese, dialects.

I spent 8 glorious years in Malaysia. We stayed in the one city and I developed my friendships there and I called that place home. Always.

My friends were of different skin tones, different religions, different cultures but that did not matter. Perhaps, that was what kids were like. We never cared about anything more than what was the next fun thing to do together. We learnt of different cultures and never that one was better or worse than the other. We lived within hearing range of the call to prayer and the ringing of church bells and the sounding of temple drums but never, ever, were we taught that it was bad or it was okay to put down other people or their religions.

As we progressed through secondary school, the splitting of the friendships became more obvious. I wondered why but I never really thought too seriously about it.

And then I left Malaysia to study overseas.

I came back twice in two consecutive years and I have not been back since.

And how it has changed.

From the tens of thousands strong protest to the murder of a Mongolian woman to the beheading of animals to the lifting of cultural weapons and swearing to drenching them in blood to a new government unable to carry through with its promises to paparazzi photos of MPs designed to shame and blame, this place has changed.

The place I called home has changed.

We pride ourselves as a multi-cultural nation. We pride ourselves on perpaduan rakyat (Unity of the people), we pride ourselves on respect and courtesy and we even teach it in our education systems, for goodness’s sakes! Yet, where are we now?

What happened to the respect that we drill into our children? What happened to the moral values that every child had to memorise to pass their Pendidikan Moral paper? What happened to unity? What happened to Seia, sekata, sehati, sejiwa? Are all those patriotic songs that get churned out like Communist propaganda just for show? Do we promise that all is equal, but some are more equal than others? Where have we failed that prejudice, blame, fear, disrespect, and utter contempt for others have become commonplace behaviour? When has respect become sought at the end of the baton rather than in the spoken, well-thought, respectable word?

Keranamu, kami bebas merdeka. Really?

Where is the freedom? Where is the independence? We were so proud to call you home, yet year by year, more and more of us flee. Not because we want to but because we can.

We teach our children the idealogy of fairness, respect, love, peace, harmony and unity, and yet, look at the rest of us adults. We preach fear, blame, prejudice, disrespect, hate, chaos, and contempt. What do you think the children will pick up more of?

A song once said that children are our future. If this is the future that our children will inherit, we as a nation are royally screwed.

We have learnt nothing. Absolutely nothing. After all those years of independence, we still struggle with racism, religious discrimination, dissent.

Our ideals of unity, one race, 1Malaysia is a lie.

Sure, we like the idea of a peaceful Malaysia. Call it the Malaysian Dream, if you will.

A few out of many have stood up for it. We want to be able to say that we fought for our country. We fought for the peace and the stability and the harmony that is depicted in so many Pendidikan Moral books. Samy and Ahmad plays with Chong Beng in the park. Salmah and Devi and Soo Ling work together to tidy up the yard. But if things carry on the way they do, soon, Samy and Ahmad and Chong Beng will be trying to outrank/outperform/crush the other in the business, economic, and personal world. Salmah and Devi and Soo Ling will sit around gossiping behind each others’ backs.

Perhaps, we can learn from the simplicity of children. There, skin colour doesn’t matter. If you don’t eat pork or beef, it doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you had to wear a scarf to cover your head. It didn’t matter that you celebrated one thing and I, another. It didn’t matter that we spoke different languages or we dressed differently or that I had small eyes and you had dark skin or that I worshipped one God and you worshipped three or ten.

We need to see beyond that. We need to blur the lines of distinction. Because no matter what skin colour we are, we all bleed the same red blood. Crack open our skulls and you will always find a brain. Rip our chests open and you’ll find a pulsating, beating heart. Underneath everything that we say make and conforms us to become who we are, we are still human.

And no matter how different we are, we still have that one thing in common.

I hope we see. I hope we open our eyes to the foolishness of what we have become. I hope that we can one day, live again in peace and harmony, rather than cower in fear behind the lies that we read and hear and see on a daily basis. That one day, I can look out the window and I will see Samy, Ahmad, and Chong Beng playing in the park together again.

Happy 52nd Birthday, Malaysia. I hope as you grow older, you grow wiser. We are your people, your voices. And may we one day wake up to realise that indeed, we are 1Malaysia, one people, united. In peace. Prosperous. Respectful.

Like the Malaysia that we’ve always studied about rather than the Malaysia we live in.

Over the weekend…

It was crisp, sunny, yet cool. A panoramic view of the riverfront.

A perfect day for sandals.

I can’t exactly tell you what happened on that day….because….

But hence, I shall say no more as there is a certain nosey parker on this blog who reads and thinks too much. You know who you are. +D

The skies were blue and although the trees were bare, you could definitely sense that spring was nearby.

And here’s the proof.

All in all, a really really nice day. Weather was absolutely wonderful. Gives me a good reason to want to stay here a bit longer.

Funny, really. I used to have these “nightmares” of staying in Wangy for longer than I should. And I know, know, that there are places out there waiting for me. Places to go, things to do. But it doesn’t take much to please me. Obviously.

Had some pretty awesome chicken stirfry left over from last night’s dinner for breakfast this morning with 2 pieces of toast and peanut butter.

Went for dancing today and I’m pretty sure we’ll do okay for our Latin stuff. Ballroom…haaa….now that’s a good question. We’ve got a waltz but the quickstep and foxtrot aren’t up to par and I’m not even really gonna try to make it up to par. Can’t wait to get the outfit on. +D

And I’ve finally figured out how everything goes on. Which is cool. Took its own damn time, that’s for sure.

This Facebook thing is getting interesting. People are accepting requests and going, “So what dragged you out of the woodworks?”

And the glorified answer is that, “I’m bored and I needed a website to look at. Oh, plus having friends on there would be cool.”

Had a acquaintance add me and I was sitting there thinking, “Should I accept?”

I technically do not know this person. I technically had breakfast with her and a group of friends. I technically paid breakfast for everyone around the table. We’ve barely exchanged a fully fledged conversation. But here she is, friend, pal, mate. Whatever.

I added her anyway.

So here’s another person. Friend of a friend. We met for about a 30 minute period as said friend wanted to meet him. And here he is on the request list.

“Can I be your friend?”

Reminds me of primary school days where acceptance is key and you went around asking potential people you like (girls asked boys and boys asked girls) the crucial question…

“Can I be your friend?”

It usually denotes more than just friendship, really. Guy likes said girl, doesn’t know if she’ll return his affections and thus by asking that one question, he usually deems it as a “phew, she’s okay with me. Possible girlfriend, check.” Being someone’s friend doesn’t guarantee a relationship. Its just friendship. Duh. Get over it.

Friend request just sounds a lot more grown up and professional. But if Facebook was instead created by primary school children in Singapore and Malaysia, you’ll know exactly how you’ll get a friend request.

Facebook message: You have one message.

*click*

(insert name here): Can I be your frieeeeeeeeend? *big puppy dog eyes sold separately*

Click here to ignore and ultimately reject said person as a friend and human being.

Click here to accept request and endure the possibility of him/her expecting a more serious relationship without prior warning.

Ooh, choices are difficult, aren’t they?

So even with Facebook, you feel bad for not adding someone. But then again, what’s the reason to add them? Just because they know the person who does your grandmother’s cousin’s daughter’s shi tzu’s pedicure doesn’t mean that you should add them. At all.

Bleh.

Today was more of a physio-related ish day. Pretty active. Went for dance prac this morning for 2 hours and then went for badminton. Had several incredibly sweat inducing games which was pure awesomeness since I don’t sweat like that unless I’m dancing ceroc in an overcrowded stuffy hall. Came back, showered, threw on a pair of shorts, a hoodie and sat down and edited a business and financial performance review of a oil palm company. I’m knackered and its only past 10pm!

I’ve got work tomorrow and hopefully, sleeping early enough tonight will give me enough energy to start the day. Whee. Let’s go!!

On a more sober note, I have not been drinking. Can you tell?

Balk

Balk: Defined by The Free Dictionary as:-

1. To stop short and refuse to go on.
2. To refuse obstinately or abruptly

After finally deciding that, yeah, I’ll get Facebook and filling in the prerequisite forms and such, I was suddenly filled with a sense of horror/dread. In short, I actually felt quite sick to my stomach, which is odd.

It’s been a while since my all and sundry has been aired out on the Internet.

Back in the advent of Friendster, emerging blogging sites and the sudden explosion of cellphones + knowing more mates, most of my friends were still people I met in school, tuition, church, or from different organisations that I regularly took an interest in.

Friendster was the initial way to go. Having taken off to the Land of the Long White Cloud, Friendster was pretty much my first flirtation with social networking websites. EVERYONE I knew then had Friendster. I would write these long deliberate testimonials about people I knew or even people I didn’t quite know but I knew them from somewhere, whether it was BB or whether we went to the same music school, etc.

Other sites started popping up, such as Zorpia, Bebo, and friends of mine who’ve also gone overseas ended up adding me on these sites. I think Friendster was primarily a Malaysian thing, just as how Bebo is a New Zealand thing. And it was pretty fun for a while. Friendster exploded into the blogging thing for a bit and then opened up its HTML code to users. Things became a little…..garish. You would get 6 feet tall messages that sparkled like the sun and said nothing more than wishing you a happy Chinese New Year.

Then Facebook came on. Initially, only a few friends were on it. And that was fine. But after a few personal life crises, I decided that I would like to revel in my own personal privacy. So I shut my Facebook down and declined further invitations to restart it.

After a message I received on Friendster alerted me to the point that yes, I was still able to be stalked online, I deleted that as well. Which was fine. It was okay.

Quite a lot of acquaintances thought I was very antisocial. Apparently, networking on Facebook is the way to go but hey, who am I to judge. But I didn’t see the need to have people sending me quizzes to do, tagging me in photos I didn’t want to be in or appear to everyone else in the world in, and besides, anyone that I really wanted to talk to or keep in touch with was either a phone call or an email away. A personal touch wins hands down anytime.

I must say, even though I’ve opened up a Facebook account, I still really enjoy the peace and quiet of a private existence. Known to the close and few, my little stories and goings on remained close to my heart and on a need-to-know basis. Perhaps the privacy settings on the account needs to be activated then.

Having Facebook made me recall the online article where employers tracked down their potential employees with Facebook and made such judgements from their profiles. Scary thought. And besides, with me being quite an ingenious stalker myself, it is amazing what I’ve had to do to cover my internet footprints. Unless you know exactly what to type in, I’m virtually non-existent on the Net. I’ve tracked down quite a number of people and with relative ease, I might add. Dangerous place to be.

So I’m kinda having second thoughts at the moment. I don’t exactly know how to use the website as such yet but it might be a brief thing. I’m not too sure if I do want my life exposed all over again.

Interesting thing, this whole blogging phenomenon. I used to splash my emotions, my personality, and my physical self onto a page every single night. And I got pretty cut up for it. People knew who I was and I was accessible on Google from the word go. Type in the right keywords and I’m glowing at the top of the list. Trust me, if you still know, you might have some access to an old blog site that I’m unfortunately unable to take down. My techie skills only go so far, after all.

So even this blog now that I’ve opened to a number of friends may even be in jeopardy of closing down, usually depending on how dangerous the threat is. But so far, this is one of the things that help me ease out Life at the moment.

I used to think that it would be cool to maintain blogs and then I can track them from one year to the next and you know, maybe even show someone in the future. “Hey, this was my life from ~ year 2000 to now. Have a read.”

But as the old adage goes, if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.

Of course, nothing really happens in my life now. I’ve got my work, I’ve got my dance, I’ve got little things that I get up to nowadays and little projects and performances. I still imagine that I’m a tech geek and would love to have people give me new little gadgets to try and blog about. I like shopping and would like to go more, as long as I win Lotto big time. My room is still the death of my existence. I’m going to die buried by clothes one day.

And I’ve got all these random little thoughts that I write about on here website and y’all have a read and wonder what I’m smoking.

Well, its called chicken and its delicious. Eel, here I come!

Random comments aside, yeah. The point of this post: I’m not too sure about Facebook. Eiyer. Dunno la.

So I caved.

Facebook, here I come.

Callback

Ring ring...ring ring...

What the...

I raised my head from the pillow. Why is Tofupuff calling me so early?

Hello?

I tried to peer through my barely opened eyelids. The number showed "withheld." Great. Can't give the bast4rd a piece of my mind if I don't know who it is.

"Hi, this is J from reception. This is Poet, isn't it?"

Yeah...speaking. I was ready to drop dead. Honestly. The nerve. No one knowing me would ever wake me up early in the morning even if my ballsack was on fire.

"I've got Surgical on the phone. They've got a patient they need you to see. I'll put you through."

*beep*

What the heck is the fricking time...I tried to open my plastered eyes. Dang it. Still couldn't quite see the little time figure showing at the bottom of the screen. Right. Time to get myself a new phone. +D

"Hi Poet, sorry to disturb you so early in the morning..."

No worries. (What I actually meant was...Damn straight its early!")

"...this is J from Surgical ward. Do you know Mrs P?"

Uh....yeah. I know her.

"Yes, she's struggling to breathe quite a bit early this morning and she's been like this all night. She's had her nebulisers at 6.00a.m. but she's still struggling. She's requested if you can come in and do a bit of chest physio with her."

Right. No problem. I'll be there.

"Of course, you don't need to come in right away. But A.S.A.P would be good." I could hear a slightly raised tone in her voice, probably tempting me to want to come in A.S.A.P. Now isn't that just fabulous. And you get two contrasting sentences in less than 5 seconds. Bleh.

Okay. Will see you soon.

*beep*

I lay in bed, marinating in the remainder of the heat emanating from my duvet and my body heat that had been comfortably trapped underneath for ages. Turned to look out the window. Even the sun wasn't up yet. Oh well. The wonders of on call.

As I struggled out of bed and finally decided that yes, I do need some undies on and I can't go to work hanging underneath my shorts, I wondered whether this call was inappropriate. Whether, you know, I should head back to bed and get back to sleep. Lord knows, I wanna. And Lord knows, once my head touches that pillow, I'll be out like a light until the cows come home. Preferably at about 4p.m. in the afternoon. Oh yeah, what's the time?

6.24a.m.

Even the Rapture isn't worth waking up this early for. Bleh times two.

Coming in to work this early in the morning is an interesting experience. The entire place is dark, saved for the embedded ceiling lights. If the place didn't smell of disinfectant and air deodoriser and didn't have people dressed in white running around with stethoscopes and medications, you'd think you were in a dimmed hotel hallway.

I dragged in a obs monitor with me, its blinking yellow lights glimmering in the darkness.

Mrs P? Good morning. How are you?

"Not too good."

I popped the finger probe on and put the stethoscope in my ears. As the monitor kicked to life and flashed random numbers, I listened in the darkness. Her lungs were as quiet as a graveyard. The only real thing I could hear was the hiss of oxygen running through her nasal prongs and her laboured breathing underneath my hands.

88%....89%....88%...

Not the greatest numbers in the world, I thought to myself. Especially if she's running on oxygen already.

Rightyo, Mrs P. First things first...I want you to breathe into my hands. I want you to feel your ribcage push out against my hands as you breathe in and out...that's it. I just want you to close your eyes and relax. Very good...now, just slow that breathing down just a little bit...take it in a little slower...brilliant. Good. Keep that nice and slow.

And at 6.40a.m. until an hour later, I stood there, trying to get her to cough out phelgm with the consistency between PVA glue and Blue-tac.

It was worth it, in the end. Her numbers went up to 93% with an occasional jump to 94% on 2L nasal prongs.

But I was pretty screwed.

I deserved whatever-the-hell-I-wanted for breakfast, along with two cups of milk and 2 sugars. Oh yeah, add a teaspoon of coffee to that too, thanks.

For a lot of physios, especially those working in hospitals, and specifically if you're on the wards, this is what its like. Private physios can always look forward to a 8 to 5 job, unless you take on extra exercise classes like the Singaporean Rambo (LTA). But we hospital dudes and dudettes, are at the mercy of the hospital no matter time or place.

I think my eyes are ready to close again. *yawn*

But its too late to go to bed now. I'll make up for it later.

Snore.

Father figure/Soft 5

After Dory cheekily commented on MSN last night that after her comment on my last post, I seemed to have stopped blogging for a bit. I've decided to prove her wrong.

+DDD

By saying NOTHING in regards to that matter. HEHE.

Although I've managed to find something to blog about.

Today, SchoolGirl, a physio who has gone on maternity leave, came back today to join us for lunch in the staffroom, bringing along her little Ginger bundle of joy. Then my PhysioMentor came in as well, carrying ultrasound pictures of her supposedly twin babies. No wonder she was looking a little....uh. Anyway. *evil grin*

[Honestly, sometimes, what is left unsaid is the best thing to say. But moving on...]

It does kind of make me think about fatherhood.

It makes me wonder what kind of man I would be if I was to ever have a son/daughter. Whether I would walk in my father's footsteps and bring up my children as he did me or whether I would take a completely different approach. I wonder if I would be a good father. If the white picket fence and red brick house and a 9 to 5 job is somehow inserted into my distant future. Whether I would take that chance and take that opportunity.

Hm. Makes you think.

I've had several friends, mostly girls, who've hit motherhood and who've popped out a few of their own. And about three months ago, I read in the paper that mothers are getting younger and younger. Apparently, 16 is a good age to get married and settle down, nowadays. A lot of nurses that I've talked to have sworn by that, claiming that giving birth young allows you to have more time and more money on your hands when they grow up that you can do your own thing now. Heck, I've even treated a patient who is 20 years old and already has 2 kids. Talk about ticking biological clocks.

I wonder how true that is. I wonder.

Its a big step, for sure. And its a big event. Life changing. Giving birth or witnessing it? Hell yeah. Seeing something the size of a rockmelon squeeze its way past an orifice usually the diameter of a broomstick is a life changing event. Plus not to mention perineal muscle tearing and the blood, screams, and clenched fists that follow.

Makes me so glad every single fricking day that I am NOT a woman. Although they still get the cool parts in dance though. All we get to do is stand there like a hat rack.

And finally, here's Soft 5.

Soft 5

"Baby ah..."

Yes, dear?

"You know, if we have a baby, right....do you want it to be a boy or a girl?"

Hm. I don't really mind, actually. Can be either one, its still a baby.

"Aiyo...make up your mind la. Boy or girl?" She shakes my shoulder as if I was a magic 8 ball just waiting to drop an answer.

Okay...lets make it....a boy.

"Why le? I want a girl wor..."

Cos you asked me to make up my mind, what. I say boy la. Plus, if its a boy, I can do more stuff with him than you can.

"But I want a girl so I can dress her up and do girly stuff with her."

Haha....well, it all depends on me, though. I'm the one carrying the XY gene so you'll have to put up with what I put in you. Hahaha..

"Eeee....I want girl le....so if it was a girl, what would you name her?"

Hm. Now that's a hard one. Gimme a letter.

"C"

Charlotte? Cheryl?

"Dowan. Not nice at all one le. How come all your names bu hao ting one?"

Another letter lor.

"Um....M."

Magdalene! Madeline! Margaret! Marge Simpson! *evil chuckle*

"Eiyer...I asked you to be serious one la! See, I ask you to be funny and you're soooo serious. When I ask you to be serious, you make fun of me some more..."

Okay okay. One more letter.

"P."

Pauline!

"Nope."

Paulina!

"Nope!"

Pollyana!

"NO!"

Phoebe.

"You suck."

Eh, you asked me for names what, I give you names lor!

"But how come all weird weird one le!"

Eh, sorry ah, I don't have baby name book on me wei. Why don't you pick one?

"Cos I want you to pick." *smiles*

Cheh. And ask me to pick and reject EVERYTHING I say. How can like that one ah you.

"Mmmm." She sits on my lap and kisses me on my forehead. Uh-oh. This doesn't look good.

"Baby ah..."

Now what is it? I say with a grin.

"If we have a baby girl, will you love her more than me?"

Hmmm....good question.

"Eiyer....you should say NO mah. You should say that you would ALWAYS love me more! Dunno how to ambil hati (sweet talk) one..."

But its our baby girl oh. I can equally love you both mah.

"But after that, you'll wanna spend more time with her than you wanna spend time with me le. And then I get lonely lor." She pouts, knowing I get slightly weak at the knees when she does that.

Heehee...come here...so how do you want it to be?

"Let's not have kids at all."

Ha?

"Yeah. So I'll always be your baby girl."

Wah....manja budak ni (this kid sooo spoilt one)....talk about this another time la. Not even married yet, already arguing about baby names and whether I would love you less. What la...

"Hehe...come here, baby boy...." *evil grin*

***

Welcome, men, to the world of girlfriends and their neverending thought processes. Get used to it. You're welcome.

Soft 4.

“Baby ah…”

Hm?

“Would you date a vegetarian?”

Huh?

“Just wondering mah….you know, whether you would date a vegetarian or not la.”

Um…I don’t really see why not. I mean, its just food right?

“Okay….fine.”

Now what’s wrong?

“Nothing la.”

No, honestly, what’s wrong with dating a vegetarian?

“That means that you’ll possibly date the Redhead lor.”

Ohhhhhhhhhh…….so that’s what this is about is it?

“Mmm.”

Hehe…come here, bao bei…

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat.”

Look at me first. Don’t you look at the ceiling. Look at me.

“Looking at you now. What is it…”

You know I love you right?

“Uh.”

And you know that I really really love you, right?

“Uh-huh.”

So what does one person’s allergies have to do with it?

“Dunno.” She buries her head in the crook of my neck. “Just that you’ll consider her lor.”

We’re dance partners, darling. We’re doing the Fever routine together at the train station, remember? So have to practise la.

“But you know, you’re holding her waist and you’re pulling her close…”

Doesn’t mean a thing to me, hon.

“Oh, really now?”

Uh huh. Plus, she’s vegan, so no meat or animal products either.

“Okay.” She settles for a peck on the lips. “I wuv you.”

I wuv you too.

Silence. Then…

“Baby ah…”

Hm?

“Is her cooking nice? I mean, no meat, no dairy, no bread, how to eat like that?”

Its not too bad, actually. Her pumpkin and leek soup was pretty good and her tofu rice stir fry was amazing.

“Eiyerrrrrrrrrr…….you should say that her diet very hard to follow one. Fineeeeeeeeeeeee…”

Hahaha…come here, darling…..this girl girl ah…*evil grin*

Talk about insecurities. Women. Honestly. But you learn to love them.

Debrief

This was tapped out on my cellphone sitting in a restaurant at 6.3op.m. at night. Incredibly, I only ate for 20 minutes…and I spent the rest of the time sipping tea and tapping this out until 8p.m.

Gotta love solitude. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of eating alone.

There is a certain pleasure in letting and letting the brain do absolutely nothing and think about nothing in particular.

I’m currently at a chinese restaurant somewhere in Palmy and I’m sitting here sipping a cup of good brewed chinese tea. They’ve not shooed me out so I guess I can sit here a bit longer.

Its a bit like debrief time. Let your brain go and just get in touch with whatever your day brought you. I really should do this on a regular basis. Who knows, it might keep me from losing my sanity that much quicker.

More often than not, my thinking moments consist of me face planted against the mattress or the pillow and just staring into the wall or something. Well, that’s what it looks like anyway. I’m actually solving the world peace problem.

+D Kidding.

I’m usually running thoughts through my head. They don’t usually get solved but I feel better about myself enough so that I can get up and take a shower, at least.

I think I’ve been a bit traumatised by my exposure to death lately. Considering the fact that my parents have never allowed me to touch lest even see a dead body, the sudden influx of people that I have talked to, treated, joked with, and discharged home that have suddenly decided to make their home 6 feet below sea level have kind of blown me away. Just a little.

Caramel, the social worker, mentioned to me that when she first started her job at the hospital, she would get rather teary whenever a patient of hers passed on. Now, she says that she’s a bit more resilient especially when that happens.

I just think that’s sad.

I think its sad that we can become emotionally immune to death just from overexposure.

I hope I never end up that way.

I hope that after all these years that I’m going to be working as a physio, I can still cry when a loved one passes on. I can still appreciate the concept of death and what it entails and how, sad as it is, how beautiful it is. I want to know that I’ve not hardened up emotionally and will still be able to sympathise with a patient with a terminal disease or who is medically untreatable. That I can still step back and appreciate and treasure the memories that I’ve seen and heard and talked about with a patient, no matter how brief that encounter was.

I don’t want to turn into a heartless blank canvas, like the doctors.

No offence but apart from the one doctor I’ve worked with her, none other has garnered my actual respect. No doubt, I’m just a lowly newly graduated physiotherapist but everyone’s entitled to their opinion.

These men, trained with the titles of “Dr” before their names, stethoscopes around their necks, their every word final law, their diagnoses carved of personal stone tablets reminiscent of the 10 commandments.

Working people say that there is such a thing as letting go of work when the time strikes 5pm. You put down your diaries, you put down your Blackberry, you put down your organisers and pens and pagers and work cellphones and you LEAVE work. You let go of what you’ve seen, heard, dealt with, and you go home, ready to start that personal life that you left behind when you stepped out of the car that morning.

But is that even possible in a health professional career?

I guess so, even with these men with stethoscopes.

When the outcomes are heart-breakable, they become these stoic beings, blank canvasses for faces, a simple shrug of their shoulders and a shake of their heads, showing no emotions whatsoever. No empathy. No sadness. Nothing. They dispense medical death sentences and robotic interventions designed in the hope of keeping you alive that much longer. Another blood test form scribbled out in barely legible writing, asking to prove that the levels of troponin I/white cell count/infection markers have dropped significantly enough so that they can kick you out of the hospital to free the bed up for another victim. If the diagnosis is truly grim, they document “Hospice input required” and wash their hands clean of the patient until s/he end up in hospital again, too sick to live life outside of 24/7 IV lines and urinary catheters.

Whatever happened to compassion? Whatever happened to caring about patients, building rapport and a genuine interest in helping people heal because they matter? Or have the hospital system morphed into a money making machine, that we can justify more funding from the Ministry of Health just because we treat X amount of patients yearly?

True, we need to clear beds because there are people that need them more than others. True, we can run without funding and our business deals in human beings and their healthcare but when cost becomes the all important factor, what happens to the patient? What happens to the main focus of our professions? What happens to the Hippocratic Oath?

Do I stand to lose all that as time goes by? Do I stand to become a work-hardened warrior, unflinching as one by one, people bid their final farewells? Does work for the next few years entail signing notes, kicking people out of bed and out of hospital because they are able to get out of bed independently and they are mobilising well and they can go home, nil further physio input required?

Maybe I really should start praying before I enter the hospital every morning.

Talking snippets.

Today is a beautiful day.

Me, on the other hand, wasn’t feeling so pretty.

A dripping sinus that leaked down the back of my throat constantly, a slight headache and cold hands. Not a pretty sight. Even talking nasally on the phone was a chore.

As I’ve not blogged for a few days now, I’ve gathered a few bits and pieces over the last 72 or so hours of things that I did want to blog about. But didn’t get around to it for one reason or rather.

1. One of the nurses called me a Trojan. A little Trojan body. Yeah, I found that funny. Yeah, I do need to get a life.

2. Was going to get a patient up when the nurse said, “No, you aren’t. She’s not slept the whole night. She’s going to take a look at the insides of her eyelids for about 2 hours now.” GEDDIT?

3. I’ve been mentioned to be a possible candidate for a recruiter for new graduates next year. I honestly don’t want to do it.

Why?

Because one, I don’t really have anything fantastic to say about this place. Its small, secluded. The only reason why you’ll wanna work here is because of the weather. Or possibly because you don’t enjoy clubbing on Fridays. Or because you really like ballroom dancing. Or because you liked to be thrown into the deep end at work. Or because you have green thumbs and you grow veges and fruit in your back garden. Or because you like to gossip about small town occurences. Or because your future is guaranteed but hey, there’s more to life than just job security, right? Most of my colleagues are married/partnered/pregnant. They are all older than me. So if you’re a new grad, bring a friend along to suffer in silence (or in loud rants at home) with you.

4. I treated a man who was terminally ill. He went home today. He smelt of death. Or maybe that was just the anaesthetic or medication. But he didn’t look well, he was weak, and during the whole entire half hour I was with him, he only spoke 10 words to me. I wish him the best. And the best is probably a quick, painless death. Somehow.

5. All I wanna do is hide with you at the moment. No, this isn’t part of my day. But I wanna snuggle under the covers with you and hold you tight and just fall asleep. Maybe some chicken soup will be a good idea but hey, we’ll leave that for now because I just want you here with me. Let that warmth just take me away.

6. My Latin shirt and pants arrived today. But I feel too shick to camwhore. Yes, Sociologist, schick. Probably will blog about it Sunday or something when I don’t feel like a pile of dung.

7. My Latin shirt makes me look like a woman, according to the Speech Language Therapist. And they thought I was wearing a g-string. Following post will explain why. Disturbing thought but I don’t personally floss my buttcrack.

Got movies to watch during my convalescence.

Bleh.

2nd thoughts.

"It's called stress. Don't do it. Don't do it. I don't recommend it to anyone! Just don't get married and don't get divorced." – Peter Andre

This is him complaining about the troubles of marriage. You’d think he was being just a tad immature about the whole thing. Especially since he’s been married. A favourite singer of mine, especially with the hit “Mysterious Girl”, he’s acting a bit like a 16 year old who just broke up with his/her boyfriend/girlfriend.

I’m currently also browsing new cellphones. Not that I’m extremely wealthy at the moment but hey, its okay to dream, right? +D

Currently talking with Dory. And I came up with the definition of tact.

Tact: The ability to say what you want to say without saying it the way you want to say it.

Today has been an interesting day. Interesting as in “nod your head and go umm…”

Why?

First of all, I received a letter from Temper Tantrum Lady. Please refresh your memory as per requirements.

She apologises for her rude behaviour. Hm. As an afterthought, perhaps, after she demonised me in front of the ENTIRE ward. Apology. Accepted. Quite nice handwriting too so she’s doubly forgiven. I think its unfortunate what happened to her and the doctor is an egghead however, her behaviour was uncalled for. Apparently, I became well known as the physio who made people do exercises without giving them oxygen. Wow. What a reputation I’ve built up in the 8 months I’ve been working. Sounds as though I graduated from the French Prison Torture Academy.

At least my eggs were happy this morning. Um. Maybe not. If you tilt your head to the left, you would notice that its kinda like a straight mouth at the bottom.

Go ahead. Look at the picture and tilt your head slightly to the left. See what I mean?

And anyone remember Starvation Dude?

I went to see him today. And I chatted with him while I tried to straighten out muscles that have cramped and seized up for far too long.

He was an apprentice for a shipping company. He loves jazz and chill out music. He’s got a lovely son. No, that hand doesn’t do very much. And yeah, its a bit sore. Yeah, he’s a leftie. Just like me.

And suddenly, my thoughts about him dying became a fad. A past distant memory and all of a sudden, I felt ashamed that I condemned this man easier than I do myself at times. I thought of all the moments that I said I would have given him a gun and told him to finish the job properly and boy, have I made a mistake or two or three, even.

This man is alive. This man has a past. This man is just like me. Or like any other human being. He loves his jazz stuff. Loves piano lounge music. Enjoys talking to his son.

I wondered when his world became so dark. When did the clouds block the sun so that he couldn’t see a reason to live anymore? When did nothing mattered? When or why did he choose to end it all and what made him flinch?

I wonder. I truly truly wonder.

Of course, I’m no psychiatrist. That takes time, apparently.

But if I’m ever given a chance to sit down with this man and talk about what happened to him, I wouldn’t give that opportunity up for my Wednesday private ballroom lessons. And you know how much THAT means to me.

HTML fsck ups

For those of you who (decide like me, to edit HTML code whilst uploading a new template) keep getting error messages while trying to make your blog cooler/more hip, here’s the problem.

For some reason, I kept getting an error message regarding my XML code or something about different tags not supposing to have a ‘<’ character, la dee la dee da. That kinda thing.

But apparently, according to the above link, all the poor blog needs is to revert back to classic template. And we’re sussed.

Today is too early for me to go to work. Plus, the weather is crap. Well, all the more incentive to stay inside….I guess.

But there’s dance! Yayness!

So it held up.

Not bad.

The bike, I mean. It stood the test of 70 odd kilos plodding on its back. Me, I mean.

So I took it out for a spin and took it halfway across town to play badminton with the Pharmacist today. Dance was okay, albeit very simple since LatinLady is away in Welly with her partner because her partner’s mum is moving to Aussie so thus, her need to be there.

If you’re sitting there reading this and shaking your head wondering why, I would actually fully agree with you. She’s barely legal but it sounds as though they’re married. Oh well. She’s the one stuck with the Neanderthal, not moi.  +D

I know, I know. I’ve been told that I should be nicer to people I don’t know. But that’s exactly the point! Once you know someone, depending on how things turn out (and it usually turns out on the positive for me), you can’t exactly be mean to said person anymore.

And I’m the kind of person who looks at someone and gets a word in my head. No, I don’t profess to speak over people’s lives or start giving out prophecies. Mine are more like, “Neanderthal” or “Two dollar whore” thoughts so if I am speaking over someone else’s life, I would probably have condemned them long before anything else happened.

On a completely different note, I was checking my blog stats today and I saw this.

Which is really really odd. I never knew that I had such a fan base in Palmy OR Dunny.

Which leads me to suspect that there are people dropping by that I don’t know about. Or maybe I just have really faithful repeat readers. In Dunny, I can understand. But Palmy/Welly? Really? So that’s getting my undies in a bunch, currently.

I was also thinking of changing my blog template to something very simple. Along the lines of this, or this, or this.

What thinks you? Comments all welcome. You can choose to comment with the nicknames I’ve individually given you so privacy is completely maintained. Plus, with boredom slightly getting the upper hand (you have NO idea how many blogs I went through over this weekend!), I’ve decided to jump back into HTML. And throwing in a bit of CSS if I decide I really don’t wanna see patients anymore.

*evil grin*

Fixer-upper

So today, being told that I was going to lose the one form of transportation that I get around with, I decided that it was time that I got my own Dance-mobile.

Of course, me not knowing how to drive, I got this instead.

Talk about intimidating. But me being a guy who actually wants to do things the right way rather than have the bike collapse and dismantle under me while I’m pedalling downhill. Talk about fitness hazards.

So I picked up a adjustable wrench to screw the nuts and bolts in. I forgot an Allen key which apparently helps fix up all the other bits. So I’m going to pick that up tomorrow.

Finished product. Now all I need to is get the Allen key and fix the handlebar screw. This bike fits me perfectly. Can’t wait to take it for a spin and see if it disintegrates under me tomorrow. +D

And this cracked me up again.

*picture courtesy of Cyanide and Happiness @ Explosm.net

Cracked me up 2.

*picture courtesy of Cyanide and Happiness @ Explosm.net

Considering the fact that I do need hearing aids, this seems somewhat appropriate.

I need motivation to EGG-zercise.

*picture courtesy of www.danceshoesonline.com

So I’m going to put THIS picture up.

I’m supposed to be wearing, yes, you heard right, wearing, this for the Latin comps in about 23 days time.

With a pair of pants, of course. I’m not THAT hot. +D

Tofupuff said I would look really gay in this. And to all you readers out there nodding your heads in agreement, if you decide to browse all the other Men’s Latin shirts in aforementioned website, there are far worse creations possible.

Lemme mention lacy wonders, sheer lingerie outfits and ruffles. ‘Nuff said.

This is the most tame and yet slightly interesting wonders. Else, I could have chosen just to wear a normal dress shirt but where’s the fun in that?

*picture courtesy of www.danceshoesonline.com

This is another creation, made of said lace and chiffon. I could have chosen this beauty if I really wanted to scare myself into exercising.

Hm. Maybe for the next comp. HAHA.

Process Mapping.

I didn’t exactly go to work today.

I went on a study day/seminar thing on a new concept of how to manage the ward and it was pretty darn good. I think everyone got quite fired up at that meeting and I enjoyed NOT having to see patients.

Anyway.

So we had this concept called process mapping where basically, you take an everyday task you do that you don’t think about. Break it down into its basic components and then analyse how well you do the task. Is it inefficient? Is it a waste of time to do such and such? And how will you make it time and energy efficient?

So we looked at the basic concept of doing laundry.

As most of the people there are nurses and are mums, they, of course, have everything sorted out.

Here’s an idea of what one person will do.

Not bad. 10 steps. Some even had 20, depending on number of kids, clothes, etc.

This was mine.

11 steps. So I’m not exactly efficient. Although come to think of it, deciding procedures only take like 2 seconds.

So with process mapping, you wanna find out the MOST efficient way of doing things.

Here’s mine, revised and efficient and all ready and set to go to fit into my busy day.

Uh. No. I don’t get Mum to do my laundry for me anymore. I just reduce and reuse. You know, back, front, inside out, turn around…

Save the environment, anyone? +D

Cracked Me Up.

This is what you would call a half brazilian.

Or this is what happens when you run out of hot wax and wax paper.

I’m not kidding. This was written on the board on Medical Ward.  I was probably delirious from lack of sleep or the fact that this IS my 10th day in a row at work that I cracked up, took a picture and started telling EVERYONE about it.

Some people found it hilarious, i.e. Haha, Poet, that’s really funny!

Some looked at me with a really bored expression and said, “Poet, you’ve got too many hours in your day.”

Le sigh.

On a different note, I saw someone die today.

I watched his heart rate monitor flutter, falter, then drop and the finally flatline. His family was crying and they kissed him goodbye. In between movements of relatives that bent down to kiss his wrinkled forehead, I saw a pale white body lying still in bed with a mask on his face.

I felt like crying. I felt the sadness in the room. The family hugged each other and whispered their goodbyes. Dabbing their eyes with tissues and sleeves, they padded down the hallway and left the intensive care unit.

I answered the phone call from the funeral home asking about the “late Mr K. and his consequent arrangements.”

Funny how they make it sound as though he’s late. For an appointment. For a meeting. For a gathering.  For lunch. For a game of bowls.

And as I left, I turned to look at Mr K one last time and the nurses were removing the leads. It looked as though they were ripping wires off a piece of meat.

This sounds really cruel and heartless to say but that was all he appeared to be. He wasn’t a husband, that thing on the bed. He wasn’t a father or a grandfather or a brother or an uncle. He was a piece of flesh and bone.

For those who don’t believe in a soul, they need to take a good look at a person before and after life.

It’s late and I’ve got work. But I’ve also got dance and its going to be awesome.

Laterz.

Welly tempts.

So I mean, I don’t exactly despise this place. But I’ve settled down…somewhat.

And now, DancingSoftwareEngineer has offered me like one of the best place EVAR to live + dance at!

However, its not quite that simple, is it? I mean, we’ve got jobs to think about, job satisfaction, social satisfaction, bla bla bla…

Another archway, another path, another life.

One of my favourite patients passed away today.

So did another one of my patients but I couldn't give a rat's behind about him.

 

This lady, I will term, Marge.

 

Marge initially came in with bilateral pneumonia about 3 months ago. She managed to solve that up in the end and I remembered when I got her up those stairs, she beamed at me and said that I was an angel. Her oxygen levels continually stayed low so I thought whether it was more of a lung issue rather than anything else. But she did not get short of breath, she stayed relatively happy chappy with herself. I sent her home, confident and feeling good about a safe and successful discharge.

 

Then she came back in again.

 

She'd had a heart attack.

They kept her in for over a month and then sent her home. At that point in time, I'd gotten her a new stroller and she was over the moon about it. She said I was the best and boasted to everyone else in the room how good I was. She was probably the one that made everyone more receptive to my input. And I was eternally grateful for that.

 

Then she came in again.

 

Her left foot was completely covered in sores due to cellulitis. It looked like blisters but far bigger and far worse. They burst and the entire floor was dripping with the discharge. I felt sorry for her.

 

And probably at that point in time, she lost her will to live.

 

She became very depressed and moody and only spoke one word sentences rather than chatter away gaily as she used to do with me.

 

And to make matters worse, she lost her voice. She could only rasp her answers back at me and my hands were bound and tied. I could not do anything for her. Nothing. Even the doctors were baffled. One of the RMO's casually tossed out, "She doesn't even know her heart valves look like cauliflower."

 

Then she was taken to Welly for a scan and possible surgery.

 

And this morning, she passed on.

 

Marge was a devout Catholic who loved a little gambling with the racing greyhounds. She had a husband who doted on her and a daughter whom I saw every other day. She did crocheting and she used to maintain a beautiful garden. She was also an awesome cook. She would talk about Malaysia with me and through my stories travel there when I did get a chance to sit down and talk to her.

 

Funny, isn't it. When someone dies, you refer to them in the past tense. Like they're not there anymore. Sure, anyone who believes Christian theology would also believe that they've GONE to Heaven or the Great Beyond but somehow, we attribute their contributions to our lives in the past tense. Isn't it?

 

So I might just rephrase that previous statement.

 

Marge IS a devout Catholic who LOVES a little gambling with the racing greyhounds. She HAS a husband who DOTES on her and a daughter who I sometimes see every other day. She does crocheting and she MAINTAINS a beautiful garden. She IS an awesome cook. She talks about Malaysia with me and travel there through my stories.

 

It seems foolish and a little dumb to try and make it seem as though she's still here. But in my memory, in my short 3 months of working here, she's had an impact on my life that I would not have appreciated otherwise.

 

One of the last things she ever told me was "We've got some pretty nice girls around. You should stay."

 

We'll see, Marge. We'll see. You're the best. And you're an angel.

 

Marge - R.I.P. 12th August 2009. Gone to be with the Lord. A rich and fulfilling life of 71 years.

Guess what arrived today?

No prizes for guessing.

+DDDD

Just having a slight wardrobe issue. But I’ll probably sort that out with the DanceMentor tomorrow anyway. Plus, the pants need to be tailored. They’re just a tad too long.

Now, if only I can get my Latin outfit in time…

Hey now, hey now, don’t dream its over

Its amazing what one’s dream can lead one to do.

Tonight, I only took half an hour to wear the entire ensemble. I’m getting slightly faster at it although I would probably wear the entire thing before arriving at the competition venue. It still takes a bloody long time to put on!

You know, sometimes, the realization only hits when you’re in the depths of depravity. Its when you have finally hit what everyone calls “rock bottom” that suddenly, you get a moment of clarity, a moment where you’re not dumb or stupid or drunk or intoxicated or stoned or high. You’re legit. You’re legal. What you say and do has its own implications and complications.

Then the next step you take determines where you head off to next.

Allegiance.

As you all probably might know (well, some of you anyway), I had a hell of a lot to deal with regarding my passport and getting it sent off and verified and in the process had to get a new one done due to my characteristic tardiness and procrastination that is soooo phlegmatic melancholy. Ha….don’t worry about those terms, I took a long worded and incredibly boring personality test to find out that I’m a procrastinating pessimist. Kewl.

After reading an acquaintance’s blog about his switching over the the Kiwi side, I felt compelled to do the same.

A lot of people, Malaysians, more so, may take this as a firm slap to the faces of overseas Malaysians everywhere who have left their tanah air (Land and water, basically homeland). But the thing is, there is nothing for me back where I come from. There is no way I can go to work there if I ever want to make a living of sorts, I would struggle the hell just to make ends meet and my dreams of pro/amateur ballroom dancing would bite the dust just as quick.

I’ve been reading Malaysian blogs and believe me, I’m slightly addicted. It reminds me of home, the tastes and sites and sounds and although some blogs out there are just utter complete rubbish (not that mine is any different), riddled with food reviews of all the kopitiams in the surrounding regions and food at half-assed restaurants, plus squealing and moaning about current personal life events (like mine is ANY different), it brings me back to fact that this is Malaysia and I grew up here.

Its funny, really. With all the hype and the hypocrisy that encompasses the comedy cast we call our government and the resulting deterioration of lifestyle, I still love home.

And I still call it home.

When I think of my upbringing, first thought that comes to mind was that I was brought up in Malaysia. That Malaysia is my home. That Malaysia is where I grew up, had my fondest memories, made friendships that didn’t care about whether I’ve been overseas when I was young, all we did was play and talk together and joke just like all the other kids. Race/religion/culture didn’t matter, we got along just fine. Sure, you might dress slightly differently from me but you’re still a human being and you’re still owed the respect and courtesy and treatment and friendship as any other person.

I wonder where all my friends are now. If I can still call them friends anyway.

So when this acquaintance wrote about swearing allegiance to the Crown, thus, revoking his Malaysian passport (which the government swears is PRICELESS), I kinda feel a pang of regret. Maybe I should have gotten NZ citizenship after all rather than having to try and desperately renew my passport again. Its not like I’ll ever go back there for life.

But then again, its hard to speak about life.

Tell me 10 years ago when I first started secondary school and I was a fresh-faced kid who started school at 12.30pm and had to start wearing long pants in 30 degree heat that I will be sitting here as a full fledged physiotherapist b|tching about patients,competing professionally in ballroom dancing, have maintained 6 different blogs over a span of 4 years, and have had a steady albeit long distance relationship and I’ll tell you to fsck off. Not in those words, perhaps but you get my drift.

Who knows, maybe ten years from now, I would be in Malaysia working as a physiotherapist having started a completely new branch of ceroc and spearheaded the franchise and STILL blogging. Haha…that’s probably one thing that will never change.

But its time for work. Adieu.

<..::My Tailsuit Is Coming, My Tailsuit Is Coming::..>

+DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

*whisper* it might even arrive TODAY!!

Its kambing!!

.:My tailsuit is coming, my tailsuit is coming!:.

On a completely different note, I have no sympathy for a man who has so many blood clots in his lungs’ blood vessels that every time he coughs, he passes out.

I wanna wear my tailsuit. Bleh.

Gazing.

Dear You,

You just don’t know how many times I played that video. Over and over again.

Seeing you, hearing you laugh as you rocked to the music in the front seat with your cousin next to you. Hearing you chuckle and then do a little shakey-elbow thing that I couldn’t see.

Gosh, I miss you, you know that?

The way you laughed as you tilted your head back and just laughed.

I’ve always loved your laugh. It sounded as though everything in the entire universe was laughing with you.

I miss you, dearly. Truly, madly, deeply.

And I loved how you looked back and you smiled, it seemed, at me.

And then you were back to the music again.

You were always a funny girl. And I’ve always loved you for that.

You never held back with anything. And you matched the description of the girl that I always wanted.

A little bit bad. But still sweet. Fun. Loud. Exciting. But still you held back and showed me that quiet tender loving side when its just the two of us and where nothing else mattered because you’re right here with me and I’m right here with you and our world ended at the borders of our embrace.

We had fun together, didn’t we, sweetie?

Making you jump 3 feet, sharing a meal together, laughing at other couples making out in the car park, you showing me around shopping malls, me hugging you from behind as you did the dishes, watching you while you puffed perfume on me just so that I smelt like you, our last and final kiss goodbye.

And then I never saw you again. I never held you again. I never felt your lips again.

Your scent became just a distant memory. When I held you tight for the last time, I breathed you in and I tried with all my heart and soul to remember what you felt like, what you smelt like, what you looked like. Hair slightly messy in that white t-shirt of yours, you were soft in my arms. And you smelt of home. That’s all I could really describe it as. At that point, you didn’t really smell of perfume or any store bought fragrance. You smelt of you. Warm and soft and homely. A scent I would die to come home to every night.

I’ve forgotten how soft you feel. I’ve forgotten how it feels like to feel your head  cradled against my neck as you fall asleep and I’ve got my arms wrapped around you and you tolerate that even though it does get kind of hot and you call me your “thermostat”. How your fingers gently wrap around mine as we walk through town. We don’t care about anything. Just the two of us. And we’ll all be travelling home.

Its been a while now.

And I just want you to know that I still think of you. And I still miss you.

And dare I say it…I still love you.

Love
Me.

Anyone has THIS problem?

Your iPhone cannot be recognized and cannot be activated.

Your iPhone screen shows the USB cable plugging into iTunes.

The slider is ONLY for emergency calls featured in different and many variant languages.

Everything happened after you installed iPhone software 3.0.1.

You wished you never got an iPhone.

Any takers?

Because say about 2 weeks after I got this little bloody b4st4rd, its completely stopped working on me.

Specs: iPhone 2G 8GB. Only thing I did wrong was the accept the iPhone software download this morning.

Le sigh.

iPhone fsck up.

Things have been happening enough to my iPhone for me to think that its probably not as good as any other phone either.

The system is constantly touted to be infallible, impervious to viruses and crap that normal PCs usually go through but it has its own set of problems that sometimes, pale in comparison to a normal infected computer system.

So I plugged in my iPhone today, hoping to put some more songs into it and it came up flasing that there’s a new software upgrade. Oh okay.

So I clicked on it and left it to its own devices.

Next thing I knew, the phone had somehow put up the screen where there’s a USB cable pointing to iTunes. The thing is already plugged in, hello?

But I checked iTunes and it proceeded to tell me that my phone is NOT activated and I needed to contact an Apple store. Huh.

FYI Apple, my nearest Apple store is 2.5hrs away. Do you expect me to go through that kind of dedication over a cellphone? Puh-leeze.

I’ve just put it into recovery mode and then proceeded to restore it. But I think the main problem is the new 3.0 software. It restored and UPDATED the software and now, I’m back to my emergency screen again. Sh|t.

I’m currently trialling DFU mode which is apparently different from Recovery. Hopefully, this works or I’m back to my SE K800i.

Well…it didn’t work. I’ve officially switched back to the SE K800i.

Dragged out.

Today feels dragged out.

Today, I had work and I finished at around 3.30pm in the afternoon. I followed this up with a 1 hour bike ride, nice and easy.


Weather again was beautiful to a T. Couldn’t ask for anything better, really. Sun was out and the wind was just on the side of chilly. But nothing me and my jacket couldn’t handle. I even decided to go biking WITHOUT a helmet so I could feel the wind in my hair for once.


This is what happens when I pick a direction to cycle in. Just any random direction, no real selections. I thought to myself, I’m just going to start pedalling in one direction, explore some side streets and then work my way back again. Now this was in a neighbourhood somewhere north of the hospital. Obviously, the weather was still pretty darn amazing.

Nothing quite beats pedalling across roads and footpaths with randomly shuffled music playing in your ears.



I managed to find the golf course that The Pharmacist and I once stood on the driving range and smacked golf balls into the distance. There’s a few sheep just on the other side of the fence. I wonder how many ever get concussed by a stray golf ball. Hm.



This is probably the more “upper crust” suburb of Wangy. Pretty flash houses here, all preferably in brick and everything is trim and proper. Seems like our own little version of Wisteria Lane.



I stopped at the end of this road, thinking that I’ve probably gone far enough and decided to head back. To my delight (and I honestly was delighted), it was an hour’s worth of exploring and I did that to the max today. I did tell myself that I wanted to bike and follow the river upstream but that might be for tomorrow.

Or the weekend after.

Work was all right today. It pretty much drained me mentally for some reason. I didn’t exactly see too many people but it still was quite an intense thing for my brain.

Oh, funny little thing. The Sociologist had signed up for Twitter and had added me to her Twitter list. And I was thinking, “EH? I have Twitter?”

Apparently, I have.



Oh good heavens. Luckily, I haven’t succumbed.

And I got this little juicy piece on Friday.



Click to read contents.

But Oh Em Jee!! It’s coming!!!

+D

That ends my work-addled brain rant. Nights.

Sunlight.

Its  hard to tell in Wangy when days will be fine and when they won’t be. Usually, you listen to the weather forecast but  good ole’ NZers would know that its like listening to your daughter tell you that the stomach bump she has is from bloating due to her newest dicovery of her gluten allergies rather than matching up with symptoms of morning sickness and increased pasta/bread/rice/everything under the sun intake.

But as you can obviously tell from the picture taken from my bedroom window, its going to be a fine day. Oh hell yeah, its going to be a good one.

So how would you go about it then?

First thing. Sunlight. If sun is slowly melting over everything in sight, that’s a good sign. It feels like warm melted butter that you use to bake with. Yeah, how good does that feel.

Next. Cloudless skies. Now, there perhaps are clouds in the distance but from the view outside my window, nada. Zip. Pah dee doo dah, zip pah dee day. My oh my, this is a wonderfully glorious (weather wise) day.

Third. Stick hand out of window and sense temperature. If its slightly air conditioned cool, awesome. If its warm from the aforementioned melted butter. Even better. Add slightly cooling cool-but-not-too-cool breeze, I’m in heaven and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak.

And out of all days in the universe that the stars align and Saturn and UrAnus finally agree on something and all the deities in the world decide to put away their differences and let everyone live in peace and harmony and “oh yeah, lets have some good weather, that cheers everyone up!”, I have to work.

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Honestly. The. (insert appropriate swear word here). I can’t even think of one. The sun makes me feel too good to swear.

+(

Enjoy the fine weather, if you’re having it. I’ll be back after hauling people up and down stairs and thumping chests.

The most hilarious thing in a while yet.

This is what happens when everyone WANTS to be on Facebook.

My Parents Joined Facebook is where everyone knows about what you did last night. Your friends, your neighbours, your friends’ friends, and OMGWTFBBQ (as cool slang would go), your parents.

Just randomly clicking on things bring you to awesome places.

SpeckyPhysioStudent commented to me the other day, “Facebook is my social life.”

And I replied, “Hold on a second. Don’t you think that  just sounds incredibly sad?”

Honestly, to you folks reading. How sad is that?

If an online networking website becomes said social life, I’d hate to think of what has become of genuine face to face relationships.

Haha…and this is coming from a guy who met his first girlfriend online and maintained a long distance relationship for 3.5 years.

I’ve met a few of my friends online whom I’ve not talked to for ages and EVERYONE single FRICKING one of them tells me, “You should get Facebook.”

Or else, its, “When are you going to get Facebook?”

Or “Eh, FACEBOOK LA!”

Or “Get FACEBOOK! BOOOOOKIEFACE!”

Or “Do you have Facebook?”

Or “Come on la. I got some pictures that you can check out on Facebook. Go and join to see?”

Or “Wei….get Facebook. I wanna stalkz you.”

Believe it or not, the last comment came from the Twin, a good friend of mine.

I’m one of the few who have made the wise (and probably more than productive) decision of NOT joining Facebook. I miss have face to face conversations more often or phone calls or texts or coffee meets with awesome people.

Personally, Facebook is overrated. I don’t need to be bitten to become a Vampire and bite you back. I don’t want to be SUPERpoked. As if getting poked normally isn’t bad enough.

So if you have additional time on your hands (or Singaporean Rambo LTA, if patients keep DNA-ing,) check out My Kids Joined Facebook. Apparently, imitation is the best form of flattery.

So this ends my update for today. Enjoy people and have a good weekend. I’ve got work tomorrow and Sunday and continuing 5 more days of work before I get a truly decent break. *wipes sweat from forehead*

NB: No, I don’t really work that hard, I just have overactive sweat glands.

Give it to me straight.

Taken out of the Dance Centre window at sunset. Charming to a degree.

So today, I got to the point where  I got sick of trying to read people’s handwriting.

So I rang up apparently one of the more well known surgeons and told him this.

“Regarding Patient So and so, I can’t read your handwriting. What is it that you want me to do with him?”

He was obviously pissed off but heck, if he wants me to do something, he should write it out for me nice and neat. With some of the handwriting I’ve had to read in recent times, I might have well have sat down next to a chicken and read its random scratches in the dirt. There’s a particular Dr that I target who has what I term “drunken earthworm” handwriting.

What’s drunken earthworm?

Its where basically, the earthworm gets so drunk that it somehow crawls into a bottle of ink and then squirms its way across the page. The only real legible stuff is the word “Ward Round” written on top.

Shame on you. Write legibly, save a life.

I’m thinking that I’m starting to take on a very much more bolder approach. I question decisions and I don’t take answers straight away. I make things clear that I want them to be done in a certain way and I feel good about it. It gives me a sense of control over what’s going on in my day rather than having random stabs at what I think should be done.

The moon was bright and clear tonight. Hidden behind the bare branches of the tree in my backyard.

And dinner was pure comfort food.

Dance was good tonight. We did a dance called the Excelsior Schottische.

Work Saturday. Hopefully, its a quiet weekend. I do want to be able to get to dance.

Late night munchies

Honestly, I think having home internet is good for me. It keeps me blogging. +DDD

So I decided to stir fry my lunch for tomorrow tonight so that I won’t starve tomorrow afternooon.

Then decided to taste some tonight. After all, the proof is in the tasting, no?

Then I realised that I should take a photo just in case I decided to, you know, see what I had for late night supper on this particular night three years from now.

Just finished watching Transporter 3. And oh dear lord, the fact that he slept with his delivery….so not cool, man. But oh well, I guess they decided to spice up the storyline a with a little nookie.

The room is still a mess. I should seriously make an effort to tidy up. I really should.

But then again, nothing really new with me. The room is ALWAYS a mess.

Work today…so far, okay la. I just despised the fact that I was literally falling asleep while writing notes today. So not my style. And I honestly haven’t done that for ages too!

Tomorrow is Wednesday.

Its slightly bad that I’m taking the week by days. And it doesn’t really work this week because I’m working the weekend so it doesn’t matter if its a Friday because the only thing about a Friday is the weekend and oh, I don’t have one. That’s right.

And just because the title for this blog is late night munchies, there’s going to be a Maccas just down the street soon enough. I honestly can’t wait until they open.

Seriously, the thrill of a Mac Attack at 3a.m. in the morning is always spectacular.

There’s something about doing things at night. And please keep your minds out of the gutter. Or at least I’ll try anyway. +D

There’s something different about going online at night. Something different about chatting to a friend on the phone late at night. Something different about blogging at night. Something different about having that steaming cuppa right next to you and all you hear is the sound of your fingers streaming across the keyboard as you pour out your thoughts onto a blank box. And I’m getting better at that, too, I think.

On another note, its funny how people come up with the idea of morality.

So knowing that something is wrong but yet you still want to do it makes it even wrong-er?

On another separate note from morality, I’ve always been a lame lame person. And I found that my little brother shares my sentiment.

“Kor, why did the skeleton not cross the road?”

Why le?

“Because he had not guts!”

And we rolled around cackling our heads off.

Eh, Niel, niel, what smells and sounds like a bell?

“What?”

DUNG.

And we were off again.

I’m so proud of my little (but not so little) brother. Perhaps, in another life, given another chance, I would have liked to be just like him. All the majorly important things he is, I’m not. He still views the world in a childishly naive yet completely understanding sort of way. He knows about the “taboo”-ish topics like of sex and pornography and swearing and yet it doesn’t define him like it does me. He’s deep, considerate, generous, understanding, funny, and above all, just the best person ever. I profess to know a lot about the world and things and dealing with the “ways of the world” but given our circumstances, he still probably beats me hands down any day. Whichever girl gets him is sure to be a lucky one.

Tomorrow, the highlight of the day is going to be dance. 2 and a half hours of pure dance indulgence and stupid heel-toe, toe-heel, ball ball ball ball heel, rise and fall, contra body movement positions, and dancing to songs that no one in today’s hip hop and rap world will ever listen to.

Lines of destiny.

The Speech Language Therapist  looked at my hands the other day and said, “You’ve had a lot of worries in your life.”

As she said these particular words, she held onto my fingers with one hand and stroked the palm with the other.

And I looked at her and in some (not all, of course, but some) and coolly replied, “Oh? Really? How do you know that?”

“You’ve got very rough hands. You’ve worked a lot. That means that you must have had to go through some rough times in your life.”

And I smiled and told her how true it was.

Then to completely negate my beliefs in palm-reading, she turns my hand sideways and then proclaims that I’m going to be married and I will have one kid.

On the tip of my tongue was what usually comes out of a bull’s rear end but of course, being the diplomat I am, I enquired, “Oh really? Is that so?”

And she proceeded to explain to me how that’s possible.

After a brief discussion on that, I came to the conclusion that palm-reading tells of the things in the past. It may be able to predict the future but it mostly tells things of the past. You then draw conclusions from the past to tell the future. As time unfolds, more lines will form in your hands and thus, any palm reader can pick up your hand and tell of what you’ve been through, stunning you in the process and then enabling them to tell all the conclusions they want about your future to your utter gullibility.

I believe that there is a hint of truth in it. To be perfectly honest, I have worked my guts out. I’ve picked up animal fats out of drains, hauled crates of meat, carried tubs of mince, packed and worked my hands to the point where they cracked and looked absolutely horrific, carried garbage, pumped fuel, handled cash, served customers, took customer backlash, cleaned out food cabinets with bucket after bucket of hot water and then walked home at 11.30pm at night. 8am lectures the next day. Like I bothered to go. +D

But then again, I’ve always had rough hands. Even as a boy, my parents would comment on how rough my hands were. All the better for the future manual labour I would have had to do, I would say.

But then again, I don’t regret working my arse off to some extent. Living it tough, roughing it, it made it all worth it in the end somehow. Even after being caught, it was fun all the same. All I needed to do was get out of there.

I guess it all came down to some kind of life experience, perhaps. That maybe one day, I’ll sit down that little kid of mine that I might possibly have in the future and tell him of the times that Papa had to survive and pull through not because he had to but because he wanted to. And I’ll ruffle that kid’s hair and tell my little stories.

So who knows, in the upcoming future, my life might change. There may be a line on my hand that says that I will get married but in the end,  I can choose whether to change that line or not. A lot of people get married and a lot of people don’t. Its still up to the individual to make that decision, I would think, rather than a random line on your hand.

Another line says that I’ll have one kid. It might not be mine. It might be adopted. It might even be a step kid. Or not even mine. Someone else’s. That kid might look up to me as an uncle and I’ll sit that kid on my lap and tell him my stories.

Hah. I sound like an old man rocking in his rocking chair whom children would gather around and I’ll tell tall tales to all of them.

***

Work was tiring today. I kept snoozing in between writing notes.

Bleh.