Therapy?

I was born in 26th March 1982 via spontaneous vertex delivery at 9:30pm in Hospital Fatimah, Ipoh. My birth weight was 2.8kg and I cried immediately after birth. I was the second of two children, and at that moment, my mother could not be prouder.

But I often wonder what happened in the few hours before.

I wonder what brought my mother to the hospital in the first place. Was it because she had unbearable contraction pains, did her water break, or did a routine antenatal checkup show that I was ready to come out?

I wonder if dad drove her to hospital, and who babysat my elder sister at home, still a year plus and probably learning her first steps.

I wonder if dad, a young GP at the time, recited the step-by-step management of a normal labour in his head, and any anticipatory measures that might follow should something arise.

I wonder if he was sweating buckets, and more concerned at the impending tribulations of fatherhood, yet again, this time caring for a son.

I wonder if dad and mom knew I was a boy.

I wonder what happened in the screening room. Did I give enough time for my mother to prepare, physically, mentally and most of all emotionally, or was I in a hurry to come out?

I wonder who wheeled her into the labour room. Was it a kindly staff nurse who saw enough babies delivered to tell which mother would have an easy labour; or was it a student nurse just learning the ropes of the workings of the delivery suite?

I wonder if the student nurses timed her contractions properly (3 in 10, 4 in 10), monitored my heart rate (110-160) and my mother’s vital signs diligently. I wonder if they knew they were talking to a fully-trained nurse as well.

I wonder if the staff nurse came by now and again to reassure my mother, to talk to her like an old colleague, a friend, and made her feel at ease in the unfamiliar labour room. After all, my sister was born in Alor Setar.

I wonder if there were any eager medical students or housemen on call that night, taking a good history from mom, quizzing her about contraceptives and family planning, but ultimately hoping to prove themselves worthy of conducting a delivery on their own.

I wonder if I was too hard on my mom. I wonder if she clung on to the side of the bed in pain, everytime her contractions came, stronger and stronger.

I wonder if I starved my mother too long in the labour room, as she was not allowed to eat or drink while inside the labour room, with only the drip-drip-drip of the intravenous fluids nourishing her while her lips became dryer and dryer.

I wonder if my mother was crying, thinking of the hardship that would inevitably arrive having to juggle a nursing career and motherhood all at once. I hope they were tears of joy instead.

I wonder if my mother sang me a song, while she waited.

And when the time came…

I wonder how my mother knew "this was it", that I was going to come out and that was that.

I wonder if she alerted the staff nurses, student nurses and housemen in time, and whether they rushed to her aid in that instant.

I wonder if dad was allowed into the labour room, cradling my mother’s head, cheering her on while she pushed for dear life. For mine.

I wonder if all the people around mom told her how to push correctly, that she could not scream no matter what, that she could hold her own legs for leverage, that she should bear down as the contractions came for full effect.

I wonder if my mom bit hard onto the rolled-up blanket, to suppress her cries and to shoulder the pain. I wonder if she was angry at me for making this so hard for her.

I wonder if she ever thought of giving up, because she was breathless, inhaling and exhaling deeper than ever before, and that all the pain would go away if she settled for a Caesarian. I wonder if the staff nurse cautioned her otherwise.

I wonder if my mother lost too much blood in trying to get me out. I wonder if she was cold, dad holding her in his arms for emotional support and warmth. I wonder if she was too tired or hungry or thirsty.

I wonder if, with one final push, I came out easily.

I was born in 26th March 1982 via spontaneous vertex delivery at 9:30pm in Hospital Fatimah, Ipoh. My birth weight was 2.8kg and I cried immediately after birth. I was a happy, healthy boy, and the newest addition to the family.

I wonder what went through my mom’s mind, as the nurses hurried to clean me up as best they could, clamped and cut the cord, and made sure I was breathing and crying well. I wonder what went on her mind as she was about to see her newborn son for the first time.

I wonder if, as she held me in her arms and called to me for the first time, she thought all her effort in the 9 months was worth it.

I can only wonder, and sadly, I will never know the answers. I wish I did.

25 years later, I am in the shoes of the eager medical student, roaming the delivery rooms deep at night, asking a mom-to-be what an emotional rollercoaster ride it must have been for the sake of her unborn child. An hour later, I helped welcome her son into this brave, new world, and the face of the new mother told the whole story. Unmistakable, insurmountable joy. Of course it was worth it.

This post is dedicated to mothers everywhere, not just mine, whose children know not the blood, the sweat, and the tears involved while delivering a newborn.

I love you mom, and I miss you always.

Imagine if you will, that happiness can be stored in a bottle, tastes like heaven (or Kickapoo, whatever), and you can replenish it at will.

If I had that, every morning I would take a sip from it, and spread joy wherever I go. I would say hi to all my friends and colleagues, go about my day in deluded optimism, with total confidence and conviction in my decisions, muse aloud about the beauty and wonder of living, pet animals, plant trees, give to the poor, and wish that all my friends could see me as I am now.

I would sip from the cup of good cheer, dance the dance of life, play the banjo of goodwill, consume the salmon of doubt, and sing the song of freedom. I would live each day like a cliche, to the fullest, and as if it were my last. My closest friends would bask with me in my full glory, and my worst enemies better beware.

I would tell everyone I love them.

At last, before I lay my weary head to rest, I kiss the bottle for a fantastic day spent, and look forward to a better tomorrow, every single day… until the day I expire.

Alas, happiness does not exist yet in pre-bottled forms. I mean, even if they did, they’d probably be sold out too. So I have to make do with other, alternative, more accessible means. Something else which would give me the same effect as… happiness in a bottle.

Glad I got my booze.

Play something on the stereo. Anything. Something nice, preferably with a baroque section. Mind I make a suggestion? The Used’s "The Bird and the Worm."

Just have a song playing in your head right now.

There’s a song for every waking moment. A theme for every occurrence beneath the stratosphere. A song for each of our own dramas, comedies, our tragedies… and they are played, enacted and edited for public consumption, as sure as we are stars of our own TV show nobody else knows about.

And it plays in your head. Like an earworm that will not get out. You decide what songs you want in and out of your little show.

And you wonder what it’s like… like a wrestler who has his own theme everytime he makes an entrance, as he marches gallantly down the ramp.

And you wonder what song MTV will play for you when you star in their reality series. Will they play something that irks you, interests you, defines you?

And you wonder if one day someone will name a song after you, and make a hit of it, to stamp your name in immortality.

We all need a song sometime.

A sweeping orchestral movement, a crunchy metal riff, an operatic voice reaching for the high notes in a foreign language, an ominous cello solo, a ballad of dreams, a popular sing-along.

When you wake up. When you rush to work. When you get into trouble. When you get mad and even. When you save the day with your heroics. When you kiss, and when you sigh. When you feel pensive and reflective. When you run, far far away from it all.

The soundtrack of our lives.

What song is playing in your head right now?

Scene: Bukit Jalil stadium car park area, a sweaty, frantic crowd of 2,000 amidst a wide open space, with a well-lit stage in front. The weather was fine.

Time: April 21st, 11:00pm, nearly 2 hours into a full-on rock concert, with the audience twisted and contorted to the performers’ every whim and fancy. Yes, they have us at their fingertips.

Culprit: Joel Madden, lead man of Good Charlotte. He bantered aplenty with the crowd in between songs, and sort of as a short intro. On this one he showed distinct vulnerability.

"Has anyone here ever broken up with someone?"
<Crowd raises hands in unison>
"Has anyone here ever been dumped by someone?"
<Still many hands in the air>
"Has anyone here ever hurt someone?"
<A few hesitant hands remain raised>

And now the punchline…
"Has anyone here ever been hurt by someone?"
<Nearly all hands in the air now>

We await his next move. It was predictable, but we were lured in anyway. He came this far. So did we. Like a scripted chess game where everyone knew the moves and the ending beforehand, yet still play it out. Joel Madden speaks.

"I want everyone to put up their hands and say it."

Everyone obeys his command, ate out of his hands.

"I don’t wanna be in love."
"I DON’T WANNA BE IN LOVE!"
"I don’t wanna be in love."
"I DON’T WANNA BE IN LOVE!"

Louder now.
"Put up your arms and say, I don’t wanna be in love!"
"I DON’T WANNA BE IN LOVE!"
"I don’t wanna be in love!"
"I DON’T WANNA BE IN LOVE!"

"This is too nice a place, too great a time, to give your heart to only a single person!" Joel Madden wanted company, he wanted kindred spirits who were as hurt as he is, he wanted contentment, reasoning, and support… he wanted to feel alright. As famous, and as talented as he is, he brought himself down to our level, so we could see his hurt, clear as day. Pain, the most basic of emotions felt by all regardless of status and creed, brought the cast of thousands together. He’s only human, after all. Even rock stars get the blues.

And so we obliged, and sang with him.

"Dance Floor Anthem"

She’s going out to forget they were together
All that time he was taking her for granted
She wants to see if there’s more
Then he gave she’s looking for

Everybody put up your hands, say
”I don’t wanna be in love, I don’t wanna be in love”
Feel the beat now if you’ve got nothing left, say
”I don’t wanna be in love, I don’t wanna be in love”
Back it up now you’ve got a reason to live, say
”I don’t wanna be in love, I don’t wanna be in love”
Feelin’ good now, don’t be afraid to get down, say
”I don’t wanna be in love, I don’t wanna be in love”

If only Hillary Duff were here to see it.

Sometimes I wonder if God wished He had an ‘undo’ button when a horrible misdeed has just happened among His creations. Or better yet, to wipe the slate clean and dirt-free, a ‘reset‘ button. For what a screwed-up world we live in. We don’t even deserve a place on earth sometimes, let alone heaven.

"You don’t expect this to happen at your school. We’re just kids." said Brittany Jones.

BLACKSBURG, Va. - A Virginia Tech senior from South Korea was behind the massacre of at least 30 people locked inside a campus building in the deadliest shooting rampage in modern U.S. history.

The gunman appeared to have used chains to lock doors and prevent victims from escaping. Fifteen people were wounded, including those shot and students hurt jumping from windows in a desperate attempt to flee the gunfire.

Derek O’Dell, his arm in a cast after being shot, described a shooter who fired away in "eerily silence" with "no specific target - just taking out anybody he could."

After the gunman left the room, students could hear him shooting other people down the hall. O’Dell said he and other students barricaded the door so the shooter couldn’t get back in - though he later tried.

"He was just shooting to kill," Dr. Joseph Cacioppo, an emergency room physician who treated the wounded.

Remember the 5 stages of grief? Shock, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. One statement alone swings this whole surreal, already unbelievable incident from shock to full-blown anger.

Advocates of gun ownership rights saw Monday’s massacre as evidence of the need to relax gun laws, not tighten them.

"The latest school shooting at Virginia Tech demands an immediate end to the gun-free zone law," said Larry Pratt, executive director of Gun Owners of America.

So this genius advocates that violence justifies more violence. The great equaliser. The problem-solver. Pack everyone you know with a gun, for everyone is a potential victim. So in his sick mind, in an ideal world, his utopia, everybody has a gun. A bunch of 6-year-olds in a playground, and no bullying exists because as soon as one kid upsets the other he’d have a gun pointed at his face. PERFECT!!!

Spare a prayer, a thought for the victims of this dark, dark day, please. Them and their families. May God be with them. Take a deep breath in and out, and be thankful that we are now safely behind our desks going about our own business. Some of us might even be oblivious this has happened. Imagine you’re the emergency room doctor in Virginia, and minute by minute another victim gets wheeled in. You pounce to your duty like you only know how, and, overloaded with work that should have been totally preventable, you think "what is this world coming to?"

"It’s just, it’s going to be horrible, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better." Gregory Walton, friend of Ryan Clark, one of the deceased.

God be with them.

"I am color… blind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside…"

The few things that bring people together can be put into two big groups. Festivals and tragedies. Weddings, new years, reunions offset by disease, diasaters and funerals. Judging by the news we read, the things we see with our own eyes, it’s really hard to become an optimist these days. We often trumpet the "triumph of the human spirit" in the "face of adversity", but do we really need another tragedy just so we can be nicer to each other? To demonstrate "humanity"?

"I am ready
I am ready
I am ready, I am…"

I am frustrated about a number of things going on right now. Too often we take our friends for granted and take minor misunderstandings to heart. Too often we expect too much from our friends, only to be disappointed and hurt later, and you die a silent death all by yourself. A small spark ignited to a bonfire, and all that has happened before, good times aplenty, are thrown asunder by one incident. We don’t look at the big picture. We think too highly of ourselves and think others should do as we do. For we know what’s best.

Or do we really?

"Taffy stuck, tongue tied
Stuttered shook and uptight
Pull me out from inside…"

This song reflects a state of mind. When the world comes crashing down upon you, and you need to find a quiet place, your sanctuary, to gather your thoughts and make whatever contingency plans you can… for the sake of your sanity and wellbeing. You get numbed by all the wrong you see in front of your eyes, but in spite of that you realise you can’t be cooped up inside your hiding place forever. You try to come out. But you need a bit of convincing… that coming out of your sanctuary is worth your while.

"I am ready
I am ready
I am ready
I am… fine."

One of my oldest, closest friends is in a time of need. I wish I could say better things, be more understanding, offer more help, and listen more intently. But as it is, "I’m sorry" are the only words I could muster, because all the world could not understand how you feel right now. I can only wish that… as this chapter of your life closes, you learn to accept what life has dealt you. Acknowledge the pain, but don’t let it overpower you. Let love heal all wounds. As ordinary as all these words sound, they worked for me when I needed them most.

"I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside…"

I am, once again, guilty for the crime of only contacting my old friends whenever a festival or a tragedy occur. For today, unfortunately, it had to be a tragedy. I wished we could have talked in happier times, but we were all caught up in our own whirlwinds. Never mind… better talk than never.

"I am folded
And unfolded
And unfolding, I am…"

I plead with you, my friends, today to seek out an old friend, and find out how he/she is. Talk about the old times, but don’t just leave it there. Or better yet, patch things up with someone who you’ve had a misunderstanding with. Don’t do it out of routine, do it because they really matter to you. Life is too short, too amazing to dwell in petty wrongdoings. Forgiveness is a powerful spell we use too little. We fail to acknowledge that, and we fail ultimately as a breathing, feeling human being.

"Colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am ready
I am ready
I am… fine."

This post is dedicated to Mrs Goh, a wonderful mother, wife, teacher and friend. I only wish I could’ve known her better, but her influence resonates far and wide. A wise and nurturing soul who had so much love to give to everyone around her. I will always remember our cheerful banter, and more importantly, one thing I have not shared with anyone. Way back when, we were on the phone the day after my parents went, and very few of my words made sense as I was too lost in my own grief. She gave me a few words to live by… and in her words I found so much healing, so much hope, that I could never fully express my gratitude.

Thank you for everything, auntie.

"If God would send his angels would everything be alright?"
~U2

Free post. Sasha just tagged me, so I don’t need to crack my head open thinking of some emo stuff to write. So I can put away my black eyeliner, toenail polish, face paint, studded belt, Rancid (wait, that’s Mat Metal)… I mean, Death Cab For Cutie T-shirt, razorblades and take My Chemical Romance out of the stereo. Ooh, I’m so unemo-ed today. Nothing but Engelbert Humperdinck for me today. The world doesn’t suck, seems like such a brighter place and I don’t wanna die or cut myself. Yay.

6 Weird Things About Me

Shortlisted from about an initial list of about 12 or so, so more eccentricities are left unsaid. You wanna get weirded out more, don’t trust what I write! Experience me in person! Fulala!

1. I have a severe obsessive compulsive disorder around geometry and symmetry. I absolutely cannot take it if something is not at the right angle. If a picture is not hung straight, if the carpet edge is not running parallel with the floor tiling, if my computer cables have kinks, if my tendon hammer does not point straight up, yada yada. I don’t mind a mess, so long as every object is at a right angle relative to each other. But if you have like a hair on your shirt so help me God I will look at it until you remove it or I do it for you. When I was still in school my favourite task was arranging the tables. Sometimes when I go dating I take a mirror to check for facial symmetry. Ok that one’s a fib but as long as I’m talking about standards… The reasonable conclusion is I HATE plastic bags. They have no shape, no form, and SPIT AT the face of geometry and symmetry. And the buggers fly around everywhere. That’s why they’re always the first thing to go into the bin. Think about that.

2. When I’m bored, and that happens so very often, and fun things are out of reach, I finger fight. Namely pit one hand against the other in a duel to the death. I’ve been doing it ever since I started watching wrestling, about 5 years old. These days I’m so skilled at it I can perform most wrestling moves with two hands. You name it. The Rock Bottom, the Stone Cold Stunner, the Pedigree, the Chokeslam… I can do it all. I invent new moves as well! Sarjit eloquently calls it "one hand trying to kill the other". I just wanna keep myself amused. Bonus points if I’m at a place with many little objects, they can join in the fun as well! Erasers (bricks), pencils (broomsticks), mugs (trashcans), watches (championship belts), pendrives (stun-guns)… damn fun wei. My left hand has been killing my right for nearly 20 years.

3. I cannot kneel on my left knee. If I even attempt to bear weight on my left knee, a sharp pain will shoot up and I wince. So when you tell me to kneel in prayer I can do a really convincing "Oh dear God I really need Your help" desperation look. I could tell you fantastic stories of how I got the injury, maybe from an old football injury, trying to break up a gang fight, or running away from the Japanese. But I got it back in school when I collided with a charging blind man. Not literally, he just wasn’t looking and <crash> all my weight fell onto the left knee while he fell flat on his face. True story. So if you want to get something out of me, like physically, just get me to kneel on the left. It’s torture enough. Well, damn near anything is better than *that* Daniel Craig torture.

4. Sometimes, I hear voices just before falling asleep. These are unknown voices, casual conversations among normal people leading normal lives. They don’t call my name, nor do they respond to my thoughts. They’re just… there. Imagine hearing what you hear in a restaurant but you’re alone in the bedroom. Less commonly, I hear them for a few seconds right after waking up. And even less frequently, and thank goodness for that, sometimes the voices wake me up, and I have to hear them for a full minute while I break into cold sweat, all my muscles tingle, refuse to cooperate and I cannot move at all. Even when I’m conscious, aware, thinking "this has happened before, all I need to do is move" it takes tremendous effort to dispel the voices and move again. The Chinese call it "kena squash by ghost". Luckily, in 4th year of medical school, I finally found out that they’re called hypnagogic and hypnopompic hallucinations, and they are totally normal. The voices have not disappeared, but at least I know I’m not going crazy. Yet.

5. I hate raisins. So much I would declare war on them. So much that when I pray, I tell God to please take the raisins away. They are the plague, they are Black Death, they are Apocalypse. Lord knows why people like to eat raisins. Lord knows why anyone would prefer a shrivelled-up version of its former self, they must have personality defects. From a former mighty grape, to a tiny, misshapen, ANOMALY. I HATE raisins. Just yesterday I found this cereal that I really liked but they came with raisins so I picked out each and every raisin from the pack. And declared war on them. And begged the Lord to forgive their sins, for they do not know their way, and to take them away. They go where angels fear to tread. They are what your mom warned you about. They party where the sun don’t shine. They are… raisins. And I hate them.

6. Back in Ipoh, when I’m driving and getting into this really interesting conversation with you, or someone else, and not really paying any attention to the road, subconsciously, and invariably, I will end up in front of Sam Tet, my alma mater. You have no idea how many times it’s happened. Total subconscious control. Its not instinct, I mean I can’t hunt for food there, its more like programming: when in doubt, go Sam Tet. Just ask my sister. Mid-conversation she’ll point out "Are you really going to Jusco" and I have to cover up "I prefer this way, less jam". So, at least I know, when the end of the world comes, and I have to come home to the mothership, that’s where I’ll be going.

That was refreshing. Tag time!

Khai Tzer, Vijay, Yean Koon, Ah Pek, Jessica and Emily. You’re supposed to, like, tell 6 weird things (not too weird we’re not ready to hear what you do to booger) about you and tag 6 people. Failing which you gotta listen to My Chemical Romance while wearing a razorblade around your neck.

Celebrate the weirdness.

"You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by."

I wouldn’t say I left my heart in Seremban… oh maybe I will. To make the past month totally insignificant I’ll just summarise it in a sentence. Passed my finals, went back for a really relaxing Chinese New Year, rocked out at the Muse concert, moved out of Seremban for good, and moved into Batu Pahat, loose wiring and all. Started the surgical posting not on the wrong foot but neither does it seem right at first… and in the meantime blogs get ignored.

In that time I’ve found the time to watch, of all movies, Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby. And while the concept of "shake and bake" escapes me, what it essentially means is that two best friends knock fists to reaffirm that yes, they are best friends. BFF.

Through the years I’ve forgotten who my BFF is. And though the image of Will Farrell and John C. Reilly knocking fists is far and away from what best friends should be symbolised by, I think you get what I mean.

Yeah I do have memberships in several gangs (some renewed yearly), my groupmates and batchmates who I work with, people who I share lunch and dinnertime with, friends who I bitch to when I need some ranting done, or a handful (ok two hands full) of really close friends who I tell the gamut to.

My old friend has this friend classification system whereby the closeness of a friend is directly proportionate to the amount of money he is willing to lend and the time allowed to repay the debt. If only I could classify things just as easily. He/she’d have to do all the things above I’ve mentioned, lend money, not expect a return, and still be able to run a marathon with me. Or for me, if I’m lazy.

So in the meantime, while I adjust to the funny weather and insane drivers from Batu Pahat, there is an opening for a BFF right now. To my past BFFs, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, we’ve had our days in the sun and fooh, some of them were really good. But the moment I bitch to 12 different people I realise that I don’t have a specific current BFF to lock in all my frustrations. And I don’t have a "1st person to call" for whenever I, say, kena lottery or kena saman.

So, yes, opening for BFF. Available. I’ll share my entire DVD and CD collection. You can watch and listen till your eyes and ears bleed. I’ll make you fruit juice smoothies and force you to diet with me. I want you to tell me I’m a slob and not pull any punches, in fact, punch me in the gut if I behave like a parasite. Shake and bake, baby.

So you wanna be my BFF?

For as far back as I can remember I have been taking examinations, and like the marquee glitterata splashed across the arena entrance billing the next big fight as the "biggest ever", for me the biggest most important test is always the next one. Coming from a Chinese primary school meant you were used to the grueling tenure of monthly tests, end of semesters three times a year, and the obligatory, out-of-nowhere pop quizzes when the teachers feel just a bit sadistic that morning. Probably they spilt their coffee. And they felt like whacking us if we make any mistake. Back then in some tests, 90% meant you made ONE mistake and you get ONE whack of the cane, which sometimes was… ah, as good as it got. Lignocaine for my cane marks.

In the midst of taking all these tests I have come across many, many peculiar pre-test rituals among my classmates and colleagues through the years. Some believe in the "calm before the storm"… a relaxed last few moments before taking the exam, some pray in a circle, a few go "meh", and some are yet still more elaborate. Remember how Karl Malone acted every single time before he took a free throw? Exactly in that vein. One of my childhood friends, while taking a test, I took a glance of his left (non-writing) palm which said, in big, bold letters which nearly made his tiny hand appear black with splotches of skin in between… "you can do it." His father wrote it on his palm the morning of the exam, and it calmed his nerves somewhat. That was his propeller.

I have been having several sleep-disturbed nights, because as most of you all know, I’m going through what is known as "my biggest examination ever", until the next one of course. Factor in the late night cramming, fantastic frenetic Seremban weather, all the mosquitoes suddenly decreeing that my room is their favourite watering-hole, waking up in the middle of the night and realising you just forgot what you’ve read 20 minutes ago, and caffeine, sweet sweet caffeine who tease, play and grapple with your consciousness and attention like a stubborn ex-girlfriend (Ok, low blow, I know). And you have a pretty unstable exam-going dude. Today is the first of a 5-day break before the final paper, and I can afford to take my foot off the gas for a few hours. Just a few.

Something funny happened last night.

Superman had his dad and Luke Skywalker had his Obi-wan, in moments where life, fate, honour, glory and everything in between hung in the balance, their father figures would magically appear and tell them to continue on (or give them some tips), although all might seem lost and futile. After two grueling (the second time I’ve used this word in an hour) papers and a much-needed sabbatical before the final paper, when I least expected him and yet needed him the most… I dreamt of dad last night.

It was peculiar. He was shovelling snow in front of our driveway while we had another one of those father-son sessions (and everyone else on the planet just ceased to exist). We exchanged some light banter ("How’s medical school?" "It’s torture, dad." "Oh grow up.") while he shovelled on. Then he appeared to have some  knee pain and I went to check. He told me he was having some trouble with it and that he had gone to see a doctor about it. He was shovelling because he needed to "loosen up some joints". The medical part of me wanted to rest him, and send him off with some NSAIDs while he recuperated and stop the shovelling nonsense. The good son part of me rationalised "you really think that you know your dad better than he does just because you’ve read a few pages from an orthopaedics text"… my dad shovelled on, his knee pain lessening as we talked more.

And then I woke up. It had been 9 hours of uninterrupted, blissful rest… the best sleep I’ve had in yonks, I swear. The hot weather, mosquitoes, internal conflicts… nothing deterred me from getting the rightful rest I needed. And the weather is great. Not too hot, not too clammy. It’s a wonderful morning.

Being the child of a doctor meant you either embraced of repelled the medical profession completely, there is no inbetween. You either grow up to become one of them or go into something totally different. My sister and I are the perfect examples of both ends of the spectrum. My dad instilled in me the science of knowing, and a love for humanity. Which explains why I’m still trudging about in medical school while 90% of my high school batchmates have begun their journey to making their first million. Had he been alive today… dad’d be a ripe 56 years old this year. Sometimes I wish it’d be easier, no doubt, had he still been here. "Hey dad, how much dose erythromycin to give ah?" and I’d have my answer right away. But I’m not complaining. Not anymore anyway. Things happen as it should, and everything’s eventual.

My final paper is in 5 days and I need to study. See you all soon.

"So how’s medical school?"
"It’s torture, dad."
"Oh grow up."

My propeller.

Three hundred and sixty five moons to change, to adapt, to set wrongs right, and to continue my way down several footpaths, some familiar, some never treaded before. Resolutions for 2007, to the tune of Jewel’s classic, Hands.

"If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we’re all ok"

1. To have more self-belief and faith, that most times, things are never as bad as it seems, and even if they are… most things can’t kill you.

"And not to worry because worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these"

2. To not take things personally and regard everything as a personal attack. To listen to reason, and to understand circumstance. No more getting angry and disturbed for petty reasons.

"I will not be made useless
I won’t be idled with despair"

3. To use the whatever time I have beneficially. No more procrastination, no more time-wasting. There’s a world of things to do and only so little time to accomplish them. This year particularly, I have loads to prove.

"I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear"

4. To be more religious, something I have neglected in the past year. To believe in the power of prayer. And to honour God and His creations however I can. So that when someone asks me "tell me about your religion," I finally can.

"My hands are small, I know,
but they’re not yours they are my own
but they’re not yours they are my own
and I am never broken"

5. To honour my parents and family with all I have. Without question.

"Poverty stole your golden shoes"

6. To be a rightful ambassador for health. To continue my running, exercise and diet regime, lose another 10kg, and hopefully participate in some 10km runs.

"But it didn’t steal your laughter"

7. To be there for all my friends as they have for me, all these years. You have changed, and even saved my life in many ways and I hope to do the same. You know I love you guys like mad.

"And heartache came to visit me
But i knew it wasn’t ever after"

8. To learn to have patience. The only virtue that I have to learn, relearn and relearn. To be patient for appointments, for friends, for results. To grit my teeth and be more tolerant towards difficult people. All good things come to those who wait. "Patience, my young Padawan."

"We will fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what’s right
Cause where there’s a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing"

9. To not bad-mouth anyone behind their back. We are all but by-products of imperfection and it is not in our right place to judge anyone. It is probably the easiest thing to preach but hard hard HARDEST to practice. I hope I get it right this year.

"In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters"

10. To do no harm towards others. By the end of this year hopefully I’ll be a practicing doctor. Sleepless and stressed out, no doubt, but full of heart and yearning for a place in society. Before all that can take place I’ll take a page of advice from Vijay’s dad. "Son, try not to kill anyone."

"I will get down on my knees and I will pray
I will get down on my knees and I will pray
I will get down on my knees and I will pray"

My end of semester finals is in a little more than a month. I’m scared as hell.

Pray for me.