The last to go was the bed.

Their bed.

As the moving workers lifted it off the linoleum floor, he stole a final glance at the bed once intimately shared, now avoided like a plague. Would it end up in the dumps? Or would it be burned in flames?

As if memories could be removed that easily.

He stood up and thanked the strangers as he closed the door behind them. He turned around and paused and took in the image of the apartment before him. Huge, white and empty.

He lay down on the floor, eyes transfixed on the ceiling. No, it is not empty. It was filled with ghosts. Of broken promises and dreams. Of themselves cooking and kissing in the kitchen. Of themselves cuddled together on the sofa, watching a movie on a rainy Saturday night. Of her leaning against the windowsill with a faraway look in her dark brown eyes.

He knew then that it was the beginning of the end. But he could not let her go.

His bitter laugh reverberated throughout the living room. Even right now he was the one picking up the pieces, instead of her. He fisted his shirt in the spot where his heart was. And he was lost in that endless white ceiling.

Suddenly he realised he had unknowingly watched the whole apartment changed from shades of white to gold and orange.

Shit. He quickly stood up to his feet. And he closed the door behind him for one last time.

The last to go was him.

It's a special day

For several reasons.

Firstly, Momiken turns 28 today. Happy birthday to my biggest celeb crush ever. I wish him healthy and well always and always, so that he could write more songs.

Secondly, unofficial results are released this morning. I have no idea what kind of marks I got in the final exam, but at least, I passed everything. Goodbye uni. Hello real life. As if that isn't worrying enough, we just had to stumble upon Dr. VC on our way to library. We ended up listening to his life lessons for about 20 minutes.

Thank you, Dr. VC for making us feel depressed. Haha.

Sifting through birthday cards and little mementos from friends... makes me realise how lucky I am. I frankly don't think I deserve this much love from people. I think I ought to do more for them. Put more effort into the relationships.

Sorry for not doing enough. I cannot change my past, but I can improve in the future.

MYR10555

That is the cost of my flight ticket. Where am I going, you ask? Spain? USA? The ends of the earth? Judging from the price of the ticket, you would think someplace far, right?

WRONG.

It's the price of flight ticket for a journey from Perth to KL. When I saw the number, I got the greatest shock of my life. And I just finished my oral exam today - so that's a huge statement, coming from me. AirAsia only costs me a bit over MYR1500 for one-way journey between the two cities. The NORMAL price for a MAS ticket is about MYR3000. (Rough estimate here, so forgive me.)

But MYR10555?! HOLY MOLEY. Where the f**k did those numbers come from?

Now I know how our government spends the taxpayers' money so callously. Either they got duped by the travel agency (through which they booked our tickets) or they do so in full knowledge of it. I think it is more of the latter.

This is so outrageous that I feel like crying, laughing and raging at the same time!

I am going to have my worst guilt-trip ever. (Pun very much so intended.)

Be a warrior, not a worrier.

All members of Spyair have joined Twitter - including man of few words, Momiken.

I am surprised. The good thing about the whole affair is that Enzel's Twitter account is still SPYAIR_ENZEL. And that means, no change! :) How heartwarming to know.

I sincerely doubt that Momiken would write anything on Twitter, given that he has written absolutely NOTHING for their official blog.

(And yes, I stalk them way too much. LOL)

I want to write something inspiring, or at least personal. But nothing interesting happened. What do you expect? It is study week.

How fair is it that I have to study for 10 days but the oral exam is only 15 minutes in duration?

Just sayin'.

Momiken, what are you doing to Enzel?!

Pardon my excessive fangirling. =D This photo is just too funny! 

Credits to Spyair's Twitter page. This photo was taken at the location for their latest music video. Still in the works. Looking forward to it.

It's not goodbye, Enzel-san!

Woke up this morning and got a huge shock from Facebook. DJ ENZEL is quitting Spyair. I expected this to happen, but it has never crossed my mind that it would be so soon!

While my favourite has always been Momiken, Enzel-san has a different appeal. He is the 'sunshine' of the band, cheering up everyone with his crazy greetings and huge smiles. And I really love his presence in Spyair's live gigs (yes, I stalked them on Youtube). Back when Spyair was still in the indie scene, he definitely had a role to play by DJ-ing (as you notice by now, I know next to zero about music). But when Spyair hit mainstream and came out with studio albums, I did wonder what is Enzel-san's role in the albums. As this question formed at the back of my mind, I began to worry about him. Sometimes when I look at his photos on the internet, I worry if his smiles hide his nervousness and uncertainty.

It seems that my worries are not unfounded after all.

Fans would definitely like him to stay, that is for sure. But if Enzel-san decided that this is best for himself, I think we should all support him. I hope that he will rise to great heights and continue to inform us of his new endeavours and undertakings.

"So you are planning to go back to Malaysia?"

I nodded.

"Where do you want to work?"

"My mom wants me to work in KL. Almost everyone in my family is there right now," I replied, remembering the conversation I had with her a few nights ago.

"KL... it is so noisy. Not for me. I boarded an Air Asia plane from Perth to KL. Then I took the bus to the city. I didn't see a single Malaysian. Everyone was a foreigner... speaking in five, six languages that I don't understand. They are not tourists, you know. I don't mind tourists. But they are foreign workers - Pakistani, Bangla..."

I was listening, but I couldn't understand him because the irony was plain for me to see. Here he is, a foreigner in Australia complaining about the foreigners in Malaysia. If I were an Australian with his outlook on people, then I would see him as nothing but an opportunistic international student who is taking our jobs, our tax money and our women.

It is unfair to the foreign workers in Malaysia. They are just trying to earn money to send home. Somewhere in our Malaysian lineage, we have at least one ancestor who was a migrant. To look upon foreign workers with contempt is to look upon our histories, ourselves with contempt.

Mom and Dad

It just struck me this week that I don't have a single photo of my parents. Not in my computer. Not in my phone. Not anywhere. Sometimes, I wonder if I will forget their face... simply because I don't see them every day.

But I miss them all the same. I see other people's mothers and fathers and I think of mine.

Last Thursday, before I went to work, I stopped at the bus stop and dialed my dad's number. It was his birthday. "Heyyyyy!" He seemed so happy to hear my voice. I couldn't help but smiled myself silly that day. I chatted with my dad as I walked to the pharmacy from the bus stop. I walked as slowly as I could.

Tonight, my mom called me unexpectedly. She wanted to know how to spell "Curtin University". She wanted to pray to the gods so that I would graduate safely with a pharmacy degree. She wanted divine help so that I could get a job in a hospital in KL. I just giggled at her (somewhat) preposterous ideas. But a mother's prayers cannot be underestimated.

Departure

The wind was raging outside. I began to worry. Why does this have to happen on my last day?

Peter commented on the fickle weather. "I hope it settles soon. I need to collect my parcel from the post office," I said in return.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, what is it? Is it a book?" He knew I like to read.

"Er... it is a CD."

"What kind of CD?"

"Japanese rock band."

With widened eyes, he said: "Okay. Say no more."

I had to laugh. The timing for the release of Spyair's second album was pitch-perfect (pun very much intended). Then, Peter felt curious. "So, is it a boy band? With long hairs and thick make-ups?"

I cringed inwardly at the "boy band" phrase. I felt my cheeks slightly heated. I had to defend Spyair. "Well they are a rock band, yes. But they are not boys. All of them are already in their late 20s. And they wear t-shirts and jeans." Peter's fingers hovered over the keyboard. "What is their name again?"

"Spyair. S-P-Y-A-I-R."

Peter actually googled my favourite band. As I spelled out the name, a thought just struck me. Spyair just recently released a music video in which they performed entirely naked. Okay, what I just said seemed misleading because their 'important parts' were carefully masked by their instruments and the lighting was made tastefully. What if Peter thought I am a pervert because my favourite band did that? Thankfully the Youtube video he clicked on was "Reset" - a song from their indie days. "Well that is unexpected. I never thought you'll like this type of music."



Haha, many people think so too. I will accept that as a compliment. 

"So which one is your favourite member of the band? Is it this one?" Peter pointed at Ike.

"Oh no... I like the one with black line across his face." It is Momiken. I like him because of the lyrics he wrote. And I explained the line was actually just make-up. "Ah, just like Marilyn Manson."

The bell rang, announcing the arrivals of customers. In between moments of busyness, Helen (Peter's mom) asked me to help myself to the curry puffs and French toasts she made. She even cut one of the mooncakes I bought into eights. How efficient was she, for someone her age with poor knee joints! Jen (the intern) served a customer who came in for scripts. A whole stack of them. She looked at me with a glint in her eye. "So, you want to do? This is your last day to play."

I just laughed. "Okay sure. Why not?" I might not get the chance to use this dispensing system after today, I thought to myself as she handed me the scripts. After dispensing, I went to the back of the dispensary to help myself to more morning tea goodies. Then, I heard a knock on the backdoor. It must be Chris, Helen's other son. I opened the door and sure enough, the man was there. He talked to his brother. Helen was looking at her sons and said: "Chris is my eldest son. Peter is the youngest. They are three years apart. They look alike, don't they?"

I glanced at the brothers again. Personally I didn't think so but of course, I didn't say it aloud. There was a proud mother standing in front me after all. A thought struck me. "Helen, do you have any daughters?"

"No. I only have two sons. I wish to have a daughter." I was reminded of my Mimmy. Mimmy was the opposite. My mom has one daughter too many and waited fervently for a son. As if proving a point, Helen proceeded to say, "Daughters are good. Daughters take care of the parents." She practically told me the story of her life - how she is taking care of her parents and relatives in Penang by sending money back to them, how John (her husband) is so very supportive of her. "I married well. John is a kind man and is very good to me."

John was kind indeed. I even received a personal call from him. He thanked me for my work in the shop. "Thank you for having me here," I said finally. John had wanted to say goodbye to me personally, but it seemed that the shop had enough staff for the day. So he decided to stay home.

I was busy dispensing scripts until the very end. When 1pm came, everything was a blur and happened too quickly. Helen fished out two wrapped boxes - my souvenir. A card was placed atop as well. I don't need this, I thought. I wasn't very much of a help in this place. My yesterday's attempt at declining any gifts from Helen proved to be futile. I decided to be grateful and accept them. I took out my bag and file from the shelves. This time I mustn't forget my pink umbrella. I walked out slowly from the dispensary, thanking them profusely for everything they had done for me.

"Who knows we might meet again in Malaysia? We do a lot of travelling and we love to go into pharmacies to see what things they sell. We might be able to see you managing a pharmacy someday," Helen said, as I bid her goodbye.

"See you around. We will be here. I will be here for the next 15 years or so," Peter said to me. I just laughed weakly. I couldn't even imagine what next year will be like, what more 15 years down the road? I said a final goodbye to everyone, including Lindsay the postmaster.

"Take care. Don't get blown away by the wind now. Don't be like Mary Poppins!" Helen shouted as I stepped out from the pharmacy. I smiled and muttered to myself. How I wish I could be Mary Poppins! I braced the strong winds to the bus stop. It was as if the elements wanted me to stay. Funny how I could still smile in the end, even though I had shed many tears while walking along this road.

It wasn't until a few hours later when I had the chance to open the gifts and the card they gave me. I had to pick up my Spyair CD from the post office first of all. The presents weren't much of a surprise but the card was.

There it was! At the bottom of the page - Momiken's caricature! 

Curtin Uni sent my preceptors a letter. I saw it by chance. 

"Dear John, Peter and Andrew," the letter said.

I almost laughed aloud. The letter sounded as if it came straight out from the Bible. 

Went out for Korean lunch with W, SK and of course my dear Mei Ing. Our food came pretty quickly all at the same time. I was about to tuck in when W intercepted. He wanted to pray. So, we all closed our eyes as he led us in thanking God for the food on our table. 

To be honest, I was ashamed of myself of forgetting many an important thing.

Because for the past few years I have mostly eaten my meals alone. I have forgotten to thank God for my meals. I have forgotten that food is merely for sustenance, and that we must be grateful to all living beings that make our food. I have forgotten to first asking the elders to eat their dinners, before I dip a spoon into mine.

 

Graduation Goggles

It is just like high school; no matter how bad things were, at graduation we would only remember the good times. 

As I walked against the strong winds along Belgravia Street, I laughed to myself. For I had walked many a tear-filled journeys on this road and yet, at the end of it all I only seem to remember the good times. I have no one to blame for my tears. I know that very well. But I do have to thank the pharmacy staff for the smile on my face. 

I wish I were more eloquent in person. Then, I would be able to say sorry for all the trouble I have caused them. I would also thank them again for guiding me and welcoming me into their fold for a brief 6 weeks. 

Lucky

That word just doesn't even begin to describe my second assessment for the placement unit.

23 drugs to memorise (the indications, counselling points, and all the other nitty gritty stuff) and 27 primary care topics to read. Daunting enough for you?

It definitely was for me. It left me in a dark, dark place for a week prior. Reading and reading, and eventually feeling that all the words just flew over my head. The night before the assessment, I read in between naps. In the end, I wasn't really sure if I had done enough of the two.

T (my tutor) was supposed to visit me at the pharmacy at 10.30am. But she turned up suddenly at ten past. We exchanged pleasantries and then she got down to work. She flipped through my workbook and placement diary (I smiled nervously throughout). She asked me 4 questions in total for the oral test. Lithium and metronidazole (from the drug list). Cradle cap and weight loss (from primary care). I couldn't believe it myself.

After T left, my preceptor, P, asked me what questions did I get. I answered truthfully. And he raised an eyebrow. "Lithium? I shouldn't have told you what question D got for her oral exam. But then you knew the answer when I asked you." I was beaming. "Didn't I asked you metronidazole the other day?"

"P, maybe you have some sort of prediction power," said J (the intern).

Maybe he does have clairvoyance. As for the two primary care topics I was tested on? They just so happened to be the ones I read on the way to work. I really have to thank my lucky stars for that. T was happy with my marks, considering I failed my first assessment. Remembering her "You have a lot of work to do" comment after my previous test with her still makes me cringe.

But then again, just before T left, she talked briefly with P. I overheard snippets of their conversation. It was something along the lines of "real life situations are not the same with test results"... something like that. I sighed silently in my heart. We cannot win all the time, can we?

i miss you

why
are you
just a voice on the line?
words on my mind?

Joy can be shared, but fear is truly one's own.

Enough said. Back to work.

"You like reading, right? You can read this." My preceptor handed me an article about medicines in pregnancy.

Uh huh. I did not mean that kind of reading, sir.

I finished 'A Monster Calls' in a little over an hour. I read 'The London Eye Mystery' in about 3 hours. But the freaking AMH (our pharmacy bible) took me FOREVER to read.

There is a huge difference between reading for pleasure and reading for work/study.

Reading for pleasure keeps me up at night. Reading for work makes me sleepy.

:S *this face says it all*

Don't judge a book by its cover

Today at the pharmacy, I was doing stock count when a customer came in. The pharmacist on duty, A, went to serve him.

"Hi, may I have a fit-pack please?" the big burly bearded man said.

At this point, I raised my eyebrows (but the customer couldn't see me because I wasn't facing him). Fit-packs contain sterile needles for injecting drugs, often illicit street drugs.

"With water or without water?" A asked him.

"With water, please."

And when the customer got what he wanted, he said "Thank you and have a nice day" to A.

How very polite of him! I was surprised.

A Monster Calls: Review

I actually ordered this book online but it took forever to arrive. So I did the next best thing: download the ebook version. It made me feel guilty for supporting piracy of books but I just couldn't help it. I was too curious.

I read it in a little more than an hour.

I cried my eyes and heart out.

The book was that good. It was not an easy one to read, because the subject matter is really dark. It made me think about what I have gone through in my own family. But at the end of it, I guess I felt a little bit better about being a contradictory person. And I miss them all over again. 

Three

It has been three years since my PoPo died. Everyone in my extended family had a dinner and karaoke together the night before the anniversary of her passing. Again, I was not in attendance. Neither was my brother. Funny how quickly time passes. Funny how death can bring everyone together. Instead of crying, this time all of them were eating and singing gaily. At least we are all moving on.

'Rebuilding the World' by Paulo Coelho

A father was trying to read the newspaper, but his little son kept pestering him. Finally the father grew tired of this and tearing a page from the newspaper - one that bore the map of the world - he cut it into several pieces and handed him to his son. 

'Right, now you've got something to do. I've given you a map of the world and I want to see if you can put it back together correctly.'

He resumed reading, knowing that the task would keep the child occupied for the rest of the day. However, a quarter of an hour later, the boy returned with the map.

'Has you mother been teaching you geography?' asked his father in astonishment.

'I don't even know what that is,' replied the boy. 'But there was a photo of a man on the other side of the page, so I put the man back together and found I'd put the world back together too.' 

Yes! Finally, I have ordered Spyair's latest album. It is scheduled for release in mid-September - which coincides with the end of my 6-week community pharmacy placement. 

I cannot wait for the placement to be over. I cannot wait for the album to arrive safely in my hands. 

It is definitely something to look forward to. And I can consider this as a reward of sorts to motivate me to study harder... I think?

Amid the glitter of your medals, sweat and tears...

... there is hope for our country.

Thank you to all Malaysian sportsmen and sportswomen who competed in the London Olympics. Special mention to Lee Chong Wei and Pandelela Rinong, who contributed a silver and a bronze respectively. I felt a surge of pride when I read of their wins. I never knew how much Malaysians can unite across colour, creed and gender until that night when I saw my Facebook news feed flooded with minute-by-minute commentary on the badminton game.

I now have a renewed sense of pride in our country and our people. And I am looking forward to the next Olympics already.

"Why didn't you find a job in a pharmacy?"

That is the my second most-hated question from people I barely know. The first being: "Why do you want to go back to Malaysia?"

For someone who always live her life under the radar, I find myself suddenly under scrutiny. As if my life is any of their business. It is my life, my choice and I should be allowed to wreck my life if I wanted to.

And still, despite all my quiet defiance, I never could verbalize my thoughts. I am cowed, silent in front of these people whom I know have good intentions despite their nosy demeanor. I always feel disheartened whenever I see their eyes go wide and mouths go a huge 'O'. As they ask the question I hate, I glimpse a bit of displeasure or disappointment (maybe a mixture of both) beneath their masked face. Oh you people cannot fool me...

Now, surrounded by a mess of laundry, half-opened books and notes from years past, I realize the gravity of the situation I am in. Simply put, I am in deep shit. Yes, I now regret not having a part-time job at a pharmacy. Despite being a semester away from graduating, I don't know things that I am supposed to know.

Regrets? I always have them. Contradiction? I am the living definition of that word. But at least I am trying to do my best (I think). Rather than running away from placements that involve patient contact, I choose to do them. Because I know that they are important. Because I know that running away from fear is not a solution.

Dementia & Language

Now that I am in an aged care facility for my rotation, I am unfazed by elderly people with dementia who have lost the ability to speak intelligibly. Yes, in their mind they might think they are speaking fluently but in actual fact, their words are incomprehensible.

Today, one the of OT students talked about a difficult case. He had to do a mental assessment (much like a quiz, really) on this little old lady with dementia. This lady was bilingual in both Spanish and English - with the latter being her second language. As her dementia progresses, she begins to lose the ability to speak in English. When I first heard about this, I had no reaction whatsoever. But now that I am in my room and begin to reflect on my day, I start to realise that this is absolutely fascinating!

If I were to develop dementia (touch wood), which language will I 'lose' first? I was practically brought up in a bilingual environment - with Mimmy speaking in Hokkien and Daddy in English. Then I went on to pick up Mandarin Chinese and Cantonese around the age of 6, then Malay at the age of 7. Will I start to 'lose' Malay first just because I learnt it when I was much older? But, I was more proficient in Malay than Mandarin Chinese or Cantonese.

Questions... questions...

Placement at Rowethorpe

I think I may actually enjoy this more than the Armadale one, probably because I am not doing anything pharmacy-related. Hahaha.

It has been relaxing. There are new things to look at, with the physiotherapy and occupational therapy students around. There are always chances to learn and observe new things, simply because I am not stuck in a pharmacy whole day. And that the residents with dementia - even though overwhelming at first - begin to make an impression on me, as I start to remember their faces and names. I hope to become more confident in interacting with them for the next few weeks. I was too afraid before, because I didn't know how to talk to anyone. I am still awkward, I guess but I want to improve. And that is a start.

PS: I really wanted to make a new blog about my experiences in Rowethorpe but I haven't got the time to truly reflect on it. Maybe this weekend would be the best time? Let's see how things go.

Year of Goodbyes

Goodbye to my Ah Kong. I am going to miss the sight of you sitting in your favourite chair, in your simple white singlet and blue shorts. I will never ever receive another pink paper angpow again. 


Goodbye to Beng Yi Poh. You were one of my favourite relatives, even though we were so distantly related that I am not sure if I can even call you a 'relative'. I am going to miss the sight of you manning that stationery shop, where I get all my school supplies from since I was a little kid. 

I haven't got the chance to bid a proper farewell.

New addition to the family!

Nope, my parents are not pregnant!

But my eldest sister is getting married! Registration will take place sometime in November. Yes, my sister is being so mean to my brother and I, as we will miss out on that since we are still in uni. She better include us in the actual wedding ceremony!

I expected my future brother-in-law to come to our house to formally ask my parents for their blessings. But that didn't happen. I guess I was way too influenced by Japanese dramas. The fact is that my sister didn't even relay this news to us herself; we got to know from Mimmy. So, I am feeling strangely dissatisfied because my expectations weren't met. But as long as the couple is happy, I am happy.

Black shoes

The kind people use for work.
The ones that make 'clip-clop-clip-clop' sound when we walk in them.
The ones we bought for work, hoping that they wouldn't hurt our feet so much; they did but eventually the discomfort goes away.
The ones that remind us that we are now adults.

I am starting to like my own black shoes. I hope to grow more comfortable into them. My spirit may be dented at times, but these shoes will help me get through rough days. And those clip-clop sounds they make are so wonderful, because they remind me that I am still alive and still struggling.

I don't know how to write for my weekly assignments. Hmmm... I hope I can wing it and ace it somehow. Curtin mentor, please be nice to me.

Some cheer needed

Back to Perth again. Placements and assignments await... ugh. Five more months to home... double ugh.

The silver lining is that I am going to graduate end of this year! Yes! Have faith, dear me!
I already have plans forming in my head on how to spend my year-end holidays... whether they will come to fruition or not, it remains a mystery.

Some of the crazy plans in mind:

• shave my head bald. hahaha...
• jump on a plane to Japan to see Spyair's Budokan live! (I can only wish... because I can't speak Japanese, no one wants to go with me, and money is always an issue for me. I am stingy, I know.)

Dear Phone

Please hang in there a little longer. I know now you only work on 'speaker' mode and that is a cause of worry for me. What's next? I think. Because more importantly, I have an oral assessment by phone in 7 weeks time. Just continue as you are for at least 9 weeks. Please. I beg you.

Music/Life

As I pop the earphones on and press 'Play', those undulating sounds are carried from the computer to the wires, to my ears, to my brain. 

Like magic. 

And then, I could feel what it makes me feel. It is like seeing a movie, but living it and breathing it. I am the actor, the narrator, the props but not the director. Someone, somewhere - probably half a world away - swishes his wands and I will follow his lead. I will be among the crowd in the city, seeing the things he wants me to see. I will feel alone, just as he intends me to feel. And I am his puppet. For that brief three minutes, I am him and yet, I am me. 

Those sounds and beats and rhythms are like invisible friends. They morph and transform as I see fit. In cold dark rainy days, they are the soothing voice of a mother singing lullaby to her child who is afraid of the storm;  they are the blankets that comfort and warm. In happier days, the invisible things become sunlight and rainbows, flowers and meadows - things that make my heart glow and my body light. 

The sounds are my lifeline. They make me feel alive. For music is life itself.  

Twenty-three

If my twelve-year-old self appeared before me, she would have been surprised. "You are twenty-three! And you look like you haven't changed a bit!"

My twelve-year-old self would have great expectations of me. I should have at least written a novel by now, worked several part-time jobs, traveled alone to some great cities in Europe or had a few relationships before. But I haven't done any of that. My twelve-year-old self would be sorely disappointed in me - in her future - because I am still working towards my first degree, still dependent on my parents and still very afraid to travel alone or confess to a person I like.

But I will tell her:

"Hey, you know we are good dreamers. As much as we embrace the night, we also love to enjoy the sunrise. You might be sorry that I am now twenty-three and very old (to you, anyway) but I assure you, twenty-three is not the end. It is the end of my days as a full-time student, being carefree. But this also marks the beginning of independence and becoming a full-fledged member of society. It certainly will be the beginning of many things - job, hobbies, love. Because we are such good dreamers, we will dream of new dreams and renew some. I am only twenty-three and you, twelve. We are afraid of changes happening around us, but we are also very hopeful for the future. And that should be good enough for us to go through each day. 


I hope this reassures you a little bit, even though you are very doubtful (I know this, because you were me). Come, take my hands. Let's walk together. And I hope that at the end of this road, our thirty-five-year-old self is not disappointed with what we have become."

Momiken

I am currently obsessed with him. He is the bassist of Spyair, an up-and-coming J-rock band. I would regard him as the silent member of the band. He doesn't seem to like to talk, blog or Twitter much - unlike his other band members.

The reason I like him is because he is the brain behind two of my favourite Spyair songs: "Beautiful" and "Samurai Heart". Both songs really 'spoke' to me a great deal. The lyrics are sensitive, vulnerable and also empowering at the same time. They make me think that Momiken is such an amazing person. =)

I would love to see him and the rest of the band perform live someday.

What school taught me

Primary school:
Pencils are used in all of our homework. At this point, mistakes done can be easily erased.

Secondary school:
Upgrade to pen. While we relish the feeling of being adult-like, any writing mistakes done at this stage cannot be done away with an eraser. You can try, but trust me, you are going to end with a huge hole in your book.

College and Uni:
Oh curse the oral exams and presentations! This stage of education teaches us that gift of the gab is important. And that any words you've said cannot be taken back. So, be careful of what you say.

It's now 7.04pm... and no sign of an email about supplementary oral exam for the placement unit!

Can I finally shout in jubilation and glee?

OH YEAH BABY!!!

I'd rather sing for 15 minutes in front of a crowd of thousands of people, than sit in a small room with two examiners.

Oral exam is the worst kind of assessment structure, in my honest opinion.

Finally met the tutor who marked my placement workbook. He was also my examiner for the placement oral exam. FML.

Did okay in the workbook component but the oral exam? I have no freakin' idea. I wish they could tally our marks immediately after the exam ends. It would definitely save me from nightmares and panic attacks. Instead of doing that, the tutors go for toilet breaks and refill their coffee cups! I do wish they prioritise my well-being over their own. Haha.

Complainer

I do complain a lot, don't I?

I complained that studying pharmacy is not my dream. I complained about how some people annoy me. I complained about how I didn't like the hospital rotation. I complained about how much we are studying for the oral exams.

YS, you just realised this yourself? You must be such a genius! How can complaining make your life any less miserable?

Gee, I don't know... I could release stress?

Now is the time for me to start being positive and stop dwelling on the negative. Because I myself don't like to spend time with negative people either. Bad things are always happening to good people in this world. I count myself to be very lucky indeed to be alive and breathing, pursue higher education, have great friends and family, and still am quite healthy. What is there not to like? What is there to complain?

Life after graduation: apprehension and excitement

I have a senior who is now currently undertaking his pharmacy internship in one of the major hospitals in KL. So occasionally, on Facebook, he would post overviews of what he did during work - interventions to improve the patient's therapy, conversations with doctors or patients, etc.

I shouldn't be surprised that the things we learn in university can be so relevant to real-life practice. What scares and excites me most, is the fact that after graduation, I would be on my own. I would be running around the ward, talking to patients, consulting the doctors, advising nursing staff and so on. I would have to know what I am doing.

I should really gather as much confidence, courage and knowledge I possibly could in the final leg of this degree.

Coincidence level over 9000!

Went out for lunch with friends today. Our first-choice restaurant wasn't open. Our second-choice restaurant wasn't open either. Our last-minute-choice was open and we gladly parked somewhere near it. And guess what... right next to the parking lot, there stood two pharmacists from my hospital rotation!!!

 Universe, seriously... out of so many people in Perth, you put them and me together on the same corner of the street in Northbridge?!

I have this mortal fear of meeting people I know randomly at the streets. I am not prepared! I don't know what to say! After a few awkward exchanges of words (Hi? How are you? I am doing great. Thanks. etc etc), I gladly excused myself. Oh god, never thought I would be this awkward with people. Why am I blessed with this curse?

One good thing though, I met the pharmacist's girlfriend! She's such a beauty. I can now rest in peace knowing how she looks like. Proof that good guys can still bag the pretty girls.

Faith in Pretty Girls, RESTORED!

Drowning in a Dream

I am astounded by my own imagination sometimes.

This morning, I dreamed that I was standing right outside my house. Then suddenly out of nowhere, someone shouted: "Flood! Flood!" Of course, everyone panicked. True enough, water came flowing into my neighbourhood with such speed and volume that it was not a normal flood. I, along with others, ran for our lives. It was futile of course, with the waves chasing right behind us. The water struck me so hard that I was thrown up into the air. I fell near a car and tried to hold onto its roof, fearing that I would be swept away by the terrible waves. Instead of the car, my hands caught onto the branches of a huge tree. The water rose so quickly that I soon found myself underwater. The last thing I remembered was murky brown water...

Then I woke up from the dream, gasping for air. I truly felt like I had drowned; maybe because my pillow was blocking half of my face at that time. Upon waking up, I realised it was not a flood. It might be a tsunami. The waves were at least one and a half storey-high.

The feeling of drowning was not pleasant at all. I should really learn swimming for real.

Mother

I've hurt you so much,
Made you cry so much,
Yet, why do you still love me so much?

I am happy when:

- I am with friends and family.
- I am reading a book.
- I am singing and dancing without a care in the world.
- I am dreaming (both at night and during the day).

I need to remind myself of these things when I am down.

This heart of mine has always been beating for itself, for me. Someday, it will beat faster for a special someone.

things I discover in the hospital pharmacy

Just ended my 6-week placement at Armadale Health Service.

One thing I notice about the staff there in general. We all talk to ourselves! Haha. It must be an occupational hazard. Be it dispensing or searching for a particular medicine on the shelves, we would talk to no one in particular.

Example: "Tryzan, where are you?" or "Patient's name.. check! Address... check! Now onto the drug's name..." 


I spent two weeks each at three different areas: clinical, dispensary and store. Clinical was fun, because I got to observe the clinical pharmacists at work. But when they were busy with their own duties, I would be stuck at the desk, engaging in a stare-to-death battle with my textbook. Dispensary was okay, 'cos it could be very busy. I had no time to think of silly thoughts and basically plunging myself wholly into the mechanics of dispensing. But, I didn't like the idea of making so many mistakes with dispensing. Each time my mistake was pointed out by the pharmacist, I would feel down for the rest of the day. I know it is a learning curve for me, especially when I didn't have any prior working experience. But things like this still get to me all the time.

My last two weeks were at the storeroom, where they shelve all the drugs. This could be one of my favourite places. Its mostly quiet and cool (air-conditioning is damn powerful in there!). In the morning, I would help to unpack the orders that come in, put away the boxes and such. Then I have to shelve the products to where they belong. It took me a few days to be familiar with all the shelves. It finally came to the point (weirdly so) that I greeted the drugs on the shelves like an old friend. Strange, but there was a sense of familiarity just by knowing where things were. I am probably crazy for referring to inanimate objects as 'friends'.

What do I tell you about occupational hazard? =)

Orang Asli Animal Tales: a review

I remember reading a story book on Si Tanggang when I was nine. Picked that thin flimsy book from the library and it was illustrated with ink drawings, in full colour. It was special because it made me realise that Si Tanggang is most likely an Orang Asli folktale.

And why is this memory of mine even significant in this review? I think because of my experience with that book, I have been mildly interested in local folktales. It was what compelled me to pick up this particular book from Kinokuniya.

I am halfway through this, and I feel like I need to put my thoughts down in black and white. This particular book features many animal stories, probably spun by the Orang Asli to explain the natural behaviours of the animals in the jungles. How did the tapir get his white stripe? Questions like this are answered in this book. I have also learnt a few animals (eg. tikus bulan, lotong) and their names. Besides the folktales, writer also provides a brief factual overview on every animal mentioned in the tales. It is also accompanied by illustrations done by a local artist. From my point of view, the art is inky and messy but somehow quite endearing.

I feel Malaysians are not exposed to local folktales, as opposed to Brothers Grimm and Disney fare. Our land and peoples are rich in culture, which could be preserved in the manner of songs and stories. These traditions are what binds us to the land we live in, giving us a sense of connection to the land as well as each other.

Every school library should have this book. It might not have a huge impact on its readers, but it would definitely open their minds to the richness in oral traditions that our country can offer.

Flipped through my old diary jottings and saw this:

I felt that my speech was funny but it wasn't what the teachers want to hear. All they wanted to hear were: "listen to teachers' advice, ask questions, do your homework as told" and so on. They didn't want to hear me - all they wanted to hear is themselves.