Fraud

Today I felt most strange.

I woke up feeling unsettled, a carry-over from last night. From the whole weekend. The whole week. Maybe even the past month. Had that usual feeling of wanting to run, run and run from this life straight into my dreams. Silly, I know, but to each his own mental/emotional protective mechanism. That and eating.

I'm hiding. Hiding from the reality of exams but most importantly hiding from the fact that I'm letting myself down. Some of the worst lies a person can tell are lies to him or herself. A person can only take so much self disappointment. Only so much broke promises.

I know I can do so much more, be so much better. What ever happened to that 14 year old who was curious about the world? Eager to learn and be the very best she could be? What happened, how did it go wrong? Can I ever get it back? That drive and motivation? Is it because I can no longer delude myself into believing that work is most important to me, that it should be the center of my world? That everything I do should be to advance my career?

You know what I'd like to do? For once, other than watching movies or tv or reading fiction, to learn a new skill or do something just because I want to. For the fun of it. Nothing to do with helping me get into the top class or uni or looking good on the cv - the main factors that drive everything I've done in the past. I'd love to learn how to play the piano, learn how to sew, paint. Join a creative writing class and write short stories. Learn about ancient symbols. A language, Spanish maybe.

And there I go again, drifting into dreaming territory.

Good night.

Home Sweet Home

The walls are taupe, the floor tiled in a lighter shade of taupe, the kitchen white with a bit of grey in the bench tops.

I was at Officeworks last weekend and came across sage Philosophy A4 storage boxes in the clearance bin. At $10  each, I had to have them and seeing them in the house, I've suddenly realised that sage looks really great as an accent colour. I have a birch look dining table and Ikea Billy bookcase, four white dining chairs, a grey lowline sofa and a black-brown entertainment unit. Sage and blues would look good I think. Maybe splashes of pink and crisp white, too.

If I had to define a specific style for my living space, I can't. It seems to vacillate depending on my mood. But right now, I'm keen on the soft industrial look that utilizes industrial, vintage items in the home. I like the juxtaposition of worn utilitarian pieces against soft designer-look pieces. Whatever the style a person chooses, it's something that has to grow and develop over time. This can be frustrating in a time where we expect things to look perfect instantly.

So despite the fact that I'm desperate for more kitchen storage and would love to get a sideboard, I'm holding out. Waiting for exams to be over so that I can make weekend trips to furniture stores and vintage shops to find that piece of furniture that I'd love and add a bit of character to the place. Also on the menu, a cane/rattan armchair. The natural look of such a chair would soften the straight lines of the Ikea Besta tv unit and Opera sofa.

For someone who spends almost all non-work hours at home, a hermit really, the home becomes a sanctuary. An extension of a personality, a place to be yourself. I can't describe how often I day dream about creating a space for myself. Maybe one day, I'd have my own home. Then I can truly let my imagination run free.

Broken Promises

For the past two weeks, the earliest I've been back home from work in the evening was 7.20 p.m. The latest? 10.30 p.m.

I exercised for 30 minutes one evening. That was it.

At least I cooked for this past week - until tonight when I ordered take-away.

Yeah.

Evidently

It seems my parents are concerned.

Weight can really creep up on you (or creep onto you). Pants get tighter, buttoned-up blouses threaten to pop and you find yourself recycling the same few articles of clothing because they are the only ones that fit. You spend a whole day putting together one piece of Ikea flat-pack furniture when before you assembled two bookcases, an expandable dining table, four chairs and a tv stand.

The reality of my unhealthiness hit home in a two-step manner:
Step One: My sister is suddenly so thin. I haven't seen her in some time and was surprised by the amount of weight she has lost. Then we went to the Blue Mountains and went along a few walking trails. There I was, huffing and puffing, pleading for brief stops and feeling like my heart was pounding itself out of me. Whatever happened to the person who ran 2.4kms in under 16 minutes? The person who hiked 400metres up a glazier and enjoyed it? The person who could frog-jump up 2 flights on stairs for tae kwon do training? How did I become a fat, breathless slob?

Step Two: The parents are concerned. Dad in particular has expressed worry, very worried he said, at my physical state. He's never ever said this before though the stationary bicycle he bought me while I was at pre-clinical university should have tipped me off then. I was overweight at the time, a product of the same destructive process that afflicts me now - take aways and no exercise.

So the weight has piled back on over the past 3 years. Slowly at first, then rapidly escalated when I moved away from home. I'm at my heaviest and most unhealthiest in my teenage and adult life.

What now? I'm not stupid. Intellectually, I know all the things that must be done, all the things that can go wrong if I don't. But knowing what to do and actually doing it are two separate entities. They might as well be separated by the universe. That is ultimately my problem: generating the motivation, dedication and commiting to change.

One word - HABITS. Specifically, changing habits and all that's needed to generate that change. I don't know if I can do it. Guess I'll just have to start to find out.

Apologies

Hey, hey.

Was incredibly busy in the pre-Christmas period with the usual rush as surgeons hurry to finish as many cases as possible before jetting off on their expensive holidays. Though, we did actually get elective cases over the holiday period as well. It seems not all surgeons go galivanting at the end of the year.

Then my sister came for a visit which meant, for the first time since arriving in New South Wales, I went to Sydney CBD and saw the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. We also took the ferry to Taronga Zoo, had dinner at the very, very excellent best-Malaysian-food-I-have-tasted-in-Australia Mamak restaurant in Haymarket and visited the Blue Mountains. I treked. That's right, I engaged in an outdoorsy activity and walked a few short trails, most of which .. what the hell, ALL of which made me feel like my heart was about to pound its way out of my thoracic cavity. I am as fit as a slug. I am so round, my sister could have rolled me along the walking trails.

Now I'm visiting family for the New Year. The other New Year. The Year of the Dragon New Year.

And too soon, I'll be back to reality and can no longer hide from the fact that exams are coming up and I am nowhere near prepared. 

I have made resolutions and here they are. Loosely.

1) Pass exams - which requires daily, commited effort
2) Exercise, diet and lose weight - which requires daily, commited effort
3) Create a healthy, happy home environment - which requires daily, commited effort.


So, I am screwed then.

Pathway

Cleaning the house (yes, anything is truly possible), I came across my stethoscope. It's been tucked away, unused for two years now and holding it, an emotion came over me. I couldn't quite name it but certainly there was an element of sadness, of regret and remembering all that occurred in the past 11 years that led up to this moment. This very point in time.

All that family and personal drama to get me into medicine, to become a doctor and here I am, in a specialty that to the eyes of the world is not what 'doctors' do. Heck, I doubt many people know that pathologists are actually doctors - I know blood collectors who call themselves pathologists and I'm sure that's the general perception.

I wondered how this makes my parents feel. That after having invested so much time, energy and heart into pushing an initially stubborn, then depressed indecisive and hollow teenager into a competitive, stressful and expensive course, fighting every step of the way to get her to cooperate, to do what's good for her future - only for her to end up in an absolutely unglamorous field that requires them to explain to people what is it I do. I know my mum understands. I remember talking to her about it and she agreed it was probably a good place for me. I wonder if she ever felt disappointed that I never went into paediatrics. It used to be something she hoped for me. Not anymore.

My dad didn't quite get it. I'm not sure if he does now. It was as if pathology didn't justify all that money and sacrifices that was poured into shaping my future. We migrated to a foreign country where we had no relatives, no friends. They gave up their lives to make sure us kids could have a better one. They had to start all over at work, in building relationships here, assimilating to what can sometimes be a very frustrating culture. All for what? So they can say they have two daughters - one an architect, the other a doctor? My feeling is that my dad probably wishes he could say the other is a surgeon or cardiologist or pediatrician.  Pathologist just does not have that ring to it.

Certainly I am thankful to have found a specialty that suits me. But holding that stethoscope - I can't help but remember the exhilarating moments, the privilege of witnessing truly amazing people in terrible situations as well as the lows, the emotional beating day in and day out. Of eventually being driven by fear and anger. It was a rollercoaster I'm glad to be off.

An Australian Media Brouhaha

It was every where, every day. The story on comments made by a particular radio presenter and the co-presenter who seemingly stood by, silently endorsing his words. Any person in this country who reads the paper or watches the news would have heard/read the brouhaha generated by Mr. K Sandilands response against a news.com.au reporter who did  her job and reported on the less than successful one-off special tv show the radio duo had. He ended his little tantrum with "Watch your mouth or I'll hunt you down". Meanwhile,  Ms J Henderson, his co-presenter, laughs along.

Firstly, I think any one with basic maths would say that for your audience numbers to drop from just over 1 million to around about 250, 000 by the end of the show is not exactly the definition of success. I didn't watch it because there are only two talk shows I'd ever watch on commercial tv - The Late Show with David Letterman Show and The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. Channel 7 were spruiking the 'special event' pretty heavily but having seen Mr Sandilands on Got Talent, he struck me as the kind of presenter that can only be handled in small doses. Not in a tv talk show format.

Having joined the herd commuting to work, I'm actually listening to the radio but tuned to a classic rock/80's rock music station that is heavy on music and less on the blah-blah-blah that radio presenters insist on dishing out. It's a nice. So while I've never heard their radio show, I am aware of their existence in particular the way they absolutely bungled a 'lie detector' test inflicted upon a 14 year girl which revealed she was raped at 12. But let's look at this current brouhaha in isolation.

Firstly, I read the original article posted by the news.com.au reporter. It seemed fairly benign - there was no personal attack, no fat taunts or comments on personal appearances. Just commenting on the twittersphere response to the hour-long tv special. It was no worse than the rather thorough review by the Giles Hardie on smh.com.au. Kyle's response seem over the top, childish and churlish. What did the reporter's breasts have anything to do with, well, anything?

He should check the dictionary for the definition of irony because in defending his outburst, he claimed that he was practicing his freedom of speech. Hmm. Let's see that last line he said,
  "Watch your mouth or I'll hunt you down."

Right. He was angry and threatened an individual who used her freedom of speech in critiquing his show, for practicing the very same right that he now uses to defend himself. What did I tell you? Irony.

I have to say though, this does not disgust me as much as the way they treated Saveth Chorn and her niece Dana. Absolute dirt bags.  At the end, when they were filled with condescending benevolence and go all 'aww yes we shall let you two meet after having exploited your emotions for our entertainment', my reaction was simple.

F**k you.

Just practicing my right to free speech.

Little Truths

No matter where you are - the refugee slums of DRC or the glossy building of a private hospital - there is one shared truth: a person can inadvertently pass gas when they relax their pelvic muscles to pee.

Was not referring to myself, of course.

Reading the previous post has led to one conclusion. I'm not built for commuting. Not. At. All. The daily two hours spent going back and forth to work does not do good things for me. I get tired, cranky, moody and the overall feeling of bleargh. Leave at 7 a.m, home by 7.30 p.m. Why so late? Because the one time I left work at 4.40 p.m, it took me 1 hour and 45 minutes to get home. I rather bum around at work until 6.30 before joining the other poor suckers paying $5 for the privilege of going 20kph on the motorway. I don't mind driving. It's the being stationary and the stop-starts that gets me mad. If people ever bother to look at me in the driver's seat, they will see a fat Asian chick yelling at the top of her voice - WHY AREN'T WE MOVING YOU *crikey dingo*. Among other things.

So I talk to myself. So I sing to myself, yell at myself, crack myself up with my own lame jokes and at corny tv ads, and cry at random moments. Does that make me weird? Yes. Does that bother me? Occasionally but it's getting less and less so. Sometimes, I forget that I can't do things like that in public. People don't generally stare but they move away a little. Just a little. I guess it makes me feel sad from time to time because it not exactly what I imagined life to be. Maybe I had high expectations, deluded in believing I was going to be 'somebody' and that I had what it takes to be a dynamic, successful person. The crash into reality has been painful but with time, I have to believe that I will come to accept this path and be comfortable in it.

Stuck in that 105 minute drive home, two friendly little girls in a small car driven by a (what I imagine to be) tired mother were waving at everyone in the surrounding vehicles. Many ignored them. I waved back which garnered a an enthusiastic double-arm wave in response. That made me lighten up. You can't be grumpy in the face of such good-nature.