Today

My parents came from Ipoh, Perak. I can't say that my parents were born in that quaint little village in that charming little town. Back in its heyday, Ipoh was almost like an industrial town - famous exports of tin and peanuts ensured a large swarm of immigrants from China kept it going. My maternal grandfather came from Fuzhou (I think). When the British still ruled, Ipoh was the second administrative town after Kuala Lumpur. It is the capital of the State of Perak. But yes, as I am sure in almost any Asian town in those days, my parents grew up climbing trees, eating shaved ice balls and catching all sorts of insects and fish for rearing and fighting. My mother grew up tapping rubber trees after ending her education in Primary 2 - the fact that she now speaks broken English to my Indonesian sister in law is an amazing feat. My father was luckier, having attended one of the better schools in town, which my paternal grandfather slogged as a carpenter to put him and his multiple brothers through.

They sought independence, as much as it was required of them in those days, and left their village - the biggest village in Ipoh at that time with more than ten thousand residents - to be with my father's eldest brother in Singapore. My dad took up a job in an electronics factory and my mother did sewing in a textile / clothing factory. They had a son first, and my brother was born (with much difficulty, as my mother often likes to remind us) in Ipoh, with him holding the record for the heaviest baby for a long time. My sister followed in Singapore, and then me. We grew up with the cane in my father's hand, who strongly believed that without education, we were destined for a life of poverty. I remember assessment books, a lot of it, and according to my siblings, I had it the easiest because my dad mellowed then. Being the youngest (and incredibly cute - I KNOW RIGHT?!) helped.

But I realise that my dad taught us more than that. Perhaps it was by example because I don't remember my parents spending a lot of time with us, but I remember he thought us respect, hard work, persistence, and yes, how to suck thumb. And I think it was because that they had to fend for themselves, and they taught us the need to fend for ourselves. 

I think I might have been different if my parents never left. I could be a happy barefoot (never did it because my dad says I will cut myself and die), tree climbing (never did it because my dad says I will fall and die), shaved ice ball eating (never did it because my dad says it's not clean and have food poisoning and die), river swimming (never did it because my dad says OH MY GOD ARE YOU NUTS YOU WILL DROWN BUT BEFORE THAT YOU WILL FREEZE and die), kampung (never lived in one because well, HDB was efficient) girl (my dad told someone that he was hoping for a boy. Who says that? In front of their own spawn?!). And I can be a happy barefoot, tree climbing, shaved ice ball eating, river swimming kampung girl because my dad is the same guy that told me stories of his barefoot, tree climbing, shaved ice ball eating, river swimming days. He is that same guy that likes expensive watches (we have lost him shopping before, finding his face plastered to the glass display outside a watch shop) but gets ridiculously content with tasty neighbourhood bakery bread. He is that same guy that taught us to be ambitious but content, that found it amusing that I called him in Hong Kong (his first overseas trip with my mum without us ever) when I failed Mathematics in Sec 3 and feared a lashing but did not hesitate to actually lash me when I did not pay attention or try my best. My parents tried their best to prepare us for the future in the way they thought the best, always putting us ahead. 

And I believe this is the reason I work as hard as I can. I am not self-made. No one is. My parents have never reminded me of their sacrifice (besides my mum often reminding my brother of the pain of her labour), and they have always, in fact, asked me to cut myself some slack. But knowing that they have given everything so that I can have anything I wanted as long as I worked hard at it... means I should, because I now have the opportunity to. Do I regret certain choices they made, and then some that I made? Yes, but I've also learnt that life is a series of Sliding Doors - and the life not lived is sometimes the perfect one because who imagines difficulties? - and you make your own choices and live with them.

And you know what? While I often lament that I would love the chance to relive certain portions of my life (I would love a time machine), I thank God for what I have today. And I thank you.

Writing

I've been aching to write.

It's been happening for a while now. While I sulk at my talented friends for having an outlet to play, write and perform, I struggle to finish my own masterpiece, knowing that it is a long drawn and lonely process. But blogging, I can. (Ok, it matters to me whether anyone reads this, but at least I'm not just talking to myself in my head.)

I wonder how some writers get their inspiration. I believe that practice matters - the more you write, the better you are. This would explain how (I think) I was a much better writer at age 15 than 30. I am incredibly talented and witty... in my head. I make myself smile when I am walking home from the bus stop, usually when my iPod runs out of music. But the truth is that I swing from verbal diarrhoea (I had trouble spelling that word) to writer's block. My best moments are unplanned and hence undocumented. This works for me sometimes - you got to take my word for it!

And I'm done writing about the grandeurs of life, deep meaningful passages of crap where #idon'tgiveafuck plays a huge part in the reader's mind. No, I'm done. You're stuck reading the inane and insane trash that will come out of my chaotic brain, words sometimes so forced that you could tell I'm trying to piece a sentence together. This usually happens when I am trying to write.

But this is not one of those days.

It is interesting though. You can tell one's style, but I'm too lazy to go into detail, and again, you have to take my word for how brilliant and witty and awesome that probably forever unwritten passage got to be. If this piece is on kickstarter, man, I will be rich on good thoughts alone. But the real world is a little different, and you are not psychic. I'm still lazy though.

How does one write? I mean, how do writers, columnists, lyricists, musicians et al spew word after word, sentence after sentence? Each verse meaningful (at least got some sort of meaning la) or deep interpretation of life? I am curious, and I struggle. I find writing short stories much easier - my unfinished after 1 whole year and more novella the best example - and yet I can still run out of juice. There's always some excuse we can find, isn't it? I'm not emo enough, I'm too emo, I don't have the equipment, I can't work on company's laptop, my tablet/netbook is too uncomfortable (never mind I bought it just for writing), I'm not inspired enough, I don't have the right feel, this story sucks... But as I said before, writing needs to be practised. It is a mental muscle we must flex, and of course when the stars align, like today, writing gets a tad less crappy.

Creation is indeed a wondrous thing. My friends create tune after tune, verse after verse. It is amazing that they can create something out of nothing. I like to write alternative lyrics or parody lyrics, but it's a lot easier because you have a base to work off from. Not so much tunes, even lyrics is easier to get the starting inspiration. You broke my heart, you bastard. I shall write the emo lyrics of "You broke my heart, you bastard." But how does one spin a tune from this? Take inspiration from where? I know you can, but how? Some scientist once evaluated the success of Adele's songs - Minor chords, crushing crescendos and single vocals with no music in one 4 minute song can make your heart soar and fall with it. (Google it, you lazy bastard.) But how does it work? You broke my heart, you bastard. I shall write a tune with Em and Am chords. Tak match leh...

So while I sit there gawking at the awesomeness of some musicians, mostly local, many now friends, I jealously dissect their approach. Who what where when how? But I know that while I enviously admire their ability to create and have an outlet for their passion, a lot of hard work - and you can hear it, and I respect that a shitload - is always put in. I always hear them say "this is the 4th million draft of the song, it didn't quite work out the first 3,999,999 times" but I am still amazed at their very first, apparently shitty draft. Well, some we don't have to mention. Those with talent oozing out of their ears - those are just inhuman. God is not fair - I take that back, they probably suffered for it like Vincent Van Gogh. Kinda sorta, without the ear cutting part - and there are still some musicians (I use this medium as an example because I've been lazily listening to music more than reading) that, with every performance, I want to kiss their feet more. Some that are so awesome, it takes more than one listening to unfold their awesomeness. Others because they keep getting awesomer. Some are like those skinny chicks who want their boobs concave into their body to hit the perfect figure - always aiming to better themselves, knowing that perfection is never attainable but always a good aim to try to reach. I have no respect for lazy musicians who waste their talent and opportunity to stand on that stage, not with other more deserving talents waiting.

It is the same for writing. You know, like the movie Inception? Where every time you watch it you figure out something new? It's similar to how I feel with some writing: stories, tunes, lyrics, novels, commentaries, columns etc etc. There are some songs that I find new meanings and realise for the first time what it means after hearing it for the 3384th time. There are some books that I will want to read, again and again (though I don't read enough, apart from work emails, RFPs and twitter). I haven't read enough classics, and there you have these increasingly inconsiderate artists and writers who keep releasing new work, much faster than I can finish the ones on hand. Assholes. Tsk. I'm still ploughing through The Beatles! Come on!

Apparently today's mode is Verbal Diarrhoea.

So in any case, I've been aching to write. I could write more, I feel like just stupidly typing on and on and on (kinda doing that now), but I know that too much of a good thing *cough* isn't good for us. So well, no.

Let's see how long this "streak" lasts. If it's anything like my current track record, you might see the next post in 6 months. Let's hope not!

See ya soon :)

4am revelations

I woke up at 4am on Monday morning.

I slept the whole weekend away, and still I did not feel rested. On Monday morning, I realised why.

I woke up at 4am on Monday morning.

Now, you must understand this. I've always been someone who is very passionate about my work and my job. I have always been in high stress jobs, always took on more than my fair share, but that was how I learnt and grew. Working 24/7, as much as I physically could, was never an issue for me.

Until recently.

My stint at the Gourmet Catering firm was physically tiring. I lived in fear of my phone ringing and inane questions and unreasonable requests filing through. I never knew how to handle them - I never had to, before this. In the past, work was work. Soon it was filtering into my life, uninvited for once.

Then I landed the job in this firm, a dream job, a fantastic opportunity by all counts. I love the job, I am grateful for the chance given. For 7 months, I was on contract, rushing deadlines and pulling my hair out to fulfill my KPIs. However, I was on a project basis - there was no emotional involvement per se, there was no need to worry about this and that apart from that one project. I lived from report to report, meeting to meeting, finishing one presentation after that.

Then I was invited to join the firm full time. Their words of flattery and apparent trust bought me over, it was a great firm that I would have given my 2 left feet to join anyway. The sheer amount of competence in this firm overwhelmed me - I was peeing in my pants everyday with the worry of looking stupid in front of all these brilliant people. I took on the job and soon the obstacles hit me very fast. Soon I was working an equivalent of 16 hours a day, occasionally working overnight. I took it as paying my dues, earning my stripes, but soon I saw load upon unrelentless and unforgiving load on me. I learnt quickly, but stubbornly refused to give in and reject work. I had a lot of judgement on how my predecessor worked - I still do - but I also always knew that it was partly due to circumstance. He was a good man, and a hardworking one. But he also once warned me to keep my head down because the ones who try to change things, even for the better, never end up well here.

Among all these I noticed something weird. I became very reluctant to work on weekends, often procrastinating or never switching my laptop on. Even on weekdays, if I could stay in the office to finish my work instead of bringing it back, I would. I did not want to bring work back into my personal life. Oh, I liked to talk shop. But that was that - talking. Not actual work. To maintain this, I stretched my weeknights longer - often working through the night. It was not common for me to work through my meals and survive on coffee and cigarettes - something that I was used to doing.

I don't think I have changed. Rather, I think I have moved to a stage in my life where I want to still get a career but not at the expense of myself. I want to still enjoy my work, to feel the passion burning in me, and not well, gastric burning in me. Which comes back to Monday morning, and the whole grandfather story on this.

I woke up at 4am on Monday morning.

I woke up thinking about work. It has happened before - during times of conflict and high stress periods, like submissions. But it has never happened during a "normal" period. I have realised that I am always stressed anyway and this is not good for work. I make bad decisions, snap at people, am highly unproductive when I am stressed. "Chill Out" is not an option when you are in my situation - you know those cartoons where the walls are coming in and water starts flooding the room? I am in this situation. Try telling them to "chill out". No, maintaining your sanity in these situations require a tactic to manage the work and people around you, people who think that they can do a better job, people who look at you in scorn and push work to you, people who sometimes outright sabotage you, of all things. And escape is not an option to me, I want to stay here, I want to grow here. So I learn to manage.

This is where I should be tagging some HBR articles. But this blog is not a "work blog" in that sense. The 4am wake up was, well... a wake up call.

I left work at 6.30pm last night. I went home, I had dinner with my family. We bought a new lightbulb. I went home and showered and slept before 11pm. I woke up today at 5.55am, totally recharged. I went to work, hate slowly filling my head with angry thoughts of inequality and injustice at work. I recognise the pattern - so I manage. Or, I aim to manage. I take point by point and decide on how to deal with it. Whether or not I deal with it that particular way is irrelevant to this process - the whole idea is to prevent the hate from festering.

You have seen some of our friends like this. So busy at work, no time to eat, no time to sleep, everything is not as important as their work. You understand their point, and "work never ends" is never quite as impactful because sometimes work does not wait. The good thing about work is that it never fails you. Your input will not be reduced - if you put in 60%, nothing can change the fact that you've put in 60%, whether or not others recognise it. You know you've put in 60%. So there are good things about work in that sense. It is fulfilling, it brings passion, it engages your mind. But the most important thing is that... if you go down this way, you will fail your work. And you will fail you.

I don't want to fail me. Do you?

Trying

I am easily distracted.

I think that is an understatement seeing how I'm actually seriously busy at work nowadays and still find the time to blog (ironically restart to blog), facebook and have a offline social life. But with all these comes great distractions - some important and welcome (like my family's whatsapp group - full of updates of my little nephews which are extremely important to me), and some not so.

So I find myself greatly inspired by a friend, Mr Middle (Tiong!) and trying to refocus my life. I've started with the numerous cards in my wallet. Friends who, well, don't call me friends anymore as well. I have rediscovered the beauty of peace on the bus, and will probably stop bringing my iPad out. I've changed back to the crappy Nokia phone with its excellent battery life and will bring my earphones out. My headphones will stay in the smoking room for my reading sessions.

I will continue to go out and connect with my friends. That is important to me. Discovering and rediscovering bands have been a nice unintended surprise this year, and I won't stop. In fact I intend to go baybeats this year and rock out for 3 awesome days. I also have a list of things I want to do, and well, I don't see the point of sharing it, but I have been slowly checking them off. I've picked up salsa, and won't stop despite my instructor's bruised feet; I'm going to rent a trombone and have contacted some community bands to see if I can participate; I'm also starting to write again - you can see that (or at least, I try.)

2012 has been a year of disappointments and pleasant surprises. I've lost friends and gained new ones. I've settled into a somewhat acceptable but awkward plateau in life, and it's up to me to decide if I roll off it or climb onto the next. I hope this refocus works. While I've discarded many things this year - from clothes that don't fit to broken shoes, I've also picked up new fitting clothes and we all know my penchant for black heels. I want to do that for life as well.

I found a job I really like with a salary that isn't too bad in a company that is excellent. I remember my low periods of struggle, whether in the consultancy firm or in the catering company, and I know I am really happy here. I will need to work really hard to keep this, seeing how it is only a contract job, but this is one chance I need to grab. I'm readjusting relationships with my friends and family, having faith that my really good friends are there for me. As thick-skinned as it sounds, no, I don't really need to find new friends. If that chemistry happens, good for us. But I'm quite happy with my current set of friends. They are here for me regardless of what I do, where I am, and how I've skinned someone alive how I've dug myself into ruts. They love me for me. And you can't beat that.

Sometimes when life gives you lemons, I say, make vodka lemonade! And at least I know in life... sometimes trying is good enough. And I'm trying. I really am.

The damned weather

It is way too fucking hot today. It is as if someone up there was going through menopause and suddenly felt really cold, and then switched the damn temperature up, like way up. I was looking forward to eating at the cafeteria, you know, in a nice air-conditioned environment, probably the special on Wednesday, Poached Salmon. I would have with me a glass of ice cold water and my usual fruit box, and go for a smoke in the shade, enjoying the breeze. But alas it was not meant to be, I only reached the cafeteria at 1.15pm and there was scarcely any food left.

This made me pissed. And you don’t like me when I’m pissed. I’m pissed because I had to go to the food court (not air-conditioned) next door, and brilliantly decided to eat Mee Hoon Kuay, forgetting my immobilized 3rd and 4th fingers on my right hand.

I had Mee Hoon Kuay. With a Spoon. In the heat.

I’m pissed, and someone must suffer. Being Singaporean, I must complain. Someone must, pardon the pun, take the heat (ironically I did) for this! And I decided that the weather is to blame for it today.

How hot is it today? Let me count the ways.

It is so hot today that the grapes in my fruit boxes are now raisins.
It is so hot today that I actually lost weight having lunch.
It is so hot today that my ankle are sweating.
It is so hot today that if I was someone actually sexy (hot) like, I don’t know, Liv Tyler, I might have just spontaneously combusted into flames.
It is so hot today that the cook was frying eggs without a fire, standing in the middle of the carpark.
It is so hot today that any jewelry on a person would leave a burn mark.
It is so hot today that I am now tanned, and I sat in the damn shade.
It is so hot today that Eskimos are wearing singlets and shorts.
It is so hot today that my Oolong Tea boiled in its can.
It is so hot today that I could have showered with the amount of perspiration on me.
It is so hot today that the guys in the carwash had issues lathering up because the water kept evaporating.
It is so hot today that my rubber shoes had no soles by the time I reached the office.
It is so hot today that I can’t shake my fist at the weather because of the salt crystals on my armpits (figure this one out yourself).

Damn you, weather!

Suck Thumb

I was very naughty while growing up (still am now), and when you grow up with a couple of siblings that are literally geniuses (no, seriously. I am not exaggerating), it kind of eats at you. I think I am somewhat intelligent, but I will never be as bright as my brother or my sister. I used to joke (although I do mean it) that my parents only planned to have 2 children, and I was somewhat of an accident (as my dad loves to remind me), that my parents had already split the intelligence for the next generation 50% to my brother and 50% to my sister. I had whatever little that was leftover.

But I think my family has taught me well. My father, while spoiling as much as he possibly can, was also quite the disciplinarian. But if you think I had it bad (I got kicked out of the house for not paying attention while he was teaching me, mathematics I believe), I can definitely assure you that the stories I’ve heard of my older siblings are definitely real. The good thing about my dad, as strict as he was (and still is sometimes), was that he was a firm believer of “suck thumb”.

I used to get into fights in school, and if I ever came home because I was bullied (I was a very big crybaby), he always said that I must have provoked it. As an adult I heard it a lot more often. Life gets you down? You’re being picked on in school? You got passed over for a promotion? Boyfriend left you (ok, first he will curse and swear and promise you he will hunt him down and break his legs…)? No food at home and you’re hungry? Got stuck at the train station with no bus or cab in a downpour (Seriously, my sister managed to get him to pick her up when there WERE cabs and buses and it wasn’t raining)? TOO BAD. THEN HOW? SUCK THUMB LOR.

But it is because of this philosophy which he actually lives by, and that we witnessed while growing up, that my family is not a group of complainers. We raise issues up, we seek solutions, and we never ever sit and complain and wait for something to fall out of the sky. (Although, yes we do dabble in the lottery a bit). I think that all 3 kids had inherited my father’s work ethics of working really hard for something we really want. And none of us had the good life in our careers – we’ve all been discriminated against, passed over for promotions, taken on tasks that no one really wants. In a nutshell, we’ve all been dealt the short end of the stick before.

There’s this one thing about us. I believe in our own industries and our careers, we are problem solvers because of this. We see issues that everyone sweeps under the rug or assumes that nothing can change. If it CAN be changed, we will push for it, whether or not it is a direct task for us. Of course, as age goes by (although I think this is something they learnt a long time ago, for me just recently so), one must choose your battles. But we seek solutions. “Cannot be done” was never an acceptable answer to us – in work or in life.

We are not rebellious, in fact, I think we follow the system so well that I think we seek to ensure it works better by pushing out the kinks. There is no such thing as “I don’t know” and “I’m not sure”. We are resourceful because of that – we can never accept that this, whatever it is, is just that. There MUST be a better solution. There MUST be a better way to do things that can improve everyone’s lives.

I know that this irritates my friends a little. Why can I never, NEVER. Just. Let. Sleeping. Dogs. Lie. Why, Lee, Why? (Yes, this is the exact way an ex-colleague told me). Because. Because if we always have let sleeping dogs lie, we wouldn’t have inventions. Nor republics. Yes, everything that you love and use and see is the consequence of someone saying… “Why must it be like this? It can always be better.”

It can ALWAYS be better. If not, what can you do? Suck thumb ah…

Celebrate the small milestones in life

When you reach a certain age, you start realising there are many things you've taken for granted. This age comes differently to different people for different things.

Perhaps, at 15 you've realised it's really not possible for you to get away with almost everything anymore and you have to work hard at getting your allowance because being cute just doesn't cut it anymore. Maybe, at 22 the working world really doesn't care if you look pretty or not, so even though you got the job on your good looks you kinda have to work at proving yourself.

Then it's likely, that at 30 you are faced with difficult career choices because apparently working hard isn't enough and you will never get that promotion. Or probably that the higher your salary becomes it ironically becomes harder for you to save money when you turn 35.

How about the fact that you can no longer breeze through a 2.4km run at 17 minutes as you did in school because while the heart is willing, the flesh (and muscles) are weak? Or in the words of my bestie (in view of drinking): "I am not 18 anymore."

For me, this passage can lead to a profound post. I could talk about chances taken, opportunities missed, lovers forsaken, promotions passed over for. I could go on about physical health, emotional trauma, familial ties and friendship bonds. In the same vein, we could discuss career and finance, the young and the old, the heart versus the mind.

I can even tell you how I finally hit puberty at 28 with a acne outbreak and scarring on my cheeks, which I did not even have as a teen, ever? (God knows that if I have to suffer that, he better grant this puberty with its other elements - height growth and boob enlargement!)

But my breakthrough today that we are discussing is the peculiar case of my drinking powers, or the lack of. As a young adult, I was a decent drinker - not the best of course, but I can hold a decent amount. Then I stopped. Then as I entered my mid-twenties, I discovered, to my horror, I fall at a glass.

I've been training - having a drink every other night - in the hopes of well, buffing it up and not being a complete wimp. I've managed to go up to 3 glasses once, being whisky (I totally detest the taste of beer after the 4th sip) before my world started its threat on removing my depth perception.

I hit kind of a milestone today - sorta, coulda, maybe? Usually once I vomit, my head starts pounding and I need a soft surface to sleep, like, you know, within 10 minutes. The sorta coulda maybe milestone was after a wimpy glass of scotch today, I rested and lasted maybe half an hour before I felt really oozy and wanted to leave... just before my dear friends got a taxi for me I felt the urge to spew. So I walked to the washroom, vile came out of me (I can never quite fathom how vomit seems to be multiplied by infinity - how is it that I only had a bowl of noodles and 3 glasses of liquid in the last 6 hours with a erm, dump before that, and manage to vomit out the quantity of, let's say, an Olympic pool?! I exaggerate, but you know what I mean!), and I rested, not very glamourously for 1 minute on the thankGoditsclean floor in the bar.

Then, as magically as it started, I was fine. Of course, by then, one was at my door waiting for me to come out of the cubicle, another took my bag and was waiting for me in the loo (this gentleman not knowing that it's actually a female toilet even though it's open concept), a 3rd and 4th one at the main road hailing cabs for me. I got out, having that slight headache, expecting for the crash to come in... but it didn't! This is the time first I had alcohol induced puke and well, survived. I was joking to bestie that I might leave by 8pm (hey, I had an early day and we really really drank quite fast... relatively!). I will never do a Vandalin (sudden falling asleep at the location where you are drinking - dropping your glass of whisky optional), I will struggle and sleep on the cab or at home. But I was fine!

The crash never came, the headache left after I had sufficient coke - caffeine, sugar and water, I guess that's what I need in general after a puke!

Here's to surviving better with alcohol!

oh Doctor!

So I needed to get some pills to delay my erm, monthly womanly flow, because I was going to Batam with my best friend, and I didn't want the inconvenience. Yay the marvels of modern medicine, yay!

It started from a trip to the Polyclinic at 3 plus in the afternoon. I registered, and because it was my first time at this particular polyclinic because I moved from the really laidback West to the pretentious "no-this-is-laidback" East, I had to go through consultation and all. Apparently our polyclinics do not share information.

So after half an hour of waiting for my number to be called at my consultation room (and seeing every other room's patients change like pedestrians in Raffles Place at lunch time), I finally got to see the appointed doctor (who, I was sure, tired of executives coming in on a Friday after for a MC after giving a bad impersonation of a hacking cough or stomach ache) and surprised him with my request. See, I decided to ask for just birth control pills instead since they also do the same job.

The thing about doctors that really piss me off is that they apparently don't realise turning away from the patient to type in their records is not very polite. However, I do appreciate their hard work and understand that after 8 hours of depressing tongues of smelly mouths they do try to attend to everyone. So this doctor, a gentleman, typed and typed while I briefly said:

I want birth control pills.

You would think I was describing my family's history a la Vicky Pollard.



But I swear, those 5 words were what I said. He sat and typed. And typed. I swore he was going to do a Carol Beer.



But I digress. Anyway, so he replied me just one question, "Do you smoke?" First time my doctor has asked me that in relation to my er, reproductive organs, so I answered truthfully, yes.

We now interrupt this post for an important message:Now kids, never ever EVER lie to your doctor. It makes no sense for dignity with them if you're dead. All the cop and doctor shows on tv nowadays should convince you so, and if it's on tv, it must be true.

Now, back to regular programming!

Immediately he told me, ok, we may have an issue. So apparently all the popular pills on the market ain't suitable for smokers - we ain't allowed to use estrogen based pills due to a risk of blood clots. He was even defensive about it when I asked for more details since it's the first time I heard of it. He gestured to my iPad and said, "Google it! It's all there." He then sent me to the women's planning consultation room to discuss my options with the nurses there.

Once there, I met with the Senior Enrolling Nurse who really really really liked to repeat herself. So I sat down, and told her, "Doctor from Room 17 sent me over." "Ok, what for?" "I want birth control pills."

She started fumbling around. Brought out some pills. We talked about the smoking issue (rather I talked, and she made verbals words that meant nothing). Talked about the pills I used to take and then the different options (and cost) of birth control I used before, and those which were available at the clinic. Then I asked her about a pap smear since it's much cheaper at Polyclinics (I love public healthcare!). And she asked me the most astounding question:

You had sex before?

Erm ok. I was actually so stunned I paused to gather my thoughts before I answered. Long story short (yes, a bit too late) for the polyclinic, too bad for me because they only carry a single type of the Pill and it's not suitable for me. So off to my GP for other choices I went. But because after the whole process of going backwards and forwards and paying for consultation even though they couldn't offer anything, 2 out of 3 clinics were closed (they close at 4.30) by the time I reached them. Hopeful, I went to the 3rd one, which was also my favourite.

I waited another 30 minutes, and explained the issue to the doctor. He looked at my quizzically and said, "You shouldn't smoke anyway." Uh huh, doctor, but... how? "All my options are Estrogen based." "Crap!" "But you know, you can just take aspirin every morning. And make sure it's not on an empty stomach, you have a history of gastric problems." He then got up and started showing the exercises I should do in a crowded plane on a long haul flight to prevent blood clots.

The funny thing about this doctor is, somehow, our conversation veered towards cigars and we ended up talking for 5 minutes about it.

Oh Doctors. You guys make my life interesting.

A brilliant entry

Don’t you hate it when you have this really brilliant idea for a blog post, and when you finally want to type it out… you can’t remember?

I think this was the reason why I stopped blogging, or one of the reasons. We always say “No inspiration!” or “blogger’s block” (try saying that 10 times. Blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block, blogger’s block) Be honest, did you say “Blogger’s Brock?”

Or maybe it’s just that we get so easily distracted in life. We all make excuses right? “I will go and run after next week”, or “that diet starts tomorrow”… I used to say “I’ll start baking when I get all the right equipment” but honestly, it’s not that hard to improvise.

So improvising I am. I had this really brilliant idea of an entry for the blog, only to forget what it was without a smidgen of hint. And so I wrote this!