BluE Scrubs

For now, how I wish...

You know, if I see a beautiful woman walked past, wearing barely there clothes with plunging neckline, skirts just barely covering the butt cheeks, high knee-length boots; let’s make it suede, I’d say good on you girl.

Let’s hope the pointy bit of the boots don’t get caught anywhere on the floor and you fall face first, and may you score high for the sky is the limit. Oh some of the things I wish happen to some people.

What I couldn’t understand though, the proliferation of baby tees with sleazy phrases written right across it. These are what I saw in ASDA clothes section while waiting for Dr Vagina and Dr Bowels fought over which trolley to get.

‘princess’
‘wishful thinking’
‘ride with me’
‘my cherries’ –with 2 cherries covering both continents of the protrusions.
‘come and play’

Pfffttt…and people buy these tops.

Oh please, why is it that people have to, for example, wear suggestive outfit and then go ‘eh mamat tu tengok tengok dekat I pulak, kenapa agaknya ya’, when people started staring at them funny. That’s in KL. Here they wear suggestive outfit and just lift up the top for the more people to watch the more and the better of them. And this is usually after the blood ethanol level exceeds certain level. 300 is a very high, that much I remember.

Dr Vagina has finally done a noble thing couple of days ago. He broke up with the married woman he’s been seeing for past 4 months. One of the good things that come out from that is, Dr. Bowels can now, for the past few days, sleep peacefully without much wailing and howling penetrating down from the flat above. We sometimes wonder if these apartments are made of cement plus cardboard mixture.

The bad thing that we all have to endure now, is his affection towards hard, lumpy brown stuff. And this is taking over the cigarettes.

Also, just before leaving with a trolley full of food, he grabbed 3 pot plants as tall as a 5 year old girl and made us all carry one each. He’s gone potty over leafy things.
Other than that, he bought scented candles like those are going to be the next substitution for rice or potatoes.

When we got the plants out and read all the instructions to him; you know how to water, where to position, facing eats or west, he started moving the furniture around and started hanging pieces of cloths over lamp shades. Trying to get an 'ambience' I suppose.

Taking a few steps back, I could see what he’s doing. He’s trying to create the ultimate bachelor pad. The one that will attract chics like moth to fire, like ants to éclairs, like camels to oasis. He even asked us if Paris Hilton’s poster should stay up or brought down. We said one is the most he can have up, more than that he’ll not do so well.

We left him completely lost in his new boudoir, and the many angels he’s desperate to please and protect.

I have never seen a reaction quite so volatile when a man lost his only hope to get laid. Break ups change people temporarily, I hope. God bless them all.





P/s: Without being too Joyah, you know, when we were driving past this warehouse, the whole fire brigade unit was there, the fire was slapping in the wind walloping the walls down like hyenas feasting on a dead bull. I felt the heat so strong even from the car and we were 100 metres away. Never seen such a big fire. I took a picture but it turned out like a giant fireball from raksaksa Gorgon. But ..damn happening ok.

I don’t really mind how many people I have in my anaesthetic room. Just as long they don’t make any noise. Be a wallpaper or furniture or drip stands. Don’t mind. Squeeze your balls and squeak if you must speak. Don’t mind.

I also don’t mind questions. If I can’t answer it, I’d say why don’t you go home and read up, tell me tomorrow. Frown a bit and look like you mean what you’ve just said. Continue doing what you do without glancing back at the medical students. Sure medical student quiet one.

It wasn’t a medical student that asked me a question; it’s a student ODA. She was helpful and pleasant. She did everything without many hiccups, which I liked. She can come again.

She was helping me putting a lady to sleep. The tube went through the cords and I must say I was a bit careless with the calculation and the patient was swallowing/gagging/retching. It could happen sometimes.

Especially if all of a sudden your bladder decided ‘I must go now, or else’. You just shove the tube quickly and strategically plan your escape to the nearest WC. Having said that the escape might not happen till very very much later which makes me think I am going to have a potato sack bladder by next year. Making all the rushing seems like the time when you dress up to dine alone.

So, she asked me, ‘what is she doing now’ pointing to the lady’s throat. And I said ‘doing the swallowing reflex’. ‘You know if you have something in your throat, you just swallow’. I continued checking any leak.

She stopped tying the tube and looked up to me. Sorry, looked down at me. She’s an arm length taller than me. I looked at her, and realized whole room was staring at me.

The heat I dissipated, I swear, could cook some pancakes. Tssssssssst.

Everybody was in stitches. Tak guna betul.

seminyak


Turning of events these days made me think harder about things I take lightly. I always believe, everything will be ok if I do it my way. Now, I realize my way is not always right and that I should never rush. But time is not something I can buy like Lancome lip balms. So, I am stuck.

You make me wanna call you in the middle of the night.
You make me wanna hold you till the morning light.
You make me wanna love, you make me wanna fall.
You make me wanna surrender my soul.
I know this is a feeling that I just can’t fight.
You’re the first and last thing on my mind.
You make me wanna love, you make me wanna fall.
You make me wanna surrender my soul.

Whether it is a Casanova addicted to falling in love, at it for the 100th time or a boarding school boy genuinely falling in love for the first time, the feeling of falling for somebody is very distinctive. Very intoxicating. It moves mountain. Read: turning up late for work, eating at odd times, sleep deprived and so on. Feel free to add.

The process of falling in love starts traditionally with that first look. Eyes locked, chest feeling inflated like you want to burp but the only air you have is in your rectum, head buzzing, butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

Next stage will be smiling at odd intervals, staring at manky looking wall paper, honked by at traffic lights, seeing manifestation of him everywhere, smelling his scents everywhere even stopping to ask a stranger if he’s wearing THAT perfume and go yesssss when you’re right. You know the drill. Soon it snowballs into makan tak basah mandi tak kenyang. Such power of looks and body language.

But what if you take the element of physical attraction out of the equation. Say you talk over volleys of e-mails or instant messaging. Ye lah hi tech kan sekarang kalau zaman dulu dulu tu kalau pergi kampong seberang pun tak tentu lagi jumpa hidup ke mati. Sungai pulak got buaya kan.

Without touching on the subject of looks, clothes, shape of nose, skin colour or hair style, could people still attain a level of infatuation as potent as love at first sight. Or even better, is it actually a higher level or a purer form of compatibility? Is love more noble that way?

The year was 1994. The summer was fading away. Autumn was rushing in. It was a new place, I didn’t know what I was thinking coming out miles and miles away from home to this country. It’s like being put in a fridge with some white ginger bread men who talked too fast. A new crowd of people for sure, but none really made me felt welcomed.

In Allenby house I met Marina for the first time. We became best friends straight away. She was almost like a big sister, only she was tad bit smaller than me. She took care of me. She had a spare duvet with a higher tog that she wasn’t using, so she gave that to me. My tights laddered so that morning in the house lounge she called me up to her room and pointed out that my skin was showing, and gave me a fresh pair. We had to wear strange pleated skirts which made us looked like a bunch of spinster librarians, so laddered tights might compromise our ability to retain heat. Marina was very particular about heat conservation. What with having surface area to body mass ratio like us and all.

At night, I’d complain endlessly about Mr.Roberts. He had foul breath. I had to sit at the front you see for the obvious reasons. I was picked on all the time and sprayed with stale saliva every Thursday morning. I complained to Marina about how mentally tiring it was being only girl in his Physics class. She was the only other girl doing Physics in the entire school.

Because of the ratio 1: 14, girls to boys in that school, we ended up being sandwiched by boys all the time. Because we had our own halal portion, our Sunday roasts for example, were hefty than others’. We got them without queuing as well. That made boys looked at our plates. One thing they always said was ‘where the hell do you tiny girls put all that and the potatoes!!!. We loved roast potatoes and we had the same philosophy. Never waste any food, never miss pudding.

We’d sit together in the bus during those netball tournaments all over greater London. We cracked jokes only we understood, reason being it wasn’t in English. People called us the Allenby twins but I always thought she was the prettier one. She had a boyfriend whom she wasn’t sure about, she kept telling me about all the other boys who were after her, but none were as nice as Bo. I liked Bo too. As in I wanted her to be with Bo, not the devilish sister jealousy over the same boy kind of like. You spazzers.

That one night I remember saying something wise like ‘Ala Marina, we don’t live very long anyway kan, why waste time with (that good looking guy who is not as nice as Bo), when we all know Bo loves you very much’.

She left school the next year and went to Imperial College. I was sad although I had a new best friend called Sian Mathias. Only, Sian kept forgetting the meaning of the word ‘balak’, which frustrated me but loved ‘serunding’ as much as Marina and I. We kept in touch but I was busy falling in love myself and bossing the little boys around like a good school prefect. So contact was scanty and the last time I met her was in London 1998. She was married to Bo and was so much in love.

Fast forward this afternoon, a friend from the old school sent a message.

‘Do you remember Marina? You won’t believe this. She went to work yesterday and collapsed. She passed away on the way to the hospital. Nomis, Chen and Farid are going to Seremban to attend the funeral. Hope you’re ok’. xxExx

I was parked outside ASDA at the time. I reread and reread the message. There is only one Marina who is mutual to both of us. I took a deep breath and my hands started to shake. My head spinning for a bit. I wanted to reply, but I really had no idea what to type. If anything I should reply to Marina. But Marina is gone.

I looked around and saw people pushing trolleys like people do in supermarkets. Some smiling some deep in thoughts. I don’t know why I felt I wanted another person to read my message, perhaps I just couldn’t believe it.

A lump grew in my throat and it choked me. My eyes welled up.

Innalillahiwainnaillahirajiuun.

I am sorry I didn’t even make it to your wedding. I thought I had more time.

I am back in this big chair. Again, like sitting in the arms of a big bear, it is very comforting. You immediately close your eyes, wrinkle your nose, shrug and crumple yourself a little. How to crumple? Pull all your limbs together into a ball and shake yourself off like a wet dog.

So, the last patient’s left recovery room. My head has stopped buzzing now that I know it’s the last case for the day. Still have 10 more hours to go. I am looking forward to the Twix I managed to save from the afternoon drug meal. People have other ‘ twix’ to look forward to when they go home, and actually get home after 5pm. And I can’t even imagine why I would be ecstatic about ‘Twix’, but I am!

It has been so busy it felt like there’s a bee in my head desperately trying to make an escape. Each time it banged the sides of my cranium, my ears quaked. Hurmm…maybe there’s so much space in there that more than one bee could actually get stuck and banged on the sides. You can stuff your bra when there is space, but your head?

I notice that this job I am doing has lost it’s novelty. Some 12 months ago, I was writing about work all the time because everything I did was fascinating to me. Make people sleep, wake them up, stick needles in, poke them here, poke them there. Shove tubes here, shove tubes there, name me an orifice I have not been at. Even if there is none I’ll make one!

So in the afternoon, after that looooooooooooooong looooooooooooooooong laparotomy ( 3 su do ku and a crossword and a bit of journal reading) I managed to escape to the mess where the drug representatives were generously feeding us Chinese takeaway. I watched the programme Animal Planet on the plasma TV, on mute, because people were eating and talking druggy and I didn’t want to offend anybody with Anthony Hopkin’s lamby voice. You know the voice he did in that prison cell?

Oh my word, isn’t it amazing though, the way some creatures at the bottom of those seemingly calm deep blue topaz sea, eat? They eat all day! They live to eat and have babies! They blend in with the reef and seabed just so they don’t have to move a myocyte to catch food. Lazy buggers!

One flat sea monster with bulging heroine eyes on the sides, wriggled it’s frilly fins and snugly blended in with the spotty bit of the sea floor. When the poor baby octopus which looked like a decapitated helicopter happily chugging past, it made a giant leap out of the camouflage and swallowed the life out of that trigger happy octopus. What was that all about! I don’t think it’s fair that some lives are taken away without warning. Makes you think hard about those ‘reminded’ by cancer. At least you’re given a notice.

Another one was all those salmon swimming in a school of ‘follow the leader’ and somehow it got to a barrier with two hungry bears, you can tell they were hungry, the saliva was making the river turbulent. Anyway, so these two bears stood there and just opened their mouth. Looking scary and the salmon would actually leap out of the water and straight into the bear’s mouth. Don’t you look before you leap fish? Like I said, fish are so stupid but still it’s not fair like that. They swam against the current as well.

That is I think an evidence that animals are made such a way that we, do not become wally and loony in out interpretation of why we are alive, on this planet. Why we cannot just start making things up like vegetarian, vegan or vegabond or vegamire. I don’t know the classification of vegetarian. I personally think it’s something people make up to make themselves special and extraordinary. Like this new scientology doodaah. What a load of bollocks. I don't care.

We cannot function if we make our own rules. We know we don’t know if one good thing is good for another person. And even if we know, we don’t know when enough is enough. Why do you think some people get addicted to anything, sex, drugs, booze, petrol, glue, Japanese school girls. Kan?

We do not live long enough to observe the entirety of human nature, but there is a being who/which will continue to exist even after you and I are long gone. And he made a manual for us to read and understand how we all function and how we should all behave. Like microwaves, cameras, iPods, TVs, blenders, none are sold without it’s manual. I mean who knows best how something functions if it’s not it’s creator. So again, scientology my smelly socks.

Read and you will be enlightened. That was the first word our great man was taught anyway. And I couldn’t agree more. By the way I didn’t have any smelly socks on today. I had a black linen skirt with a topaz cardigan. Before wrapping myself around with a strange looking double breasted wool blended corduroy jacket. So I had to have pair of tights and pair of boots on. No socks. People say I look like a Japanese school girl, I personally think they watched too many porn.

So spiritual I am today. All from watching Animal Planet.

I don’t know about you but I’m going to lug my sore ass behind my slouchy back to that on call room and pray just before I switch off that my bleep will have mercy on me. Night ya’all.

So I am on call. The last patient just left recovery room and I could, just go to bed.

But I’ve found this pc just next to the room and the chair is so big it’s almost like hugging me from behind. Comfort always makes my mind flips into that oyomattgessekgo mode. Like the split second between your heartbeat going lub and then dup. Lub dup lub dup lub dup. Like a reset button if you like so it has time to conform to the law of synchronization. So it doesn’t go wonky.

I thought today, was a good on call. People rushed me in the morning because there were about 4 cases to do, but I just refused to get wrapped around sticky like a stick on a candyfloss. I know things must get done in the end and we have 24 hours. If I must work that long, why rush?

After the 2 spinal cases, I put my feet up in the doctor’s mess. I watched that spiky haired dude Gary Rhodes cooking. My mind going outside my comfort circle and there was a sudden influx of dirty dirty images.

I was no longer in control.

Eggtart,breadpudding,nasikerabu,
tomyam,laksam,cornonthecob,sweetcorn,
pucukubi,budu,airtebu,cendol,ondeonde,putubamboo,
putumayam,akokkedut,satay,kacangbotol,tempoyak,bijinangka,
ayampercik,ikanpercik,kacangrebus,pudingjagung,buburjagung,
eggtart,eggtart,eggtart.eggtart,eggtart,eggtart..

Are you fasting Dr. Ahmad?

Huh? Oh ha yes. I said. Almost defibrillated off my chair. I can see the food packing them selves off the display table on a hot Sunday afternoon. The banner reads: All you can eat for £1. Ishh kacau laa

It was that Orthopaedic registrar taking a seat next to me, and started watching Gary in the kitchen as well.

We started chatting about that patient I cancelled. About how he thought I was a tall male anaesthetist from Pakistan with a Taliban beard before I turned up on ward 9. The usual things I get when people mention my name. Then I had that twinge-y cramp.

I went to the toilet.

Heheheheh. I very soon after had an eggtart.

That was the quickest ever I had my wish granted.

nusadua


I am finally in a possession of my passport again.

I won’t tell you about the many nights I lie wide awake hyperventilating. Fear that if I fall asleep, I would get into one of those going on holiday dreams which always ended with could not find passport anywhere, could not go anywhere. Panic panic. Plane left without me.

I did wonder what it would finally feel like come the time I don’t need to keep getting visa to stay here. Today was the day. Just a huge surge of anxiety at the Parcel force this morning to claim my ‘entire life’ in a packet, which I sent to the Home Office 6 weeks ago. A transient surge of relief followed. That was brief too, soon I don’t feel any different. Because I know it’s not where I want to be forever.

Now that the passport is with me again, I can sleep. Before sleeping, I could even plan a little.

Maybe a trip to one of the Greek islands, Mykonos? Santorini…or even Cyprus.

The sea so vast you want to dry your eyes and hug the person next to you. It’s so blue, you wonder what it be like if it’s a different colour. And you hope a little that it’ll never change to red or chocolate colour. Just like a backdrop for the fishermen in the sea, the beach footed a lush canopy of green dotting the entire hills. You breath in and out and you wish somebody with a familiar scent, familiar grip to come and hold you tight. To whisper, baby with you in my arms the picture is complete.

You stood as one, without a word exchanged. Because why would you need one if it’s like you’ve known him for a lifetime.

I remember that time on Hydra island. The locals looked at us disjointedly, interested but seen it all before. I observed that everybody knew everybody in Hydra. The only vehicle allowed was Mr. Donkey. We muttered all sorts of words meaning we wanted a place for the night, and they ushered us to the right man. It was just the right place to be for the night.

We got there with no accommodation pre-arranged. We didn’t look it up on Lonely Planet. Woke up in a hotel room in the middle of Athens earlier that morning, and decided, we need to go to an island. So we went.

We just left it all up to luck, fate, whatever you want to call it. And sometimes, that’s the way it should be.

And if that doesn’t happen, every night is a good night on a Greek island anyway. Happy days, nights, happy hour!

On call tomorrow. )*&$£””£!$*())$”!”%^*()
p/s: wohoooo this is a short post!!! *smug face*

A long lost friend resurfaced after a long long time not being in touch. During which he managed to ditch the bottles, stopped smoking and honour a woman to be his lawfully wedded wife.

Among many things that he asked was, ‘what were we before Naj?’

Which I struggled to answer. Errr..good friends? Best friends?

He even admitted that he’d struggle if he’s the one being asked. My analysis is; because I am Miss Anal-yse kan, he could get away with asking questions like that because, he’s now in a safe zone. He is married and so means he is emotionally stable, and a question like that could only mean one thing, he’s just curious.

Imagine if I start proding him with a similar question, he’d probably think I am still hanging on to the past and wonder why it never worked between us, and probably planning at this minute a trip to US to work in his local hospital, seduce him, set him up, get caught red handed, and finally wifey left. And I go yea! You get the drift.

I am not sure how many people had this ‘not quite there relationship’. The kind that you almost can call him a boyfriend because you’re emotionally connected and maybe committed, but yet, you’ve never met him, and mysteriously that very fact kept your wonky minds like mine functioning, enough to bluff through fourth year project on PTHrp expression on rat’s pancreas.

The curiosity, the witty playful conversations, the dizziness from verbal intercourse, the teasing. So innocent, I still smile just thinking about it.

What I said was, Mr. Oblivious, you were my unlabelled can of baked beans. Which never got on my plate.
***

At work today, my ODA and I scrummed in the corner away from the 3 surgeons working on the right hemicolectomy. I was still in the gown after the epidural insertion, hovering the floor like a Japanese Casper. It was cold in there today.

The conversation later on forced me to be hookered in the middle as more people got round to oooh and to ahhhh. Miss JJ, my ODA is completely self sufficient, financially independent, emotionally sound and sharp. Bold beautiful, full of confidence. I couldn’t believe what she got herself into.

Quick check on the monitor, ‘urmmm still alive’ ok continue.

She was telling me about his ‘friend’, who is really her weekend lover who has been sloppy at keeping in touch, wore blue suit instead of a tuxedo on the ball night, (how rude) and didn’t even compliment her on her gorgeous outfit. Wouldn’t return call for 3 days, excuse: there was no reception. Ya hah ok. We believe you.

Then we looked at the ball pictures and clearly, Miss JJ deserves somebody better. Physically he is not complementary, and from what she told me he is just using her. 'Very stingy in the bedroom department'. I kept myself generous with my opinion which she said was exactly the same thing she had in mind.

So she arrived at a conclusion, and her question was: he’s now an ex, but he doesn’t know yet, what do I do?

I said, without hesitation, go out with another guy. Move on. Because a man, when he wants something, he’d go for it even if it means flying down the canyon to the valley of no return. That’s when they switch to their remotely inferior head.

Then she asked me, really Naj, is that what you’d do?

Actually, no. Sigh.
***


An ex left a message which was rather disturbing.

‘Do you still want this, because if you don’t, I have my eyes on somebody else I might consider’.

Now, even if I want it still, do you think I want to be with somebody who has his eyes set on somebody else? It just doesn’t sound right.

No you will not have that privilege anymore; of knowing exactly how I feel.

Maybe I should try harder understanding the question, why he sent it, what he wants from it. Again it’s just me trying to rationalise every single question, but to be honest, I should have just bring the sky down and squeeze you till you asphyxiate and die a horrible death.

Too many questions, none of them makes me feel any better.

I really didn’t want to write this long.

It’s creating one hell of a pressure. I suppose the pressure cooker was on even before I started in this hospital. And now they are releasing the valve, and the steam is fuming out, everybody is hot under the collar and who gets boiled? Me! Us! The trainee anaesthetists.

We’ve been moved about so much and now we’re moving again.

I could tell the rumour of us moving to another hospital had been brewing for a while. But today is even more so, it beats the hot topic of who got off with whom after the Friday Autumn ball. Tomorrow the regional deanery bosses will come up with the confirmation of which hospital we’re going to go to.

And not that we can’t guess, me particularly, I know and I don’t want to go there. It’s a dump. There, walking skeletons sauntering just outside the hospital and the air they leave behind became somewhat stale. All you need is like a greyish weather and a stretch of desert land, blowing wind with wolves howling and hyenas scavenging in the distant with tumbleweed blown across an abandoned pub, to make you wonder why??. I drove around there with my anal sphincters tight all the time.

The people there aren’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box but they talk like they are the only people living on planet earth and so they think they know everything. Sometimes to the point compromising patients’ care, compromising a doctor’s fuse box.

This is what I felt like saying sometimes: ‘If you bloody feel that you are so bloody clever, and you can’t bloody do what people request you to do, get your bloody ass to a bloody med school, and pay the bloody student loan like everybody does’. Really, sometimes, having half the knowledge is even worse than not having any at all.

I can’t function around people like that. I know being bossy is undesirable, but they must know who makes decisions and that they are there to work together not making it hard for other people. This vagueness is making me dizzy as well but I found out a few people in the hospital been reading Bluescrubs, hence the: they, them, us, we, that people, here, there, and that place.

The other day:

Naj, is that you with your mask on posing on the internet?

And I went, just the mask on? Or have I got clothes on as well?

They laughed of course but, eeekk. And if you are reading this, lovely ladies, I want to say that you’re the best and yes I apologise for singing Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree and caused an immediate downpour the other day. I will miss you guys badly.

At the reception, Angie who is my Scottish ‘cousin’, said ‘But Naj…you’ve only been here two seconds?!!’.

Well exactly, I am not happy either. I feel that I’ve warmed up to the people here. I know I pooh-poohed the place before but it’s the location that I was struggling to get to terms with, you can’t change that. It’s the people you work with which is normally what make or break a day at work. And how much time do I spend time at a time working? 24 hours on the trot at a time.

Maggie and Jan couldn’t believe it. These theatre ladies fear for the integrity of the hospital. Who is going to do on calls? Who is going to go to cardiac arrests? Who is going to man the theatre?

They fear that once we all move, the standard of care will spiral down even faster. They fear they will lose their jobs as well and that they have to resort to packing crispy Italian salad for Tesco.

It feels like leaving behind a sinking ship.

Oh well I still have to go. Sorry.

I wrote this on Sunday night. It’s one of those things that I keep in a little folder on my computer. It reads, BLOG REJECTS which also means -if you got this far, you'll be dead in 5 seconds.
It’s one of those scripts that I thought about putting up but never did dare click publish.

Today I dare.

I observed that;

The grapefruit I bought today wasn’t as nice as the ones before. I think they changed the supplier. If you work in ASDA, please tell the management.

The milk looked a little thin, they couldn’t have added water to it. It’s illegal.

I have eaten one of those slices of cheesecake and I feel diabolical.

I took my ipod to ASDA, simply because it’s not been out of the house for 5 months. I now fail to see the purpose of having an ipod. Maybe I don’t like anything stuck in my ears.

I have been playing this Indon CD: Bawalah Hatimu 23 times and this song CINTAMU- Dygta feat Ira for possibly 27 times. I feel so tortured listening to it which makes me feel kind of good. And it makes me feel even better that I am consoled on the question: could I actually feel any emotions. I would then lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling.

When the girl goes “Cintamu…dan tiada yang kan memisahkan selamanya”,

I go bullshit bullshit bullshit and would scratch the carpet like a psycho cat trying to kill a spider high on wacky- backy. I would then ignore any messages, phone calls, IM, any phone agains and it’s voicemail, or any knock on the door. And just drown myself in my virtual vomitus.

The idea of me leaving everybody, and shutting them out sounds good, and I think it’s happening, only the other way round. People go on holiday, people moved on, people get a different job, people get married, people have babies, and I? I am working on Heberden’s nodes in my fingers attending to Bluescrubs. Stuck on level 0. I could have a wild party with a roomful of people, I could have won a jackpot but I am positive I’d still feel this tumourous feeling clawing into my flesh like barnacles on muddy Woolacombe beach.

...ok I’ll say it..I am so flipping F..F…FF…foosed, numpted, wallied and diaphanoused. Small and insignificant. Welled up and stretched. Emotionally constipated and bunged up with guilt. Sigh. I made up some of the words, so no, I haven’t expanded my vocabulary to the seventh heaven. Is this english or pure loneliness.

I want to be in a coma. So people know I have suffered. So he knows I am in pain.
So people come and see me at work but as a patient, on the bed. So it’ll be ironic. Maybe I’ll be in the newspaper. A vibrant young doctor finally fell into a deep coma after wishing so hard to shut down and shut the world out.

And when the boy and the girl sing together,

“Tak pernah ku mencuba lepaskan cintamu walau sesaat. Sejujurnya diriku terlalu sayang padamu. Ku ingin selalu dalam cintamu”

I feel like I want to jump off this building. The most I will suffer from is a broken calcaneum. 3 months off work. So I can go home and be 9 again. Cik T can plait my hair and I can wear the brown girl guide uniform and cook omelette in TAMAN SAINS.

I started off very well up there, I wanted this post to be about food, but I somehow ended up telling the world what a loser I am. I shouldn’t have listened to that song. Today is my stupid day, sorry it ends with this stupid entry.

Saya rasa nak macam nak mati would have sufficed.

I am now officially joining the world of food worshipping by taking pictures of food, and putting them up on here.

This is just my contribution in Ramadhan to help along those with ‘low scores’ from voyeuristically watching women crossing the streets, slagging people working on the same floor, or having thoughts of being in bed with 4 women at the same time; while sitting in your cubby-hole trying to do some work.

By watching pictures of food on my blog, you will feel intense desire to eat, and we all know you can’t because you’re fasting. So for every second that you spent refraining yourself from eating, you get extra points to make up for the above unavoidable ventures which could potentially bring you down to negative score.

The above is called Mexican suicide chicken and Mediterranean Titanic prawn.
Mexican because we know latino chickens like the women have ample derriere. But this particular chicken had lost her will to live and thrown herself in front of a bus. She did however have a matching pair of underwear on.

The next is Mediterranean Titanic prawn. I missed out the word tiger because I am sure people are aware that the prawns are tiger prawns. If I state an obvious thing like that, I fear people might get offended and plus it’s a bit pretentious to have a long name for such a quick thing to prepare.

So, Mediterranean because the herbs and olives are Greeky. Greek salad is even easier to make but I couldn’t be bothered to make a proper one because I have courgette instead of cucumber and I have some British cheese instead of feta cheese. Titanic because of the way the ingredients gently collided with each other yet producing a colossal treat to the taste buds. Leaving you mourning days, years, decades after it’s long gone. Wondering if I made it with love.

Or you could just look at the green lettuce and know instantly that it was iceberg lettuce I used, which makes the name Titanic even more appropriate.

I think today’s sahur is better than yesterday’s; which was 2 lumps of dates, and a glass of milk. Then I looked at the watch and I had a minute more, so another 2 dates and another glass of milk.

I should have cared a little if not much. I know I said I don’t care about what I was going to do today because it’s not like I can choose what I’d be doing.

But I didn’t expect to be sent somewhere nowhere which sounds like a search engine, about an hour away and heavily populated with sheep eating monsters, where I had to make a complete ostrich out of myself, flapping about like a drugged unta, before I finally found the theatre.

Imagine trying to look cool looking at the rota which has a hospital name against your name instead of a theatre in the hospital you are in. It’s illegal these little surprises I tell you.

The hospital is in Goole. I know, bet you didn’t get this, it’s a ‘g’ away from being the infamous Google. I know. You wouldn’t have noticed that, would you? No you wouldn’t. Ok don’t care.

The hospital was another 40 minutes from Scunnie. So, needless to say I was going to be late. Big time. I imagined the patients lined up in their gowns with their bums exposed (those gowns are designed by a French I am pretty sure), but I wouldn’t find it funny because I couldn’t see their bums because they were lined shoulder to shoulder in front of me in attention. So I would look so scared, pale and terrified.

They’d all have stones in their hand and the ladies have handbags filled with durians. Then an officer with Hitler moustache would gun the cloud. The patients would turn red like charged bulls going after a Matador and start beating the crap out of me and later turn around to give me a ‘bum’ as it’s understandable to demoralize somebody with an act of genitalia exposure. Although a bum is not strictly genitalistic.
Oh what a sight, white bums in my face.

So I was late. Despite being sent there with a taxi. That was nice. Being driven for a change. It must have cost the hospital a state of art bomb but then again, don’t care.

Dr. Nice Skin was also there in Goole. Note to self: nice registrar with no wedding band on. And he’d already finished 2 cases. So I now in debt of 2 cases to Dr. Nice Skin. He stayed around to show me the Drager machine there; and so I was nice to him as well which is not abnormal for me and not hard at all.

The ODA was Kevin and Kevin is not one to be told what to do. His motto is probably ‘please the boss you’re working with, even if she’s half your size and needs a stool to reach Ondansetron which is always kept on the top shelf’. I mean why the top shelf and always?

He knows exactly what you’re going to ask for next and knows what to do if you’re struggling. i.e: patient turning left when you ask them to turn right, patient couldn’t stop talking and excessively asking ‘what’s that for’, patient suddenly felt like going to the toilet just before you stick the needle in his back. I tell you, I struggle.

Good thing about this job is you go home feeling you’ve done something for the patient. Instead of halving Ramipril from 5mg to 2.5mg and wait for the patient’s pruned kidneys to get better.
And you feel swell when they say thank you, or for those virgins to needles stuck in their backs, ‘oh I thought it’ll be worse than that’. You’re welcome darling.

I think I am addicted to the word thank you. I think I am needy in a domineering way.

The taxi to the hospital had a dog smell and the one fro was drenched with body odour. When I got home, my head was pounding. It must have been the taxis, because the gases usually make me feel pleasurable not a flippin’ headache.

Ayam campak


I’m going to work tomorrow and I still have no idea what I am doing in the morning. Bowel list? ENT list? Brats list (paediatrics)? Gynae list? Or half day?

Ok, don’t care much.

So I was bored and you can tell from the plethora of posts today. So I cooked. And I call it AYAM CAMPAK or DUMPED CHICKEN. Somehow ayam campak is funnier than dumped chicken. Dumped chicken is not as funny because the name has been lost in translation. But I couldn’t at this time think of any other suitable word to go along with chicken. THROWN CHICKEN? Oh well as long as it doesn’t start humming unchained melody or haunt me at
night.

My friend in New Zealand cooked a fish head. And I would be cautious if I were you my friend. You don’t want to stare at the head when you started dissecting the mouth the teeth the eyes and the cheeks and the chin. You mustn’t look like you’re enjoying eating the head. The fish hates it. The fish is said to still have the soul lurking about so if you stare the fish before you eat it heartlessly, it might cast a spell and cause you to do fishy things. Like pee in the swimming pool, walking through a glass door and even kiss yourself in the mirror.

Ok joke aside, asam pedas tu nampak sedddap gillla ok. Gerrrrrr….gerrrrrrr

However I want to share with you something my granddad once told me. My granddad is 88, still climbs his roof to fix it himself. Still wash his car, oh sorry that was confiscated because a taxi driver ran into him. He later got told off by my dad and they didn’t speak for a while. The older you get the worse the sulking. That much I know.

He also has equal amount of white and black hair on a full head which I like to run my hand through. Geli..geli. The best thing about granddad is he is a tahfiz, he learnt Quran by heart. He taught me when I was 9, till I finished the Holy book.

I, was feeling smart. I wanted to finish it before my half sister. I remember flipping 2 pages of a surah to get to the end quickly, so I can start the next surah. Granddad would be seemingly fast asleep. It was hot humid and we were reciting on the open airy verandah. He liked it there. Just as I started the next verse from the next 2 pages, he opened one of his eyes. Ting!

Nok pergi mano deghah deghah ni teeeeeeeh.
Where are you going rushing?

I was stunned. Tak tido rupanyaaaaa.
Huh plan backfired!

He has a memory of an elephant my granddad. I was really impressed. He was my hero. Forget Ultraman and Gaban, they wear their underpants outside anyway. Granddad would remember everything you told him from the last time you met him. But they might not be the same things you told him, his hearing is letting him down you see.

Now that I have digressed, I better tell you what my granddad told me. If you want to keep your memory polished and tip top, these are the things you should avoid.

1.fish head especially the brain
2.ants (in some areas they just feast the minute you turn your back)
3.pickled food

I never struggled to learn from the man, it’s the time to learn that I am struggling with. Selamat puasa Tok Ayah.

Err..and a whole load of other things as well.


So, I was in the sweets, biscies and chocolate isle in ASDA right, and I was pushing my trolley right, like really lazy, like I had no energy right, and I saw Cadbury chocolate bar right, and it looked at me right, like it’s having love at first sight right, and we looked at each other right, and I was like shall I get it, and then my brain was like no, I was like just one, my brain was like no, I was like oh come on, my brain was like no, I was like just the one, my brain was like no, I was like why not, my brain was like no, then I saw a sign right, buy one get one free, so I took 2 and walked off.

My brain was like, bitch. I was like, not bovered.

Arkhhh...one more hour..arkhh.

Could I just say thank you so so much to you, for making the effort to ring me all the way from the land of Oz. I know you will read this at some point.

I am touched, terharu, pilu , pasrah, guilty, honoured, sebak, happy and grateful that I could speak to somebody so full of life like you. Especially with what you’re going through right now, and still carrying on your duties as a mother, a daughter, a wife and a patient.

I know I made a joke about role play and surprise your husband in his office, but the role playing you’re doing now is not just any role play. It takes a woman to go through what you have gone through. I am proud of you woman, and so pleased that you see me worthy of being a friend to you.

Now, on a completely different subject, yellow teeth. We didn’t get to learn a lot about teeth in medical school you see, so apart from the bones they sit on or hang down from, I don’t know much about them. Apparently if your teeth are yellow and you’re not a coffee/tea drinker or a smoker, there is…apparently, NOT MUCH WE CAN DO ABOUT IT.

Especially if the hideous yellowness starts from the back. It’s just part and parcel of aging process. As you age according to the article, the enamel thins down revealing the next layer which is yellowish greyish. Our teeth are not white anyway, it’s off white. So the message is LIVE WITH IT.

I hate to continue on this dry subject but if u are an avid teeth stainer with tea, coffee or cigarettes, the discolouration normally starts at the front, then there is hope with all sorts of product on the market. Google it yourself.

You know lions? You must know lions. They have bushy head and go Wuuarghhhhh. They have very yellow teeth. So you could probably think of having yellow teeth as sharing some qualities with the king of the jungle. Even better if you are temperamental and eat people at work.

I am bored, what else shall I Google?

I am listening to Miss Siti singing. Miss Siti sings well.

Goosebumps enveloped my forearms and back of my neck. Could either be the buttery honey sweetness of Miss Siti’s voice passive excavation of some genial memories of sahur with Mr.Sweetie-Caller or it was just extra chilly this morning. Either one, had to put bit more clothes on to sahur.

Some random collaboration between Miss Siti and sahur, gave me flashbacks,

He had Miss Siti’s CD. It’s just been released.
“Have this CD. I am not her biggest fan. You are”

Miss Siti was coming to Royal Albert.
“Do you know Siti is coming to London? I’ll book the tickets”

It was breaking fast time. The year was 2000. A few days later will be the Millenium.
“Sorry I didn’t wake you till now, you looked so peaceful. Come the food is ready”.

It was sahur time.
Knock.Knock.
“Come, the food is ready”

Of his words not related to sahur or Miss Siti.

“I was walking along ________, and saw this. Thought you might like it”.

“I left something by the door. I didn’t want to disturb you”.

“I’ve made you something. I’ve left it at the hospital reception”.

“ I heard that you are not well, so I sent you these.”

“Where are you? stay there, I’ll come and get you.”

"How are you going to get there? Do you want me to send you?"

Many many more…but those were the days.
….

Never did he treat me wrong.

Never did he take advantage of me.

Never did he ask for anything, other than to see a smile on my face which much near the coda, after many repeated chorus, translated to, to be loved in return. I don't blame him.

You’ve set such a high standard; I am beginning to lose faith in men.

Then people ask, so why not him?

I said this once before, it’s like being landed with a diamond. So perfect so priceless, it makes you feel like a princess. But I, don’t feel like I deserve a diamond. Maybe all I ever wanted was just a Cubic Zirconia, because I was never brought up with luxuries. I feel silly if I have to buy things without SALE written all over and the initial price slashed and slashed again. I feel guilty if I spend too much on myself.

The bigger the rock the better they say, but what if for some reason, I just could not appreciate the shine and glitter from the diamond. No matter how big, no matter how sparklingly blinding it is. Money doesn’t buy love, they say, I wish it’s not true.

On the other side of the coin, fair enough he makes you feel like a princess but could you ever make him feel like a King in return. I doubt my ability. Treating somebody well and deservingly, is not wholly depending upon who you inherently are, it depends very much on who the person you’re with as well.

It has to come from the heart, and if it doesn’t, it will not work out. Heart tells brain, no love, brain tells body, don’t show love. Cold and distant. If pressured into explaining, one might get annoyed and challenged. Everything that the other person does might become an annoyance. Can you tell, that this is how you turn a man into a stalker, a woman into a bunny boiler.

It’ll just bring the worse out of two people instead. And two what looked like best friends to begin with will fall out and things become sour, and decompose and yucky and messy and not even nice to look at.

You can’t force love; it’s either there or not there. It’s all or nothing. I don’t believe you have to wait for love to creep into a courtship or friendship. If you’re made to wait for the other to reciprocate, think again about pursuing the very person. It might never be a happy ending.

I have with all my heart accepted that I am heartless and tight with my honesty. All the time that I was nice and trying my best not to hurt anybody, I was charged guilty of leading him on, but when I finally confronted my own feelings during emotional upheaval, that I have no feelings of that capacity, apart from immense respect and admiration, I am a heartless bitch, perempuan sial some might say..

A girl could never win. Same as when a girl slept with half of a dormitory, she’s a slut, but a boy who slept with half the town, he’s paraded as a hero, everybody wants to be him and touch him.

It’s a lifetime experience which hopefully one goes through only once. I wouldn’t know how to handle it differently but I never meant to hurt anybody. I thought I was doing the right thing. It’s hard to break a heart. I dreaded breaking his heart.

It frustrates me that being rejected feels awful. But it frustrates me more that nobody understands what it takes to reject somebody. You can reject anybody, but not that somebody.

I have an unflattering explanation of why some of us fall for one man and not the other. Or vice versa. I got it off a book. I’ve been reading around because I have been trying to understand why I am attracted to losers and I let down diamonds.

1.will to life (don’t correct me, it’s not will to live)
2.procreation of children
3.the father figure in your life


But it has to wait for next time, my eyes are heavy, the room is tad bit drafty, and it’s Sunday anyway. I know this post has no humour, I don’t feel funny today.

Flippin’ eck how did it get this long.

I was snooping around after a plate of rice and a bowl of Tomyam. Sahur is definitely getting easier. Here, I found an extra question. Then I had a eh-nak-buat-jugaklah moment.

7 things I cannot do:

Hold tears watching a movie about a big brother losing a little brother or a woman betrayed by her lover.

Speak or breath while somebody is wretching and regurgitating their stomach content , outside a club, in A&E, on the ward..mana manalah. Cannot, I’ll vomit first.

Flip my tongue sideways.

Watch two men kissing, makes me literally sick. Women or monkeys on the other hand are quite nice to watch. You can learn a lot.

Do French plait on my own hair.

Somersault.

Remain conscious upon being stabbed by needles and seeing the red of my own blood. I have seen it. It’s red, then I didn’t see anything else because it went black.

Not that it matters but you know, just in case somebody out there one day claims that she’s a real Slim Scrubber, you could do those 7 things to trap the bogus Scrubber.

Also an apology I think is in order for the listing in my previous post. I just realized that somebody exactly THAT could be reading now and could actually make contact with me. He then could fall in love with me head over heals because we both like honey in our tea and we make scramble eggs exactly the same way.

He then could arrange to meet up with me and obsessively thanking his lucky stars that he finally found me. Me, short, spotty on some days, bloated on most days, fat ankles, chubby cheeks, hair like a mop-head, clumsy and toye. ( ref:1)

He could also then love me even more because I offer to lance his boils on his bum cheek because I have a sterile pack at home I nicked from A&E a year ago. It’s expired already of course but he’ll say ‘it’s the thought that counts Naj dear’.

So, apology again because why would somebody aaaaaall THAT would want to be with somebody allllllll THIS. (ref:1).What was I thinking.

You forgot to mention you love my nose as well Naj,
you naughty girl you.



It was another busy 24 hr on call that I’ve just finished this morning, but I had a good solid 5 hour sleep before getting bleeped just around sahur time. So, can’t really grumble about it.

A day off like this would be like life little well earned treats. You plan things while driving home, so many things to do and so many loose ends to sort out, but once you hit the front door, all you want to do is do nothing.

It’s been a week since Dr.Vagina left for Trinidad and Dr.Bowels left for some caving in Mulu, Sarawak. She gila I tell you.

No more nights in the car park doing belly bananza to the Soca beat from Dr.Vagina’s ‘new’ CD player. No more Wednesday night outs, no more Salsa class. No more late night chats till I discover I was the only one working the next day. That wasn’t funny. Am I missing them? Surely that’s not true.

Friends by definition should annoy you once in a while. Dr.Vagina would come up all the way just to show me his new nano ipod. ‘Cool right’.. ‘Damn cool’… ‘Cool right’. It wasn’t a conversation, just him lost in his own nano world. Dr.Bowels would tell me off just because I didn’t text her back, would text us inundatedly to go to the mess, just because she was on call and we got the weekend off.

But despite the things they do that annoy you, you are still friends, now that’s what you call being good friends. But think about this, Dr.Bowels said to me once that she’ll have me as her boyfriend if things are different. We laughed it off but, that’s the kind of gravitation you get towards good friends, you want to be with them because they make you laugh and you feel good about yourself. Basically you’ll marry them if you could. So, my point is, girls, be careful when a guy you’re dating said ‘oh she’s just a good friend’.
And be careful when you no longer laugh with him.

On friends, I was tagged by my Ubi friend, ..like orang kata..I did this suka suka aje ok. Take it light, sugar fee and decaf. After all, am writing it post on call. The lucidity of the content may vary.

7 things I plan to do before I die:

Tea with the queen, get invited to Prince William’s party at club H, island hop from Cyprus right around to Hawaii, write a book about it, one night stand and feel completely great the next day…

I am not blonde and my legs don’t go right up to my neck so let’s try again.

1. Visit the Holy land and do Haj, with Cik T. Dad can come along as long as the other 2 women stay at home. (their respective homes)

2. See that (by any means) my brother is completely cured of what he’s suffering from now.

3. Leave behind a vocational training centre to help those ‘drifters’ who have potential in life but never find guidance.

4. Open a Woman Wellbeing centre, includes a hospital for womanly ailments and baby related abdominal swelling, (basically obs and gynae centre), a gym equipped with sauna, a spa which only uses natural ingredients for all spa jobby and a swimming pool which has swimming class, also with other classes like pilates, yoga moga and what nots you find in a gym.

Also includes a whollistic beauty academy teaching women how to carry themselves, how to dress themselves, how to enhance the beauty they have and not to slap on just any new products on the market that will make them look like a slapper who tries too hard. Motto will be ‘less is more’.

They will graduate to be a highly demurred, sophisticated yet funky ladies, who know how to have fun yet down to earth with abundant moral values to avoid being gun down by not so nice women who didn’t go to the academy.

A language centre where women are taught how to communicate in a womanly way, (both verbally and body languagely), yet firm and in the end get what all women want. A library included in the language centre with DVDs to rent. A Club exclusive for professional women where events are held for members or for people to just chill after work, and only men of certain calibre will be invited. Limited membership.

5. Practice anaesthetics and trauma care in places like Somalia, Sierra Leone or wherever there is natural disaster.

6. Write book A, Book B and Book C and have ‘for my loving husband and my 3 kids’ on the page they normally have that kind of thing written on.
7. Err..get married?

7 things I could do now:

You know, this is not really a good question.

1. I suppose I could give myself more frequent holidays.
2. I could stop putting it off and say yes and get hitched and get married and discover the whole new world of undiscoverable things.
3. I could get a new car. Bored you see ‘riding’ the same one all the time.
4. I could pamper myself with girly things like a massage, facial, this and that.
5. I could bring Cik T to come and live with me.
6. I could get pro active and get tenants for Sri Palma.
7. Go home. No I couldn’t.

As I said I don’t like that question.

7 celebrity crushes :

1. That boy in mickey mouse club, Cik T caught me kissing the telly.
2. That boy in the movie ‘electric dream’, for a week I wished I was an American girl.
3. Damien Bodie
4. Milan Baros (shoe size 9)
5. Gary Lineker
6. That guy in X-files (flipping eck can’t remember- oh David Duchovny)
7. err.. Milan Baros

7 often repeated words: (had to ask the people I work with)
1. I was like…I was like…
2. pftt
3. is that right
4. I mean…
5. int it. (isn’t it)
6. oh well
7. anyway ( not that I get bored so easily)

I get this impression that people need to tell me things twice. Included here is the Malay ‘sounds’

1. ye ke
2. daa
3. gilalah
4. aiyoo
5. dih/deh/neh/
6. pastukan
7. you tau tak…

Again I seem to need the reassurance. Don’t we learn something new each day?

7 physical traits I look for in the opposite sex:

well formed forearm, with all the carpi superficialis muscles visible, a bit of veins, a bit of hair not too much, tan (not flipping white like it never seen the sun), phwoarr fingers.

visible jawline (you have to be slim to have a jawline- go figure), sharp, clean so I can kiss ‘see you later’ in the morning before work, or stubbly on weekends for those tickly nuzzly lay ins.


A height that does need more than a tip toe and a head up to get to if he’s not cooperating. I’m 5’ 3”.

Smell like this (-----------). I would put a sample in the blank space if I could bottle it but it’s not a smell you can even put in words. It’s only on certain people that I have met and it’s not the perfume that they have on. You either have it or you don’t. If it’s not crucial, it’s so bloody important. The scent of a man. It makes it happen.


Pert gluteals.

No man boobs, no chest hair, no back spots, no tattoos, no piercings, no artificial limbs, no extensions, no enhancement, I need a library of good genes.


The whole fresh, lean in between slim and butch, relaxed body language yet observant, quick, agile and sharp, good dexterity ( lefty is a bonus), a good past history of sports obsession- playing them not watching them.

It’s not the static physical appearance that’s important, it’s the dynamic one. It’s what what you can do with it and to it. Ubi, you got me daydreaming again.

Laparlah.

It's not about looks.


The joke at work today was still about the hot chocolate and Ramadhan and it hasn’t simmered much..

‘Hot chocolate for you Naj?’

‘Have you got spare change for hot chocolate Naj?’

‘Trying again today Naj, did the mosque contact you?’

Wink.

Well what’s life without a midget at work to pick on kan.

Amazing how the greeting from that fresh air in the morning could reset the whole energystat (like thermostat) of anybody. The temperature, the humidity, the aridity and any tinge of crispiness. It’s foggy and bloody chilly this morning. The traffic was slow and the ladder of brake lights in the horizon made me scratch my head so much and bit my lips so often it cracked and bled a bit.

I still managed to keep up the Miss Punctual status despite all that, couple of people noticed it too. Now how bad was I before? Pretty tardy I’d say. Oh well diddums.

In theatre, I was watching the blood bellowed into little glistening crimson balls before drip drapped into another chamber, one by one on the blood transfusion giving set. Very hypnotising, blood. I must have also ventured out pretty far from reality.

Thought about what I could be doing if I am not doing what I am doing now. I have always been somebody who likes to make things rather than fixing things. Hands on they say. Somebody who likes to have an end result to something they work on. I am never good at providing services. Will make a very bad hooker.

I remember those days at school, because I was good with lines and colours and actually enjoyed doing it without getting paid, I made cards, designed book covers, school magazines and what I enjoyed most was those English dramas we had.

I would go to this study room in block F, where all the furniture would have been removed and pieces of brown papers I would join to make a big canvas. Those brown papers were like magic carpets. One brown paper was enough to wrap a baby without the limbs sticking out. That's how big and how strong the brown paper was.

It was orgasmic to see such a stretch of virginity awaiting me pencilling, sketching, dancing, twirling having a siesta of colours, injecting life into just a carpet of dullness. Ignoring the tic tocs and prep bells, sometimes even dinner bells from the dinning hall.

I would actually sneak into that room just before I went to bed just to make sure those Roman pillars still had lights shining from the right angle, Cleopatra’s throne still stood there majestically embossing out of the canvas, and the clouds had the right amount of dark blue, light blue and just that blue straight out of the colour pots which had Chinese writing all over. If the pot wasn’t transparent I wouldn’t have known it’s blue.

I would have some crazy chics, as crazy as I was helping with the colouring. Miss YY, Ubistela, Emelda, Yus and others like Rita, Reiy, Nani and Yants who wanted to be part of that backdrop.

When we won the prize for best prop and beat those seniors for best overall performance, didn’t our asses glow in the dark? Didn’t we all feel proud, and didn’t we all cry a little if not a lot in each other’s arms? Those were the days.

I’ve stopped painting and drawing altogether now. There’s just no time. On the other hand I never really liked writing but it kind of grew on me a fair bit. One thing I realize, you don’t need big words and shout the loudest to be heard. I guess there is something in my blood that makes me want to put a signature on things. 'I did this' so to say.

So it surfaced in that chilly theatre room today that sticking needles doesn’t give me that much pleasure anymore, blood pressure of 60/40 doesn’t excite me anymore, the chemically induced transient death doesn’t seem complicated anymore, the smell of burning flesh from cauterization doesn’t satiate me anymore, I want to put colours on a canvas.

Of course I have reasons to do this test.

1. It only asks 3 questions.

2. I am so stuffed if I move now, my jeans might come undone and if I start reading Miller I might get asphyxiated by the weight of the book as I doze off from sporadic postprandial narcolepsy. Just made that one up.

3. Doesn't everybody love it when a machine tells you if you're clever, stupid, dumb or not fit to continue the life you're living anymore and if there is a slightest chance that you might end up normal as in married with children. Can one be single and happy at the same time? Pfftt..cos not. Not for long anyway.

4. I wanted to see how stupid this thing is, but...creepy int' it?

Your Personality Is

Rational (NT) You are both logical and creative. You are full of ideas. You are so rational that you analyze everything. This drives people a little crazy! Intelligence is important to you. You always like to be around smart people. In fact, you're often a little short with people who don't impress you mentally. You seem distant to some - but it's usually because you're deep in thought. Those who understand you best are fellow Rationals. In love, you tend to approach things with logic. You seek a compatible mate - who is also very intelligent. At work, you tend to gravitate toward idea building careers - like programming, medicine, or academia. With others, you are very honest and direct. People often can't take your criticism well. As far as your looks go, you're coasting on what you were born with. You think fashion is silly. On weekends, you spend most of your time thinking, experimenting with new ideas, or learning new things.

Bali Memorial, So they bombed it again?


She started off in the morning nice and early. No more Miss Tardy hellew Miss Punctual. Thank you to ramadhan. (provided no kipping after sahur)

She saw all the patients without a hint of a fake smile. She felt absolutely wonderful.

She actually walked from the car park to the stairs, not scampering like a been- shot- in- the ass skunk as usual, well, before then clambering up 6 flights of stairs because the elevator was just a nasty piece of artwork. I mean did it ever get to the bottom and actually opened and let people in and get people to E level. Might as well charge people to come and watch the world’s slowest elevator instead. E is where I work.

From that height, if one had a particularly bad morning, then was late to work, then had a row with the boyfriend, then forgot the pack lunch, then get a parking ticket for not parking in the ‘box’ properly then got shouted at by the boss and then jumped off the window, sure die one.

She greeted all that walked past her Mornin’ because having good in front of morning is just too hypocritical. When is morning ever good? Apart from when greeted by a pair of eyes that looked straight into yours so subdued so eager to want you to love him. So wanting you that when you say Baby I’m hungry he jumped out of bed and hurried over to bring you breakfast in bed. Ya Haw, come back to planet earth please miss.

So she seen all the patients, she made her way back to the operating theatre, she whistled and checked the machine, drawn up all the ‘poisons’ for the patients. All lined up like those green little soldiers. Ready for war. Not in this case lah kan.

She started the first patient and then the second and then the third just like packing sandwiches for Marks and Spencer, and then the consultant walked in to say ‘ Go and have a break’. Sweet. So she obligingly went to the coffee room.

She rummaged through the bag and she huffed and puffed what with the amount of pieces of papers from god knows which century flying all over the place making the task of 20p hunt challenging in there. Ah so she found the 20p. She was pleased. That’s the beauty of just sprinkling your loose change in your bag, you know you have it in there somewhere. Make it more beautiful, scrunch all your receipts from all possible shopping in there as well. Don't we just love challenges.

She plonked the 20p into the machine and she waited. Sreeettttt sledging down came the hot chocolate and down she slumped on the sofa like a slinky with the steaming hot chocolate under her nose. She sipped and and sighed, ahhh that feels better. Some grinning faces looked on her direction giving the oh-I-so-can-relate-to-you odd nods. Isn’t it just one of those mornings, she can hear them all shout at once.

Gulp. I am not supposed to feel better. I am flipping fasting!!! (*&^$£”£%&*&

Theatre manager, Mr.Giant noticed the change of weather in my face and went, Aaaaa, you’re suppose to be fasting aren’t you Naj??? Quick call the mosque!!!!

I am glad people thought it’s funny and had a dose of laughter in my expense. Funnier they thought was when I failed miserably trying to justify that I actually forgot that I was fasting.

Bad thought this, but why after the first sip? Why? Damn.

Just when I thought nobody else was having worse time in his or her life than me, my phone went off and it was my only other single anaesthetist malay friend. That's too long and too descriptive.
Dr. Honda I shall call her.

She didn't say hello didn't wait for me to say hello. She had a speech most pressured most weighed down, sparse but to the point. Wasn’t sure if she’s just woken up or she’s just spent hours crying.

She: Naj, you know I broke off with my boyfriend 3 days ago?

Me: Uhuh. (And you're going on holiday with him next week, and then come back all broken off again, ya hah I know)

She: I killed my patient today.

Silent.

I almost fell off my chair.

Oh girl, I’d hug you if you’re in front of me.

***

It’s starting to look quiet bad,
Leaves are giving up and letting go,
Nights are spreading outward like cancer,
Summer is gasping out it’s last wheezy breaths,
And then, another dagger plunged into the heart .

Yes, eek summer is gone, autumn looming around and standing still like a bouncer.
I have not written much as I didn't think it's necessary at first,
Too much going on, people read, people judge.
Like looking at a painting, people rate people put price.
But from the e-mails I have been getting, I am starting to feel guilty,
with melted butter gooey feeling inside too. Which by no means is bad.
Didn’t you lovely people just put a spiced smile on my face.
Thank you.

Greetings to the Ramadhan month, Selamat Berpuasa.