Persevere, you must

Because this is one of the many things to look forward to..
 

Something more than just hard work

Few years ago, I declared that my current family home is the most inconducive place to study. The ceilings are too high and the lightings too dim. Don't mention other distractions such as the dogs (I used to revise 2 pages of A Level biology and walk out to talk to the dogs for 2 minutes.. ), tv, internet, sofa-of-no-return ecetra.

So, no. One can never study in that house. It is almost impossible. The little Meeps (nevermind that she is actually physically taller than me) had her share of sufferings in terms of studying. It used to be me chilling out at home, watching the tellie or being online. She would try to 'study' from 7pm onwards, but ended up walking back and forth the study room and living room to 'catch some tv'. By 9pm, she would then tell herself - haiyah, might as well go up to the bedroom to study now. In the bedroom, the temptation of the bed was so huge that her eyelids started to feel heavy. She would usually doze off by 10pm ish.

There were times that she would be trying to 'revise' physics for a test the following day. She could doze off on the couch holding pieces of papers from Kadir's. Then, I would wake her up to go to bed but I only got scoldings in return because she would insist she needed to study. Her studying meant holding the papers, sitting up but with eyes closed. How peculiar, indeed.

I told her one has got to be realistic. A+ is not an easy task to get. Remember those days when people were getting SPM results in units? 6 units being the best? I recall those years when straight A1s were scarce. I told her that in order to have a good chance to score all A+ in all subjects, one needed to be at least the top student in class. She managed to push herself up to top 3 but never really made it to the top.

Also, I deeply feel that SPM is the least of what we can take pride in when we enter adulthood. Yes, it is all glamorous and fun to score the A1s or A+s. But look at me now - I won't quantify nor qualify my SPM results as being successful at the end of the day. I think I am far from there. This is the ninth year I left school and I am still hanging around not really knowing what to do with my life after a major heart break (okay, just kidding!). One does not need all the As in the world to be a happy person. Look at so many of my friends who have found their soulmates, gotten married and even have children.

However, I do think SPM is important in the sense that it is a stepping stone for people like me - the lower middle class who live in moderation (no, I don't own designer products) but education is impossible for us to afford. I know how it feels not being able to afford college fees. They are not cheap. The only way out is to do extremely well and pray that there is a scholarship.

And this year, I heard there is none. How silly. All of a sudden, the straight A+ becomes a bit.. errrr, pointless? I am not sure. Maybank might give RM100 or something like that. But hey, even a meal at TGIF cost RM60++ per head. I remember working hard (in the midst of heart getting broken as well) with only one thing in mind my entire primary and secondary school life - to earn a scholarship. I got it in the end. The irony is that I plummeted into deeper ends soon after.

I shall say - Eeeps my star sister is simply amazing. She rolled off my arms when she was few months old and probably sustained a head injury (hiak hiak hiak) and always blamed me for making her 'stupid'. I think she had put in a fair amount of work, but I don't think it is purely hard work. It is more than that. It is something God-given. We don't know His plans, but they are definitely to proper, not to harm.

Amen to that.

Between those laughters

The nearer we are to exams, the more insane my group of friends and I become.

And I would not apologise for that.

Skinting. That is what I believe we are. The urban dictionary describes it as 'being relaxed but being stressed out at the same time'. How paradoxical. At least, I believe I am. I am over the panic phase when I would be updating my best friend almost everyday about how near I was to finals. Nowadays, I could even spend an hour in gym toiling away and wishing I never had gone on the spinning class instead of say, reading Kumar and Clark.

But at times, I have periods when I suddenly get teary and then I thought of all the so-called 'good ol' days'. So-called, because they were never really good. I often wondered how come I've become such a distant, cold creature. I've turned myself into a monster. I get uptight. I get irritate at single guys easily. I really don't know since when I've become such a monster in this area of my life. It irritates myself as much, trust me.

But it is alright. It is alright because I realised I have gained as much as I've lost. We often tend to reminisce with a sigh, but retrospective perception is one which is so powerful. I look at many things in retrospection and often build a plot out of them. It aches to dwell in the sorrow of what never had been. It aches so much that even though I declared it out loud I am well over him. It still aches. It aches because I believe there never had been a proper resolution to a very wrecked, lopsided friendship.

Moving on. It is my current theme. I can't help but be happier at other times when he does not come into the mind. Every thing seems to be more calm, better organised and lack that manic-ness. I can live with it. I know I can. I sometimes can't help but feel thankful for this wreck. The no-answer was actually an answer in itself. I am truly grateful.

You see, I contradict myself all the time. I sound delusional.. I perhaps am. I don't know. I can't help it. This is call exam-induced insanity.

Hehe.

"It blew my mind that he had the audacity to walk away without having an actual conversation with me, when he knew exactly how I felt about him." - Choose. Love.

Cruelty. My passion.

I've never come up with this conclusion but tonight, I have to insist - tennis is a cruel game.

Don't get me wrong. I love tennis. I love its mechanics and the physiology of how your core muscles generate that power (not the lateral epicondyle getting repetitive injury, btw). I admire that crisp forehand so accurate and so strong. That angle of perfection. It is all physics embedded into tennis, trust me - and I must admit I am not the biggest fan of physics.

But tennis is just so cruel.

I haven't followed tennis properly due to work commitment (hello, I am going for my 'R', no time, okay) but tonight, I managed to catch the Isner-Federer finals in Indian Wells. I remember that Indian Wells four years or so ago when Federer lost his SF to Mardy Fish and I flight bound to KL. I had angina all the way back to KL it was not funny at all.

But this year, he wins it against the giant Isner. It was a tight first set which he squandered a few set points before finally closing it on tie-breaker. You would think John Isner is on fire after beating the world number one Novak Djokovic. I do think we have to give some credit to him. After all, Djoker is still doing very well on the tour.

The second set showed some flaws when Federer broke Isner and finally consolidated his win - his fourth Indian Wells title. Whilst the tournament brags about the USD1 million check, the highest so far in the Californian desert's history, my thoughts went back to John Isner.

We remember John as the dude who played the longest match in history and this piece of 'history' took place in 2010 - I was actually there on Tuesday when the match started. It did not end until Thursday. Isner won it (correct me if I'm wrong). It must have been a hell of pain for his opponent that time, Mahut. But today, Isner was at the losing end. To have come so far (read: beating world number one), he lost it at the last minute to a former champ - Roger Federer himself. I could not help but feel sorry for Isner. It must have been really painful.

That brings me back to my main point - tennis is a cruel game. You know at the end of the day, there will only be one winner. No matter how good both players are, you are just going to get eliminated if you're not the winner. There is no consolation prize. Isner may have gotten USD500k prize money, but his name would not be remembered because at the end of the day, despite beating Djoker, he still did not win the tournament. It is so cruel because one can't help but be sorry for person who did not make it. I felt that pain. This angina-like feeling was not as intense as the 2008 one but it reflected the core of the monstrosity of the game.

You just cannot have two winners.

I would be bawling my eyes out if I were Isner. As much as I root for Roger, this heart aches for John. So near so far, if you know what I mean. I wish John Isner all the best for his career.

As for the champion, I hope it is not just the below-Grand-Slam level sort of performance. He needs to do better in Grand Slam levels. A bit more aggression.


I am waiting for you in Wimbledon, Rog.

You got me there

I was sitting in the corner; almost drifted off in my own day dream zone when the voice startled me. I frowned a bit. I should really stop from this habit of frowning - the permanent lines would one day form on my forehead it is not a nice sight, I know that for sure. The voice sounded familiar. That accent? Verbal expressions? I could not quite describe. I managed a weak smile.

"The Underground lied to me this morning! I went to Elephant and was told there was no southbound train - not even to Kennington. I had to take the bus all the way.. ONE HOUR on the bus and at Balham, I realised there southbound trains were running!" the girl who came in to the clinic complained, before asking about management plans and what-not.

The conversation excluded me from first instant. I continued sitting with my legs crossed. I was half listening, half analysing. The style of reply? I wasn't sure. I am not an expert in accents, I have to admit.

It is amazing how I could be physically in one place but mentally in another. I daydreamed so much that I probably could be dismissed as having absence seizure. Maybe it was my brief conversation with Syl this morning. I tend to try to not think about things (or people) that end up occupying my thoughts all day all night. Not only it is unhealthy, it is a complete waste of my time.

But one simple spark and the floodgates were wide open. 

The annoying thing was that old memories got mixed up with the present reality. Well, sort of. Maybe my brain was merely tricking me. 

My brain transcript got interrupted halfway when I was asked to auscultate a patient. I smiled politely and grabbed my filthy, grey and dull stethoscope. 

Lub-fuhhhh-dupp-shhh

Lub-fuhhhh-dupp-shhh

Lub-fuhhhh-dupp-shhh.. 

"What could you hear?"

"Ummm," I probably did the umm bit 20x before I hesistated one last time and answered, "S1 and S2 heart sounds with ummm *whatiswrongwithme* systolic murmur?"

Truth was - I did not know what I heard. I really could not tell. I was just guessing because he won't have asked me to auscultate if it was just a normal S1 and S2 with no added sounds. I guessed systolic because my sister once said if you could hear a murmur, it almost must be systolic. It was a safe bet, shall we put it that way?

Of course, as expected. I was wrong - ish. It had both systolic and diastolic murmurs. HOW COULD ONE TELL!!

Don't blame the lousy tubes, blame the ears and brain for not being able to dissect and translate.

It was past noon when I got so tired with my brain multi-tasking away. He must have thought I am the worst final year student, 4 weeks away from finals ever to appear in the clinic - and probably Malaysian too.

I was let go before the clinic formally ended - but before he could impart some pertinent basic skills/knowledge a final year student well be expert in at this point of time. 

My heart just folded itself into four pieces right away. I am such a huge disappointment - to myself, to the medical school and to my nation.

"Alright? Lub dupp?"

"I really can't differentiate - I just can't make it out."

"Go to the wards and listen to all the murmurs in the world!" [paraphrased, as I can't remember the exact words - I was daydreaming again, you see]

"Thank you so much for having me today." I was full of gratitude.

"You're welcome." And with that, I closed the door behind me.

I left the clinic feeling defeated. So defeated.

The London egg hunt

Spontaneity is one of the things I enjoy. I selective choose or dis-choose things - isn't that what we do everyday? We are bias to our very core. Every single decision we make is selective. I prefer one thing to another - and I make excuse for something which I could have easily un-excuse myself for. I think this is the very reason why we are called fallen beings.

Anyway - my point really is, I had an impromptu quick egg hunt with the Daisy duck last weekend. It was good church service in the morning (another one that left me thinking about my priorities, if you want me to be perfectly honest). Whilst church service ended 1100am, most restaurants were not open until 12 noon. Some Sunday restriction opening hours thingy which I never really bothered to look up because my simple mind concluded that the opening time restriction is to protect church services.

Daisy wasn't keen on lunch so I told her I would accompany her to Chinatown anyway. On our way there, we bumped into our first 'egg' on Carnaby Street - the postbox egg! It was so cute that we started to be impromptu and found another two eggs around the corner.

We continued looking for eggs as we walked past SoHo - but none was found. Knowing that chinatown probably would not have eggs as well, we decided to make our way towards Covent Garden because I knew of this uhu egg right outside my favourite Tesco.

Before we knew it, we ended up around Charing Cross, Trafalgar Square and the rest of Covent Garden for some more impromptu hunt. We did not find many but it was quite fun and by the end of the hunt, I was squealing at every egg we discovered.

Happy days! Finals are lurking so nearby, but I think an hour out of the manic, stressful environment served some good to me.

That sweet thing

If you know me, you would know I hardly crave (nor have a preference) for sweet things.

Today, I have this curious craving towards a sweet dessert. Cake, ice-cream or something calorie-laden.

I walked past the dessert aisle in Sainsbury twice. Maybe even three times - and I came out without the sweet thing. Somehow, I just could not bring myself to buying a dessert.

I just find that this random craving is curiously strange. I have never been a huge fan of all these sweet things - they contribute to the calorie count without the full satisfaction, if you know what I mean. Do not get me wrong - I am not against them. I just would not pick a sweet thing over having a proper meal which means protein ie fish/meat. I appreciate good desserts; just that I can't afford to have these indulgences in my life since I am already overweight without having them as part of my routine diet.

Still, to have this intense craving today has remained a mystery to me.

Just what is wrong with me?

I said I'd go back

I rarely talk to my mum when I am away from home. Blame it on the time difference.. our most meaningful way of communication tend to be receiving and sending requests for her Farmville.

Mummy on a real farm, handing a rambutan to dunno-who

And yes - she plays Farmville and I don't. The mere existence of my farm is just to supply her with whatever things she needs for her populous farms.

Just now, we spoke for a good half an hour on the phone. Thank God for VoIPs, the phone call was literally free. We debated from the escalating living cost back home to my 'fussiness' when it comes to men. We usually have differing opinions - however, when we managed to come up with a conclusion - my (future, and I must insist - very near future) profession makes it rather difficult to find a spouse. Not only it is a demanding career, it is also an intimidating one, at least to the eyes of the society.

Of course, that was not all we discussed. It would sound like a desperate conversation, no? We talked about things that happened 20 years ago or so.. the childhood stories to remind ourselves why we turned out the way we turn out to be. Also, making up theories along the way.

It just somehow always ending up with the partner issue - something we strangely never discussed until one or two years ago. We never talked about boy-girl relationships.. at least not explicitly. The first time must had been few years ago when I told my mum I really liked him and I said I was pretty sure this time. It turned out to my nightmare of my life three years down the line..

Sigh. I will worry about this matter the very day I get conferred my MBBS (London).

A mobile hi

Just testing out my mobile blogging tool!

Currently in bed, under my oh-so-nice duvet.. in the dark, with just 93.3 fm radio running on the background.. oh, so lovely!

My body, by the way, is aching but nowhere near what I initially envisioned post spinning. I really can get used to this muscle aches.. they can get pretty addictive!

I just hope this mobile mode sort of blogging doesn't turn out to be too awkward. I mean, sometimes, who knows if I suddenly have this urge to churn out some thoughts.. in the middle of the night, for instance.

Gotta make use of the phone, peeps!

We choose to ignore

Or, do we?

I missed one text message earlier (phone thrown on the super comfy duvet). I almost missed the second one but I heard the faintest 'click' - my text message alert tone.

I frowned. I don't usually get text messages on the mobile.

I reached for the phone and frowned again. Why is it that the moment I declare you are out of my system, you resurface again in my realms? I shrugged to myself. Ah, no big deal. Typical, predictable and almost no sincerity at all.

I did not even bother to reply. I knew the other party would not expect a reply and truthfully, I really cannot be bothered to be affected that much anymore. I threw the phone back to the bed.

It is over, I told myself. It probably never started, anyway... lol.

Which reminded me - I finished (yet!) another book on my Kindle. It is the most random book called "Choose. Love." I recently discovered this highlighting tool on the device and had since been highlighting various quotes which I thought was worth keeping. These were some of them -



..for the first time, I learned what it’s like to love someone unconditionally (someone who isn’t my family; someone who is far from perfect; someone who could and has hurt me multiple times.)


Our unbalanced and misfit relationship unraveled because he knew how I felt about him and he didn’t try to protect my heart—he took advantage of my affection and used me because he knew that I would do anything for him. That’s not love at all.


I began to realize that all the things I would do for him, he would not do them for me. It wasn’t just that I knew we were never going to be a couple, I just became aware that I was giving more than I would ever receive. I felt as though he took me for granted. I tried to talk to him about it, because I needed to get it off my chest and thought our friendship called for such honesty, but he wouldn’t listen—he didn’t hear me—and that was the heart of the problem.

Spin to win

If I thought yesterday's Body Combat was causing my muscles to ache - you must see me today. It was a noon time spinning class that I decided to try.

The timetable stated 45 minutes. I thought aha, maybe not that bad.

I was so, so wrong. Don't get me wrong - the class was amazing - it was my poor fitness level which could not match to the intensity. We had the upper body workout using weights while cycling. Imagine cycling combined with combat's punch, uppercuts or elbows. Whoah!

And if that is not all, after the 45 minutes, the instructor said we were free to join him for abs workout. I thought, okay why not.. since almost everyone grabbed a mat. 

You would think it was the typical abs workout - the one we do on Track 9 for Body Combat. SO WRONG. This is the craziest I've done so far. It felt like a boot camp! Alright, maybe I am exaggerating it but it was really, really intense. After every routine, the instructor said, "well done" and I thought it was all over. Then he continued...

"Next, we're going to do this.."

I would groan under my breath. Oh my. It was crazy. Absolutely crazy. Full 15 minutes and I felt like I could just drop dead.

Spinning can't be more fun, I must say. It is hell of a workout. I hope I could walk tomorrow!

Rough play

Body Combat. I first tried it some 6 months or so ago. It is a cardio fitness workout - usually 8 working tracks and 2 warming down tracks. This sort of cardio workout gives you that adrenaline rush. I absolutely loved it, albeit the harder truth that I probably looked awfully awkward doing those punches, kicks and lunges. But I still loved it. I loved it so much I dragged Jasper along once and he nearly died after the session. That was one of the last times we hung out together, sadly.

And then, I stopped. I stopped because I was placed nearer to Thorpe Park then I was to my favourite Leisure Centre.

I started to balloon up. Weight gained like no one's business. Fitness plummeted even more than POG stocks.

It was last month when the very friend who introduced me to Body Combat recommended me a Groupon deal for 10 Fitness First passes. I was reluctant at first, but I thought it would have to take more forcing myself to come back to the habit I have missed out.

Not to mention - I needed the endorphins real badly.

I bought the deal and had attended 4 Body Combat classes so far. I am far from the fitness level I had 6 months ago (I could do running man without effort). I could feel myself carrying the spare tyre around my waist worse than a 7-month pregnancy. I am in a mess in terms of fitness and health.. but I am trying, am I not?

I love Combat. It is all horrid looking at myself in the mirror - but I loved it..

..it makes me a fighter, almost.

God surprises

¹⁶ Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  17  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  18 So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
(2 cor 4:16-18)

We arrived in church promptly. I told Sa the biggest truth - I never quite understand this preacher's message 9 out of 10 times. I shrugged - maybe it is my lack of understand, ignorance or what-not. I just cannot. No matter how hard I tried.

It was interesting because God just suddenly granted me this 'eyes' to see. It was a crystal clear message this morning and I was so impressed at how the message spoke to me. The Scriptures came alive and I almost felt like it was like an epiphany sort of situation. I was so, so impressed - not at myself, by the way. But at how God gave me that understanding because I think He knows I was desperate and I really, really wanted to understand.

The clarity of the message was not the end of it. It was a challenge. Almost like a wake-up call. I suddenly shudder. More of this fear and awe for what is the truth. That 'deeper' reality, like how the speaker said it. I started to evaluate my rubbish, messed up life - as versus to that very enriching spiritual life in Christ.

Oh, how I yearn.

For once, I really feel that deep pang of regrets..

I haven't forgotten

Okay. I admit it. I had like, a crush on Rafael Nadal nearly 5 years ago. It started with more of feeling sorry for him because he was the "number two". And somehow, I felt that he kept losing to err, say, James Blake (!?) or who-not. Can't remember.

And then I thought - wow, if I date/marry a tennis player who actually travel the world and does it professionally (ie earning millions), it would really fun. You get to travel, eat good food, workout and do my favourite writing! I tend got myself warped into imagining a life like that. It was certainly fun. Fun simply because I get to do my reading, writing and workouts - doing all your favourite things and being fit at the same time. Who doesn't want that? I dwelt in this imagination for quite some time (I grew up imagining many, many things.. you do not even want to begin to know what were my past 'dreams')... and eventually, I grew out of it.

It must have been the time when Nadal started to win.. and win.. peak being that very, very painful 2008 Wimbledon finals..

I remember we were following the livescores on the computer in the middle of the night in my room in Vista. Jas and my big sis were around.. Jas probably soundly sleeping on the bed while both of us were on the floor... and it was such a devastation at the loss.. I vaguely remember the exact words being used - but it was along the lines of saying the Federer era has come to and end.. just like the darkness came about in SW19.

It was almost at that very moment, I started to feel so sorry about Federer, the defending champion of, what, 5 times? at the All England Tennis and Croquet Club. I started to shift my partiality towards this champ who was about to drop his ranking.

As we have known by now, Rafael Nadal went on to be the 'unbeatable' for quite a good run.. he completed his Grand Slam collection eventually in the year 2010, not long after Federer completed his. In fact, records had it that he's the youngest in the Open Era to have done so. He won the Olympics gold medal in Beijing Games, don't forget too... and slowly, I have forgotten about my 'crush' towards this Spaniard who was born just 15 days before me.

The Nadal we know today is a 10x Grand Slam winner (as of now lah).

To cut the long story short, this other dude (call him Djoker) suddenly surged into the 'unbeatable' and he became to best player in 2011.

Somehow, I must have started to feel not that against Nadal anymore.. you see, I tend to support the 'underdogs', if you know what I mean. I started to feel slightly sorry for him.. always wanting him to at least beat Djoker (I am not sure about ever feeling sorry for this 'Nole' though.. teeehee).

Or perhaps, I just don't follow as much tennis anymore.. now that my career is flourishing, ahem.

Recently, I just finished reading this autobiography by Rafael Nadal.

I must say - this is a pale comparison to Agassi's autobiography. I was so immersed in Agassi's that I went around recommending to various people.. tennis fan or not. Rafa: My Story started off depicting in real minute detail of that very, very painful Wimbledon 2008 final. One would assume how a Federer fan like me could bear reading such painful experiences..

It was indeed painful for me. I had a very nauseous feeling throughout, simply because it reminded me of the days when I was (probably 5 kg lighter than now) so easily affected by tennis that I get this angina-like symptoms. It was a bad memory.

I carried on reading, anyway. The book is structured mainly around the finals of that very eventful Wimbledon 2008 finals and the historic completion of Grand Slam at the US Open finals in 2010. The content became more bearable as the story went back to Nadal's earlier years.. and more on his younger days and family.

I finally finished the book today and I must say, not bad at all! For someone who secretly harboured this crush (what?!) towards Rafa half a decade ago, to read it at point 'neutral' at this point really gave me a better perspective into his side of story. I saw someone who worked so hard - he really deserved the wins, I have to admit. As painful as they were to the players, tennis is a game where there could be only one winner and one loser. It does not matter how much you lose by, even the tiniest margin (doesn't matter if you win more points in total, even), you still lose at the end of the day.

All of a sudden, I find myself giving up that secret mission to stalk players at their Wimbledon homes this summer.. or to loiter around Tesco Express (Nadal says he would go grocery shopping himself.. whoah!) in Wimbledon Village. Maybe he would go to the new Little Waitrose this year?

Rafa My Story reminds me that everyone has a story to tell. I should not daydream all day long about things I could not achieve. I should be writing my own story.. it may not be as fancy as Rafa's congenital foot problem (!? tarsal what?!?) or his endless endorsements cashing in.. I do think I have a story to tell too, don't I?

Having said that, I should recommend this book.. not as sizzling or controversial as Agassi's, but definitely a must-read.

I must laugh, I really must

I think sometimes I just need to laugh. I need to laugh at mistakes that I have made in life. I must learn to laugh at how poorly my judgement had been in the past. I just have to laugh.

Laughing is not avoidance. Laughing shows that I have already let go of the painful past. I must have looked like a fool to be the one being 'dumped' at the end of the day, but why, just laugh it out!

Laughing makes me cry too. I have shed way too much tears. Laughing masks my tears.

Really, I should just laugh.