'So when I was in Form Five, right, there was this bunch of girls who were very aksyen (= ostentatious. Even the word ostentatious is ostentatious.) one you know. There were a bunch of them who never wanted to be in my school, but were forced to be there because there was no more space in Main Convent.'

'I remember all these girls lah, coming to school in their Mercedes Benz and all that. They always formed a clique and were always very hidung tinggi (literally, high nose = proud) one, don't layan us one. They never speak to us because they think they're too good to be there in our school.'

'They were very rich lah, so after SPM they all went overseas to continue their studies. Some went to Australia, others went to UK. We had no choice but to stay back here and study locally.'

'I think that's why it's the secret ambition in my heart, you know, to send all of you overseas.'

Today was an excellent day for many reasons:

1) I've had my first episode of die - a - rrhoea! Yes! Now my Malaysian experience is complete! Now I can finally go on to doing other things having ticked this one off my list. (It actually hurts, owww... it's so painful.... arrrghh.... why does it have to hurt so badly.... make it stop, Mummy...)

(addendum: if you're in your home country on holiday and you get diarrhoea, does it count as traveller's diarrhoea? I mean, technically, you're at home, right?)

2) Seeing My Sister! Mum and I took a leisurely drive down to M to visit my lil' sister who was studying for her exams... it was awesome seeing her after all this time, and yes, you have lost weight. And no, those shoes don't make you look fat. (They make me look gemuk apparently, hee hee!)

It was a really pleasant drive down to Melaka to visit my sister. We took the lovely drive down the highway, and had music playing in the background, just like the good old days when the whole family would squeeze in the car and then drive off along the highway with the Abba, or the Beatles or even James Galway to keep us company all the way up to Ipoh or Penang.

And then seeing my sister after so long - a long hug and then we set off to pick up her boyfriend who I was seeing for the first time. He was quite a nice guy, well mannered and funny with a good common sense around him as well.

We drove to the town, and passed by the lovely remnants of the clay red A F, with the ghosts of the Portuguese still very evident in the town. We even passed by some people refurbishing an honest-to-goodness ship which speaks of this town's seaport heritage. And we're not talking yachts, or cruisers. We're talking armada ships, the kind people put together piece by painstaking piece in little bottles as a hobby. Yeah,  the life sized version of that one.

We had lunch at a nice enough Nyonya restaurant, where I had the most bizarre deep fried squid ever. It looked smaller than small onion rings, like these were made from little squiddie dwarves. It was like eating deep fried rubber bands. The small rubber bands.

But that was all than made up for with the lovely assam fish and the fried belachan paku pakis and the chicken kapitan. But the tour de force, the piece de resistance, the most amazing thing that we had in that shop was the chendol.

For the uninitiated, the chendol is a Malaysian delicacy where you fill the base with red beans and chendol - these long green wormlike things made up from long green worms (okay, so it's green flour, allow me a little Calvin-esque grossness) - and then you put some ice shavings on top ala ais kacang, and then you pour on the evaporated milk and the gula melaka.

All the difference in the world was in that gula melaka, which originates from that state, and it was beautiful. I rarely italicise that word, so please believe me when I say that it was like the first bite of the perfectly made Giorgio's Sticky Date Pudding, it was like the first kiss of a lover returning home from a long trip overseas, it was like taking the red pill. 

I have never seen chendol in this light before, and I'm not sure I would ever eat our KL variety again without longing for the sweet brown sugar that is the gula Melaka.

We had more than one helping, of course, and then made our way for some nice small town shopping before saying goodbye, too soon, to the both of them, but promising to see each other again soon. See you back soon, little sis!

3) The Drive Home. I've never made it a secret that I love driving along the rolling highways of Malaysia, and this drive home was made all the more pleasant as I had Mum for company. I love hearing my Mum speak sometimes, and I know that there are friends whose parents are the quiet Asian stereotype, so I'm really starting to appreciate Mum for who she is.  

We ended off the drive with dinner at the KFC near our place, and I have often said this and, I will say it again - Malaysia has the best KFC in the world. Hands down. Many of my friends will agree with me, and if you don't believe me, then just come here and enjoy the huge chicken pieces rolled in the golden batter cooked to perfection, and then you have the privilege of unlimited sauce. Tomato, chilli and Thai sweet chilli.

Unlimited sauce. I'm going to say that in my sleep. That, and gula Melaka.        

Okay, so I am doing a little bit of swimming as well. I know it is not adequate to pay off my sins of eating, but it will have to do.

I've just realised that my swimming has not improved at all. It still takes me 40 strokes to get to the other side, and the kids are still lapping me (drink my trail of piddle!) I don't understand it. How could I still be so slow despite all the swimming that I didn't do in Australia?

Oh.

I must say this, that despite all its image as a third world country, Malaysia has a swimming pool that rocks in Bukit Jalil. It is Olympic sized, and is quite well kept, and it is covered so that the outside weather doesn't matter. But the best thing about it is the three syllable word that no toilet/changing room should ever be without -

Cub-ic-le.

I don't understand how it is that Australia condones a common changing room where old men and young alike strip down to their skin and shower next to each other. I'm sorry. You earn something like that by breaking the law and going to prison. Crime doesn't pay, and you'd better have a pretty decent grip on your bar of soap.

Okay, maybe it's just me. Maybe there's still much to learn about the overratedness of modesty, and I should be comfortable in the skin I'm in.

But until then, I will always prefer swimming here at home, where I don't need to think about who's deciding to come out of the closet at the moment I'm trying to get into my swimming trunk.

Well, as an aside, these holidays, I'm still trying to relax but I can't. These are defining times for me, and my career pathways, but here I am instead trying to increase my love handles to become love doors. I know that You've been good all this time, and I shouldn't worry, and I know that I've lead a life undeserving.

But for you who's reading this, would you please pray for me. Thank you.

There are three things that you can do on a Malaysian holiday:

1) Eat. Seriously. Like, you wouldn't believe. Like, you're eating despite being full. Like, there's no way you can stop putting food in your mouth. Like, I look like the Michelin man.

2) Go to a Shopping Mall. the Curve. 1 Utama. 2 Utama. Midvalley MegaMall. Almanda (in Putrajaya). KLCC. Berjaya Shopping Complex. Yaohan. Pavillion. Sungei Wang. Lot 10. Lot 11. Lot 12. Just A Lot.

3) Eat again. Like, you wouldn't believe, again. Like, you're eating despite being full, again. Like, there's no way you can stop putting food in your mouth, again. Like, I look like the Michelin man and his evil obese twin brother.

There is a little checklist which every Malaysian abroad carries, which is called 'The List of Things To Eat When I Get Home.' On that list would be the usual suspects - the nasi lemaks, the har mees, the assam laksas, the durians, the kuihs. Funnily enough, all the things on the list can be ticked off in one night - in that Megamall of Makan, the Hypermart of Heartburn, the Giant of Gastronomical Delights, the Colossus of Colonic Cargo - the pasar malam.

Over here on Friday nights, you will see the main street turned into a festival of fluorescent lights and multicoloured umbrellas, as the hawkers line both sides of the main road and the human traffic make it near impossible for cars to go through.

It's an overwhelming sight, the night market - almost no two stalls sell the same thing. You can have any Malaysian delicacy you like, and they are usually quite cheap. The finger foods especially make for a great traveling companion - you can chomp on your apam balik while deciding if you should have the fried popiah to go with your char kway teow. You can sip on your soya bean drink while wondering if that air mata kucing will quench the thirst you're developing from your soya bean drink.

And there are not only food stalls - there are people selling fresh vegetables (okay, so maybe, just vegetables) and fish, and there will be others selling clothes and underwear, and of course - the perennial, evergreen Friendly Neighbourhood Pirated DVD seller.

(If anyone can locate Astro on Demand's Shiny Disc Hero ad, please let me know - the actor is a legend!)

There is a hilarious trend about how they are blatantly juxtaposing the (insert 'level' here) DVDs you wouldn't watch with your parents, with, oh let's say, Shrek 3 (3 is not a level in Shrek's case.)

And the lecherous uncles who are there to buy are even more brazen, flipping through these DVDs nonchalantly as people stream past. And then they pick up the DVDs and then frown as they studiously read the back jacket over their glasses, as if the storyline mattered.

Yeah, uncle, you're not going to buy this one because there's no twist at the end, right? Yup. And this one won't make it to your collection because you really enjoyed the book and you don't want to spoil it by watching the movie, right? Gotcha.

I just wish they'd go back to the days of "Eh, boss, maukah? Ada special punya...", when pirates still had ethics.

And here I am again, not seven months after coming back the last time... homecoming just seemed a little bit different this time... I was sitting at the Melbourne airport, and mulling - " You know, I don't think I'm ready to go home thie time.' It just felt like I didn't earn it, you know... it's the middle of the year, and I've had relatively easy rotations for the first half of the year.

And yes, I have definitely used up my "sitting next to pretty impressionable young girl on the trip home" quota for my lifetime, and so I will have to secretly resign myself to sitting next to old men and crying babies for the rest of my traveling life...

It's great for the movie watching experience, though! I got to watch SpiderMan 3 finally, which I (secretly) enjoyed... I just love movies which make you think it's over and then just keeps hitting you with wave after wave of action! And I still think the MJ-Spidey romance remains my favuorite superhero romance (I just don't think Cyclops and Jean Grey work for me, I mean, what if he asked her to look him deeply in the eyes?)

Oh, by the way... if you have not watched "Knocked Up" yet, stop reading this blog and go and watch it! One of the most sincere films I have seen in a long time, and yes, I am clucky! It's an amazingly sweet and brutally honest film, and will put your relationships into perspective. Be warned, guys, if your girlfriends drag you to this movie, be ready to have her telling you that she wants the baby. Now.

Twenty Eight Minutes

There are many stages to the ritual of my going home. There is the drop off and the hugs. There is the waiting in the snaking queue for your check-in. There is the lingering around the perfumed aisles of the Duty Free gift shop trying to do some last minute shopping. There is the sitting in the waiting area, journal in hand, and just scribbling from a homeward heart. And then there is the eight long hours home.

Nothing comes close, however, to make me feel like I'm finally home like the ERL train ride from the airport to KL Sentral.

I am a person whose life does not include the luxuries of friends or families waiting excitedly at the airport gate eager for my return. There is the lonely walk to the elevators which lead to the ERL, and then taking up four seats by myself as I await the 28 minute journey to KL Sentral.

Strangely enough, however, it is a routine with which I am now fiercely keeping and have grown to love and associate with the home coming.

Nothing reminds me more that I am back in Malaysia, than when I sit in the garish fluorescent lights and the infomercial TV screen flashes alternating news and YTL advertisements. I love that infomercial screen, one look at the advertised restaurants or upcoming cultural events, and my heart immediately whispers 'Home'.  

The ride itself is beautiful, and I know of a registrar of mine who takes these solitary train rides by himself (he's done it in China, India and he's going to the Australian Indian Pacific one as we speak, I think) because it gives him time to think. 

In those 28 minutes of motion, I sit and watch as dawn's fingers slowly creeps across the land, rubbing sleep from the eyes of the forests, and the roads. The beauty of Malaysia is evident, a mixed picture of development and natural beauty.

The world goes past you in fast forward, as the view in your window changes at constant speed like a movie screen.

You whip by the secondary forests with the scattered tall trees among them, and interspersed in the background you can just make out the metallic roofs of the squatter homes. You see the small roads snaking into the little townships brimming with their little town stories. You pass the meticulously arranged palm oil plantations, the tranquil rivers and lakes beneath quietly reflecting the trees and undergrowth above them.  

Greenery gives way to the well lit highways, and soon you approach the city limits, as the natural jungle shapeshifts into the cement jungle that I've come to know so well, this disorderly chaotic mess that somehow successfully survives day after day, this place I lovingly call home.

I've passed! I've finally passed the dratted DrivETEST! Woohoo! Woot! And other celebratory cheers!

Right now, every illegal thing I do in my car is now officially legal! Yay! (Okay, so it isn't, but yay! anyway!)

It has been a long and winding journey, but I'm finally here tonight, picking up the pieces, walking back into the light, into the sunset of your glory, where th... (oops, that was me being the first ever Australian Idol for a moment).

It has been a long journey here since I passed the written last November. I tried to take the test on my own once - and failed in about 1 minute out of VicRoads. What's this silly rule about stopping at the STOP sign? In Malaysia, that's more like a HESITATE SLIGHTLY BEFORE CHARGING THROUGH sign.

And then the second test, where I spent close to $250 in lessons and the exams, and drove like a champion and, then, right at the last roundabout - I got distracted by the first car coming into the roundabout - Haha! Look! Fellow driver! - that I didn't notice the second car about to come into the roundabout. The invigilator sits at the back of your car, silent as an Easter Island statue, and the moment she talks, you know you've failed.

I spent a good half hour in the car cursing afterwards, just being extremely upset by the whole experience. It was quite devastating, as I had to go back to work and drive down to Bendigo later that night (see earlier entry).

The circumstances surrounding this one was worse. I had just come off night shift and rushed home for a quick shower, searched frantically for my Hazard Perception Test sheet (which I didn't need) and then waited outside in the cold for my instructor to arrive. He was late, and I was on the edge, because he was telling me off at every traffic light that I should have run it when it was amber!

Furthermore, the car was a Hybrid. An automatic Hybrid. I have never sat in one before, and when I voiced my dissent about the car, he said 'You should be learning about the future, okay?' WHAT!! I'm going to spend 150 dollars just to say that I've been in a Hybrid, it was great fun, and by the way, I failed my driving test! I didn't need an introduction to Beyond Tomorrow on the day of my test!  

And so it was with much trepidation that I faced this test. The invigilator seemed nice enough, but I was struggling to get my head around the car. On  the way to VicRoads, the windows were actually poorly adjusted, and we didn't stop to correct it. I had no idea where the front and back de-misters in the Toyota Transformers  and the gear box sat next to the steering wheel. When I first got into the car, I was like, so, where's the gearbox? Oh, okay, and, er, where's the handbrake? There's no handbrake. There was a foot brake (which functioned the way a handbrake did, and separate to the normal brake pedal).

I think what made me upset the most was that the instructor was telling me that I should have had driving lessons to familiarise myself with the car. I'm sorry, when I asked over the phone for an Auto, I didn't realise it was short for Autobot.

Anyway, I was determined to let all this go behind me, and then took off for the test in the car. It was a beautiful day, and a great day for driving. I had chosen the 10.15 so that I didn't need to worry about the 40 speed limit during school hours. I was extra careful during the roundabouts, making sure that the roundabouts were totally clear before I entered it.

If you're going to take the Driving Test, the secret is to go slow. Let sloths muddle past you. Let snails overtake you, leaving you in their wake of slime.

I executed the three point turn to perfection, having practised it in the past exam, and several times yesterday morning.  

I almost failed at the end, again! I was at a STOP sign, and had stopped before the line. The road looked clear except for this parked car, and I lifted my foot of the brake pedal - and sudddenly behind the parked car, a moving car appeared, as if by magic. I stepped on the brakes again, and fortunately, the car did not have a chance to roll (thank you God, this is all You).

And then for the home stretch, and feeling the world lift off my shoulders as I drove into the VicRoads. Okay, I have made it back into VicRoads for the very first time in any drive test. If I fail, at least I made it back here, and it's all the fault of the Back To The Future-mobile.

We stopped and the invigilator got out first. The driving instructor could not resist taking a swipe at me ('Don't put your hand under the steering wheel', 'You should have been more left to turn left', 'I just hope she's not a hard woman'). I must have made a darned good first impression, I could tell.

I walked the Green Mile into the VicRoads office, and the invigilator was standing behind the counter, nonchalantly. I couldn't read her face. 'You've passed' she said dispassionately.

It was all I could do to jump over the counter and kiss her and then buy lunch for everyone working there. Instead, I let out a civilised 'Yes' with a mini pump of the fists, and then waited for that glorious piece of plastic which I'll never ever have to worry about for my lifetime, hopefully.

I went back to the car of the instructor, and he was still smarting from this morning's first encounter with me. 'You passed? How much did you get?'

I didn't tell him it rhymed with ninety-plus.

But nothing could have ruined the day, and soon we chatted in the car like old friends instead of new-found enemies. He was burnt out, tired, I could see now through my rose-tinted glasses. He's not such a bad guy after all, just another man trying to make a living in what must be a relatively high stress job.

Sentiments aside, this is a big thank you to the Lord who watches over me, and the lessons learnt to bring me here. Which I will, unfortunately, soon forget. But for this moment, in this one glorious hour, I will bask in the joy of that green piece of plastic with my tired but smiling face plastered across it for posterity.

Hours of sleep before my shift on Friday night: 2

Hours of sleep before my shift on Saturday night: 3

My bed has become The Enemy. Nothing - not reading, not tossing and turning, not having a meal before it, not having a girl sleep in it prior (!) (I can explain, Mum, I promise!) has managed to bring me anywhere near sleep in my bed.

Sleep hygiene rule no. 1: Don't do anything that will keep your mind awake in bed. Keep you bed only for sleeping. Don't count sheep, don't so sudoku puzzles, don't count sheep doing sudoku puzzles.

Sleep hygiene rule no. 2: Don't eat in bed. The Ant Gods crawling around your bedroom floor do not want to make the four minute journey into your bed. Leave sacrificial virgin crumbs on the floor instead.

Sleep hygiene rule no. 3: Don't sleep at work. Your snores might wake your colleagues up, and that would be rude.

Simple Pleasures

Despite having very little sleep on the way to work, yesterday was a very good time of catching up over dinner with the lovely WO staff, as we were celebrating a nurses' retirement yesterday. Turkish food+great company+bad electrical keyboard and guitar blaring out Turkish music = the most fun you can have without drinking.

I stepped out into the bright golden sunshine today, and it was all a lie. It was freezing, and for the first time in my life, my car was literally covered in ice.  There was a whole layer about 1 cm thick of ice on my windshield and on my back window. So I sat in my car, making myself as small as possible and shivering while I waited for my front and back de-misters to thaw out the ice.

Two days later...

Okay, so I had to get out and pour some water onto the windows to try and dissolve some of the ice quicker. It didn't work spectacularly, but I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that the rays of the insipid sun were actually melting the ice!

And so I let the combination of the water, de-mister and solar rays work its magic on the back of the car before I made the U-turn so that the front of the car could have some joy.

And the little boy inside me came out again in a wide eyed smile as I watched the ice literally form little cracks and then break apart like tiny glaciers, drifting off to its eventual evaporative death. The backdrop of the ghostly tendrils of steam coming from the warmed up engine bonnet made for a spectacular background to the polar ice cap melt I was witnessing! 

Global warming 101. Right here on my windshield.

That'll teach the microscopic inhabitants of my windshield to cut their carbon emissions.

So here's an idea that should put me into early retirement:

Why don't we incorporate the 'Scratch-and-Win' cards into our tram tickets and parking tickets? Think about it - for the amount that you pay to park, especially in the city - we shouldn't just be getting a stupid little piece of paper to put on our dashboards.

Wouldn't it be more fun if on your tram tickets/parking tickets, along the other side, were the irresistible silver panels that you could put a five cent coin  to and scratch? You could have the chance to win yourself two hours' worth of free parking, or even a get-out-of-awkward-situation-with-tram-inspector-because-you-haven't-paid-for-your-fare pass if your three panels show the Metcard sign!

I guarantee you that this city council will no longer have problems with people paying for parking or tram tickets. In fact, you might even have people buying extra parking tickets and tram tickets just to satiate the bent little old gambler in all of us!

That's my trademark idea - let's put the fun back in council funding!

Soon to come: Discount dockets at the back of your parking tickets: Get 20% off your next tanning session! Receive three enchiladas for the price of two in your next TacoBell meal! Come to La Brasilians for your first waxing session and we will do your eyebrows for free!

Having four days' break in between nights is always good for the soul, but the body's clock is still an erratic machine, screaming you awake at 3:30 am and then singing your lullabies at 4:30 in the evening.

It's worse when your break starts in the weekdays, and no one else is around for you to go out with. There are different things that you find to fill your time, so let me count the ways:

1) Watch Miyazaki's My Neighbour Tortoro and Spirited Away. There are few films which leave you wrenched in the heart and sorry that it's over. These have been a real treat for my inner child!

2) Read! Jodi Picoult is starting to become a staple - I have finished My Sister's Keeper and The Pact. I have made a secret promise never to read syndicated novelists, but she's really quite a gripping read! Actually enjoying this other author as well, Alexander McCall Smith... cool fiction set in Botswana - man I love reading books set in other people's culture!

3) Waste time! The PS2 is evil, having completed Psychonauts. The computer is evil - er! Play Desktop Tower Defense (tm) and watch your life disappear before your very eyes! I am now officially a geek. Save my social soul!

One more cycle of nights, and then! There will be at least one high school's friend wedding to attend this time back - my best friend's wedding, if you will. Man, these holidays are going to rock!

And so here I am, counting down the days:hours:minutes:seconds before I get on that plane and then head home.

I quite like doing nights - not much follow up responsibilities, rather good support and really good learning. I had my very first honest-to-goodness Code Blue the other night, and I was on of the first to arrive at the scene. Some nurses were already bagging and masking, and it was quite chaotic before the ICU registrar came in and tubed the patient.

We continued the CPR-adrenaline-atropine cycle for about 15 minutes before the ICU registrar finally called the time of death as we did not know how long the patient was out before we found him. It was surreal as we all stood there in reverential silence, watching the patient's heart slowly wind down, the numbers on the cardiac monitor ticking down like a countdown watch.

A few things I have learned:

0) Secure the area. Clean up the environment, get a pair of gloves on, get someone to pull up the history.

1) In bagging and masking - ensure that the patient has a Guedel airways in place to improve effective oxygenation.

2) I CPR like an old lady (with all due respect to any old ladies reading my blog) - it needs to be an effective compression 1/3 of the way down.

3) Asystole = CPR and adrenaline.The only shockable rhythms of an emegency situation are a VF and an unconscious VT.  

It is always difficult at these Codes, because only something like 17% (that's hearsay) of patients who are resuscitated in a hospital ever make it back. And then the question at the back of everyone's minds is - 'So what happened to get him here?' 'Does he have family? - wife? kids?' 

'Who's going to call them?'

It is always said in jest especially here in this country - 'Don't die on me, okay? There's too much paperwork involved.' There is some semblance of truth in that - whenever a patient does not make it, we always ask if this case would end up with the coroner's - this one did - and the amount of paperwork it took was alarming, according to the resident who was covering the unit.

Death, especially unexpected ones, is always a difficult proposition for anyone to handle. Standing around this gentleman as he left us, most of the junior doctors could only stare in quiet disbelief, grappling with the reality hitting us that despite all that we did, we couldn't save him.