The Path I Am On

I went for follow up today. My tympanic membrane is now intact, which means I can now swim and fly, but my high-frequency hearing lost and tinnitus is still there. At this point, it's most likely going to be permanent. But yeah, I'm past the grieving period over the lost, so it didn't sadden me much. It takes some time to get use to this slight disability. Sometimes people call my name from behind and I have no idea where the voice came from. Last week I was caught with wandering attention by a lecturer during clinics when in fact I was paying attention to my tinnitus which gets louder in closed and quiet clinics. Oh, don't let me start with the operating theatre, where people talk in whispers. I tried to assist a surgeon and end up passing over the scissors to another student just after 30 minutes because I cut when I am not supposed to and did not cut when I am supposed to. 'Cut (whispers)' 'Cut...cut, cut! CUT!' He goes, and hey ho cherio I go!

I also went to psychiatric ward round today. There was this young lady who got very depressed and tried to kill herself because her mental illness made her unable to work or earn money so she felt that she was useless and a burden to herself and her family. I guess one of the things that got me going on is seeing others that have illnesses worse than mine. I have the chance to see it every single day, and every time I see other people who have worse disability than me, I felt thankful and appreciative of what I still have. My dad asked me why I wasn't depressed after I've learned about my permanent disability. I asked him 'Should I be?'. He said most of his patients got depressed and traumatized after learning they had a similar disability as mine, and I should learn my lesson of not joining anymore stupid outdoor games. So being a faithful son, I followed his advice and went on being depressed the next week for 5 days. Yeah, it was an awesome experience but I don't think I want to do it again.

Living with tinnitus actually sucks. Imagine having a ringing sound in your head 24 hours for the rest of your life. There is no moment of silence for me. But to take it positive, I just imagine this ringing in my head is a call. A call which is a constant reminder for me to always work towards being a better person. So when I do nothing but sit around, I will start paying attention to the ringing sound...and that is where I am reminded to get up and do something productive. I have to keep myself busy doing something to distract myself from the sound. I'm just glad that when it didn't affect my relaxing ritual sitting in cafes because although coffee exaggerates tinnitus for awhile, hearing music on the headphone masks the ringing sound.

While my hearing loss might limit my career choice of specialization, unlike the young woman I saw this morning, at least I can still work in other specialties that doesn't need me to hear soft subtle sounds from the chest. Or being in operating theaters. Or quiet clinics. I've always wanted to be a physician and specialize in infectious disease. But being a physician involves a lot of precise hearing of the chest sounds. Maybe I'll just move on to something I have always been interested in, like hospital management, health care planning, health economics and stuff. Influence something big in the Ministry of Health, or maybe work for the World Health Organization in Geneva, save the world and things like that. You know, the big picture.

All in all, despite all the things that happened to me, I am quite happy with the way things are now. I can still study and carry out my responsibilities, I can still have fun with friends. I still hold on to my favorite phrase: 'life is too short to be miserable, are you who you want to be?'. By the way a psychiatrist sensed there was something wrong with me, called me up after clinics, found out my problems and suggested me to do my own personal CBT, which stands for 'Cognitive Behavior Therapy'. I told her ''It's okay doc, I don't need CBT, all need is CBTL: Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf'' ;)

Some coffee ritual I do at airports

On Expectations

Most of the time, we are bogged down with the expectation of others, held back from achieving great things in life because the fear of 'what will people say' or 'how would people respond to what I say or do?' Making a decision is not a popularity contest. Decide to do the right thing, not necessarily the the most popular thing. I have learned the hard way that as long as you know that you are in the right, it does not really matter what people say or how people respond. Those are actually their problem, not yours

The Ocean in Me

I woke up in the middle of the ocean to the sounds of sea waters slapping against the ship. I realized that sunshine has slipped its way between the golden silk curtains. As I drew them open, mounds of majestic mountains greeted me, seeming to float above the shimmering waters, reflecting the lively morning sun. In the far distant, I saw some other ships on sail, moving out of the alcove we were anchored in for the night. Some people above the decks were taking pictures of the sun shining its glory between the limestone islets. My mind recalled an article read a few weeks ago about the sunrise in Ha Long bay. The view was some of the most coveted in the world of photo enthusiasts. Impossible to be appreciated by land, it takes at least two hours from the shores to sail into this magical wonder. Just as I put my feet on the wooden floor, the sounds of rattling chains was heard indicating the anchor was being pulled up, and the ship was ready to set sail again.

I went to the upper deck for breakfast. Some of the other passengers were already having theirs. I chose a corner spot by the window so I could admire the glorious view as I had my breakfast. I was never a loyal breakfaster, often substituting the morning meal with just coffee and biscuits (not a good habit, I know). The memory from the previous day’s visit to the magnificent floating fishing village still lingers in my mind as I was having this proper breakfast I rarely took. I never thought people could live and make a living on sea waters. Perhaps the rather serene waters of the bay, protected from violent ocean waves by the surrounding limestone islands has made the place a safe haven. The place has a legend, as told by our guide. ‘There was a war between the local people and the Chinese invaders’ he said in a typical Vietnamese accent. ‘A family of dragons sent down from heaven to defend the land. These dragons spit out jewels and jade, which turned into the islands and islets surrounding the bay. The people were protected from the invaders by these walls of limestone islands’ he continued. ‘The dragons were enchanted by the beauty of the bay they have made themselves, the dragons decided to live among the local people’. 

Beautiful story, I thought. Those people he told of fish for a living until the present day. Their houses floated on water in the middle of the ocean, far from the lands, but the sight of lights, television and electric generator proves that human beings hardly escaped modernity. As I was passing by the floating houses I saw a mother holding her baby by the waters, staring unblinkingly to the sea waters, mesmerized by the reflection of the sun. Come a few more years, the baby might have grown up to be mesmerized by her own reflection on the waters than the reflection of the sun. At a place like this, I wondered at what age the child learns to swim. As there were no walkways between houses, they had to either swim, or use sampans to get from one house to another.

I turned my view from the vast ocean to the other passengers in the dining area. Except for me, everyone on this trip came in pairs. It made sense, I thought, since I myself would consider this cruise perfect for a honeymoon trip. The other passengers had already got used seeing me alone throughout the journey. They must have mistaken me for a reviewer for some travel magazine or blog. It was later I realized that with the notebook and camera I carry around with me all the time, I did look like one. As awkward as it gets sometime, there is a certain kind of serenity when I spend some time alone marveling the spectacle of nature. I have always disagreed when people equate being alone with being lonely. While being in the company of others and having someone to talk to is healthy, being alone once in awhile just thinking about life, marveling the breath-taking nature, or just watching the world pass by is necessary for the health of the mind. I call this the period of detachment. Sitting around doing nothing but think seems counter-productive, but it is a lot better than running around being busy with no idea where you are heading to. Thinking about life, what we are going to do with it, what it means to us, and what it really is about gives us a better perspective once we are out in the world full of people again. Life is about balance. Like these oceans, the ocean in us has its own high and low tides. Sometimes they are rough, sometimes they are calm. Treasure the ocean in us 

The engines had stopped roaring as I walked out to the decks. We visited a cave, went kayaking, fishing, hill climbing and such. All those experience was invigorating, but nothing compares to the night before, an enchanting moment I will never forget. As I sat at the roof deck of the ship as the sun set, the ship sailed towards an alcove. I watched the mountains fade away, and the stars came out. I stared at the stars, realizing how small and insignificant we are compared to the universe. If life was meant to be hard and serious, why was I smiling?
 

Beautiful Moments

Delightful Days in Ipswich

One early summer in 2011, a quartet of students were flown 6557 miles across the continent from Malaysia to the United Kingdom to ultimately find themselves in the small, strange town of Ipswich, one of the oldest town in England where the locals spoke in a queer medieval English accent and the bus stops face the opposite side of the road. These are the students of the arts of healing, or medicine as some call it. They were sent to this peculiar town with the trust of their Professors to learn the ways of curing ailments associated with the ear, nose and throat, commonly known in abbreviation as ENT. Although they went on separate voyages from Malaysia to this foreign land, along their stay in Ipswich they would stay close when it comes to their intellectual endeavours inside the four walls of the hospital named after the town itself: Ipswich Hospital, where stories of birth, growth, decline and death were confined into. The long hallways of the hospital were lined with glass windows and dozens of artwork by an artist by the name of David Poole, and each morning they would make their way past these hallways to the east side of the hospital, where their morning feast awaits. Devouring the typical menu consisting of fried eggs, hash browns and bread as fast as possible, they would then rush towards the opposite side of the hospital and ascend to the second floor where the square one of morning rounds is.

As opposed to the hospital they were used to back in their homeland, there was no dedicated ward for ENT patients in Ipswich Hospital. The patients were scattered in different wards around the hospital, compelling them to travel from one ward to another, making out their typically British names: Stowupland, Somersham, Framlingham, Brantham and Martlesham to name a few. Wards to wards, patients were found one by one by this flock of gleeful doctors and upon reaching their beds, their elated moods would be tuned down to suit the patients’ temperament. Curtains were drawn around the bed, temporarily delineating them from the rest of room, allowing transactions of confidential information about their illness to take place, followed by questions, answers and advice, which would all be simmered down into two opposing conclusions: ‘you can go home now’ or ‘you need to stay a bit longer’. Customarily, compliments would be given to the doctors for the former, and complaints for the latter. Along their way to see another patient, the doctors would also discuss deliberately among themselves in quiet chatter about further plans for the latter case. One by one, the patients were seen, greetings were exchanged, compliments and complaints were gathered, and patients were sent home, until they eventually arrive at the clinics, marking the end of the morning rounds and the beginning of consultation hours.

Arrival upon the clinics on the South side would usually be greeted by pleasant and courteous nurses, most memorable was the one by the name of Celia, who has a way of saying ‘good morning’ in a cheerful manner to which the students would have a difficult time not to reply with a fairly equal amount of cheer. Their path would temporarily separate here as they reach for different doors numbered one to four, finding themselves in a small room with a large window which the nurses would slide downwards to let the refreshing summer air in, a big table for the deliberate work of the doctor, a small sink for the killing of germs, and numerous other doctor’s tools of trade. Laid in a perfect triangle were 3 chairs of different shape and size. The smallest and most ordinary of them all was for the students to sit and listen, the larger one that swivels around was for the doctor to sit and talk, and the largest one with hand rests, which when tilted fully forms into a bench, was for the sick one to be treated. For hours, the doctors would attend to the patients while the students listen attentively to doctor-patient conversation.

The gap of time in between patients was the only time for the students to ask questions to the doctors and vice versa. With names such as Hilger, Yung, Baska, Satish, Raj, Ogunniyi, Qureshi and Anjayi, it is not difficult to swerve away from medical themes and ask the doctors where they were actually from, followed by the question of ‘where the doctors of actual English descent have gone to?’, but the students feel that it is not a fitting question to ask, for the fear of being accused of chauvinism. Sometimes, the patients can be quite amusing but laughers were held as long as the patients were still in. Once out the door, they would burst out in laughter at the punched nose, ear plugs left in the ear, or the small toy left in the child’s nose. Sometimes the doctors can be quite amusing too. Once a doctor point out to one of the student that her dress was too long, when in fact she was wearing the traditional Malay dress ‘baju kurung’ which was meant to be that long. This happened for hours, until noon where lunch calls for a break, and in the evening they would either go on with the clinics or they would scrub into inky blue surgery attire and enter the operating theatre where miracles happen by the minutes.

Such were their daily endeavours in Ipswich that it became a routine for them to gain knowledge this way, every day. Without them realizing, it was nearly the end of their venture in the foreign land. On their last day, they spent time taking photos, hoping to capture the good memories together with these lot of joyful people. But nothing compares to the memories that will replayed again and again later in their minds . One of the students who had this sheer love of cafés experience went to a perfect one he found by the pier. He admired the glow of the evening sun and the sight of boats docking in and sailing out of Ipswich. Sipping coffee, listening to the likes of Jack Johnson, Kings of Convenience and Damien Rice, he lets his mind meditate. Suddenly each and every moment, even small things, feels much more meaningful. Soon he will be home, shouldering more responsibilities and living more expectations. But none of those worries bothered him. He was in a state of total detachment. For a moment, he was in a total peace of mind. Like a painter, come whatever, he thought, he will take time to close his eyes and paint this feeling of tranquillity and continue to live the life he was bound to live. 

Revivify

I think the coolest things on earth are those which are both:

1) Simple
2) Elegant 

I tried to redesign my blog to fulfill those two criteria. After a whole night tinkering around, I think this design would do. I'm also happy that I can now post uncompressed high resolution photos like the one I took up there. Guess you will see more pictures on this blog from now on. So why the sudden change? If you have been my follower since before the advent of Facebook, when Friendster was still the 'in' thing, you might realize this design is quite similar to the blog I previously had on Friendster. I missed that blog. I had a few posts there, and I had this sudden idea of reading what I wrote there again, just to see how my writings have evolved over the years. But to my disappointment, Friendster is now nothing more than a gaming website, and all the blogs written there has vanished into cyberspace oblivion. There goes my teenage memories.

I think that is the nature of social networking sites. You will never know if someday Facebook will no longer appeal to the young generation, replaced by Google+ or anything better, and all the things that you have written there will be lost. Poof. Just like that. I reckon that blogs are a better way of keeping stuff online, because even if blogspot.com is gone, I can always get my own domain and transfer the same contents into that new domain. I guess I will work more on this blog from now on. It gives me some kind of relief that my significant memories are stored here. Just in case I forget someday