Being A Doctor

Ok.

I have gone through 5 years of medical school and successfully (thank God) graduated as a doctor. I understood from the day I chose to do medicine (and I really only chose this profession as I cannot do physics - hence no engineering etc, accounting is really boring - hence no accountancy/finance, and never really dabbled in the arts stream - hence too chicken to try it out) that I have a multitude of exams that I have to complete even after my finals.

That I can handle.

But now that it is interview season for me to hopefully get into the specialty of my choice (which is anaesthetics and the exams are ALL physics based on top of medicine - how am I gonna pass that?!) I realised that being a doctor is so much more than being..... just a doctor.

Essentially, this makes me angry.

To be a doctor, I need:

1. Sound clinical knowledge.
This is the crux of my profession and yes, I agree, constant reading and updating myself - resuscitation courses, reading available literature/journals/medical articles should be part of my continuous learning on top of learning on the job and attending teaching sessions. An ALS course costs £300, an ATLS course costs £600. Besides that, there are others such as ultrasound courses (£400), radiology courses (£200), IMPACT (£300)... oh I can go on. I've done ALS and IMPACT. ATLS will have to come sooner or later and perhaps an ultrasound course.

2. To pass my exams.
Already know I have to do this. Part 1 of MRCP done, Part 2 and 3 left, and my entire FRCA to complete if I want to do anaesthetics. This in itself is NEVER sponsered (unlike you actuarists/chartered accountants that get them all sponsered) so I anticipate to spend at least £3-4K on it inclusive of paying for revision courses.

3. To show that I can teach
On top of my normal daily ward work, I have to take time out to teach medical students. I enjoy teaching. I do. But now I find that I have to not only prove I AM teaching, I have to show that I designed, led and initiated a teaching programme in my hospital, or even better, at a regional level. Oh wait, that is not enough. I will have to be formally trained on how to teach, ie attend a teaching course.

Now.

Hello. Firstly, the teaching course costs money. £180 for a 1 day course; for a 2 day course, £500 easy. And do we get it back? Possibly if one's study budget is £1000. I get to claim up to £700, but for friends who work elsewhere - a measly £200.
Secondly, DESIGNED AND LED TEACHING? What, teaching itself is not enough? We have to take on the administrative work to freaking design the whole programme??? This is called cheap labour. But for me to gain maximal points at the interview, I need to do it.

4. Audits

So audit a practice in the hospital acording to standards set already by some governing body, ensure we are up to scratch and implement changes if we are not. Then I'll have to reaudit it to ensure that we have reached the standards now. Whole lot of data collection, trawling through notes and yes, whole lot of time required again.

5. Research

So on top of audits, I need to do research too. Where does that time come from? And to ensure it is a good enough research to be published in some journal if not it will be a whole waste of time? So I will need to depend on a bit of luck on finding a right tutor and also a bit of luck on finding good enough results to be published. Then go through the pain of writing it up, submitting it, get multiple rejections and pray that it will get accepted somewhere? The mental anguish.

6. Win a prize

Anyhow, somehow, somewhere. Submit something and win a bloody prize.

7. International presentations

Same goes, submit it to some international conference, get it accepted to be presented be it a poster or orally, and freaking pay to go there to do it. Money back no guarantee.

8. Extra curricular activities

Stuff not pertaining to medicine please. Win an international prize for it and you score even more points. I knew that try out of X Factor was going to happen one day. The fact that our life revolves around medicine, we still have to find time to be actively involved in sports, play 10 musical instruments at the opera, sing in Royal Albert Hall.... AND PROVE IT?

That is all required.

To be a doctor.

My Beautiful Beautiful Pink Burberry Scarf

Is gone.

The last time I ever knew such heart wrenching sadness was when my grandfather died 2 years ago. A wonderful man whom would educate me on the finer points in life, always quoting famous chinese anecdotes and sayings - sometimes I wonder if he made it up himself but passed it on as 'X and X once said....'
All in cantonese of course.

I shed tears for him and not attending his funeral is one of my very few regrets in life.

3 months later, my grandmother passed away.
Another blow to the family but it was a relief in a sort of way as poor grandma had severe Parkinsons. I believe she knew Grandad had passed beyond the living and has given up fighting to remain among the breathing. I attended her funeral dutifully to pay my last respects and that was the last time I shed a tear.

Up until 1 hour ago.

Today in Covent Garden, while walking in between Banana Republic, Zara and Geoxx, I dropped my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf, laying it open to the vultures that compromises of members of the general public.

Dating back to 2005, this was a gift from my wonderful sister after I mentioned in passing (in the DFS store in HK, Tsim Sha Tsui) that I really liked it. And my lovely sister then bought it for me.
6 years it has been in my possession, 6 long years I snuggled into its cashmere softness, 6 bitter winters I revelled in its toasty warmth, and indeed for 6 close years our dependance and love for each other flourished.

Today, I severed the connection.

Never had I been fazed when I'd lost something, never had I been emotionally upset had I destroyed something, never had I twitched my tear glands had I broken something.

But the sentimental value of my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf was altogether something connected to me at a much deeper, intimate, intricate level of my soul.

So I spent a good 30 minutes retracing my steps and asking at all the stores I went into if anyone handed in a pink scarf but the fact that I am writing this now - to no avail.
I then spent a good 15 minutes wondering up and down the same road, staring intently at the ground and casting a eye into all nook and crannies, as if expecting my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf to be sitting quietly in a corner like a lost puppy, hoping to be found by its owner.

The street was empty of my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf.

And to my utmost sorrow, I grieve deeply for it.
Somewhere within the chasm of my soul, I've lost something that is part of my life. Tears pooled in my eyes when I finally came to the decision to leave, and as I entered the turnstile at the Covent Garden tube station, I cry as I draw on the conclusion that I have failed my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf.
A track of salty tears stain my face as I travelled home, knowing that a new scarf will never ever replace my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf's position in my life. That specific easel of my spirit will forever remain mundane grey now that all colour has been seeped away from the moment my scarf fell from my grasp; I see wisps of coloured smoke that is impossible to clutch.

The many times I had given away items when I moved, the many new clothes and accesories I buy, the forever evolving wardrobe that stamps my style, but never, never ever will I change my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf.
It has always sat somewhere at the bottom of my suitcase, somewhere sandwiched between my clothes, somewhere hidden in the cardboard box, but it has been there.
Always.
Every day.
Every year.

No more.

Descending Into Dorset

On Facebook:-

June: Rachel please check your email re cottage weekend away

Gmail: -
YaoHoong to June, fowarded to Rachel: Weekend away in Dorset?

Rachel: Oh, yes let's go!

June: I think you gotta drive

Rachel: Ok, no problem!

YaoHoong: Cottage booked, everything set for Friday.


This is literally the ONLY bit of information I got from this supposedly weekend away in Dorset that I was somehow invited to.

Read and reread the top 6 lines.

Yes.
So I was home in KL for 10 days and this was the whole communication I got from the top two poeple, one being my flatmate, the other being the organiser of this event.

When I got back from KL, this was STILL only the information I have up until 2 days before the Friday.

Call me dumb, call my spontaneous, call me whatever you want, but then I seriously did not even ask about the thing (and also received no further email updates about it) right up til the point when I realised that I cannot NOT know where I am driving to with WHO in my car.

SMS:-
Rachel: I have NO idea what is happening.

Mel: 800 bucks, 9 of us, 2 nights, leaving Friday evening. Prob Liwan, me and JJ in your car

Rachel: I need a SatNav! Where are we going??

Mel: Me, Liwan and JJ have SatNavs on our phone. That's 3 for you.

Rachel: WHERE ARE WE GOING!?

....

Of course, the email update came through in the end, which I opened up, scanned for 1 second and closed it down again (only to be caught out later that I did not read the email as I had no idea where things were in the cottage).

So Friday night, 7ish pm, picked up my passengers, 1 VW Polo and 1 Toyota Prius set off for The White House at Kimmeridge.


2.5 hours of driving south west of London, a few missed turns, getting completely confused on the 101 roundabouts we had to go through, and receiving a phone call from the other car about this 'fog'that was non existent, we arrive safely at the intended destination.

YaoHoong: ....(whatever he said on the phone to Mel)

Mel: I have NO idea what you are talking about. We are in a very brightly lit road with visibility of 10 kilometres!

YaoHoong: .....(again insisting his case)

And of course we hit this fog later on the pitch black winding cliffside road that was the only way to the 5 bedroom cottage that we rented by the coast. Completely forgotten how to turn on the fog lights and dip my headlights etc, I drive on slowly with JJ's (the only male in the car) blood pressure rising through the roof.

JJ : TURN OFF YOUR HIGH BEAM!

...

We still arrive safely and I am after all sitting safely here writing about this.

I have to say, during that weekend away, I descended into my former self of being a spoilt taken care of little girl without any responsibility (except that of my passengers, but trust me, I am a doctor. And I have comprehensive insurance cover) and with no requirement of being the adult that I must now be.

I arrive, shotgun the room I wanted by dragging my best friend out of it, bounced up and down the stairs, dodged in and out of the 5 bedrooms, and explored the entire place like an excitable puppy (of Bassett Hound breed, must be purebred ok) out on his first walk in the woods.

It was, one word.
Awesome.

The first night was spent sleeping, as I had burnt up all my energy reserves of working and driving that day and woke up the next day to the sounds of people pottering about downstairs with the clang of pots and pans. This to me, was pure bliss.

The day was clear and warm and the sight of the sea just beyond the end of the garden almost made me run down towards it whooping and yelling but what the heart tells you to do, the brain intervenes and reminds me once again that I am too old for this sort of thing.

The smell of Nasi Lemak wafted through the house and I skipped downstairs only to find myself taking over the cooking of one pot of rice.

Eh, which part of 'rice cooker' did we forget?


Yes, being the Asians we are, we had to have an Asian meal for breakfast.
While I had a fry up and Eggs Royale in the morning when I visited the ang moh county of Cornwall, we had Nasi Lemak on the ang moh coast of Dorset.

Mel did an exceptional job of making curry chicken and sambal for breakfast (all prepared the day before) and HuiChin and I spent a happy 30 mins stirring and adding water to the rice that was soaked in coconut milk while adding liberal amounts of salt much to the chagrin of the others. Or maybe I spent a happy 30mins and HuiChin spent a hot and humid 30mins. But for sure we added the salt together as one despite YaoHoong breathing down our neck telling us NOT to.
Eh, we are girls alright, cooking is our thing.

So the 9 sat down to a breakfast of curry and rice and the 9 then quickly set out on our sightseeing journey.

Jurassic Coast.

The whole coastline from Exmouth to Poole was declared as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We drove to Lulworth Cove and Durdle Door, one of the attractions along the Jurassic Coastline where we parked up on the cliff and had to walk down towards the beach. Even the random grassland where we parked had a Pay & Display ticket booth where the minimum pay is 2pounds!

Extortion.

And once again, with childlike wonder, we hopped, skipped and jumped down the many steps towards the pebbble-y beach.

Boys being of XY chromosome had to challenge the sea, only to get their feet wet when they couldn't outrun the waves. I stayed a safe distance away. Being hero and touching the waves is one thing, risking my shoes and socks to get wet in this sort of weather and having to drive in them is another.

We spent about 2 hours there just wondering about and taking photos. To my absolute disdain, no one brought a camera except for me. My trusty old Canon 7 mega pixel digital camera was the all important keeper of memories that 2 days while my other friends whipped out their iphones, HTCs and BBMs to capture the essential moments.

Durdle Door

Never underestimate the power of a camera. I am used to having others lug around heavy duty SLRs where my Canon takes a seat back and enjoys its role as an extra weight in my handbag as the SLRs click away and capture shots that definitely can be featured on National Geographic.
But no, not this time.

It was of no surprise when I uploaded my pics and discovered that they were of sub-standard quality.


Anyway. Back to Dorset.

After Jurassic Coast, we headed off into Wareham for lunch. When I mean lunch, I mean tea/dinner. The 2 pubs we stopped by had actually stopped serving food (this is what happens in the countryside, everything comes to a standstill after peak hours) and we finally went into a small hotel in town and had what I would call - massive amounts of food whose pure reason for existence is to make someone fat.

The massive but sooo tasty seafood pasta

Sainsbury's provided us with dinner and we drove home once again through pitch black darkness.

You can say I am a sucker for board games.
Because I am.

I forced everyone to play Cranium and discovered a few untapped talents while we were at it.
So, Liwan is actually good with Play Dough and can build realistic items out of it. She is deemed a highly commendable candidate for pottery and glass blowing.
Wei Perng is a master puppeteer where he successfully controlled the movements of another human to convey his toughts. A ventriloquist lession will serve him well towards bursting into the entertainment scene of puppetry.
I think the main issue we sussed out after our mammoth game of Cranium is that - we ALL had huge gaps in our vocabulary. Many a time one had to confirm the meaning of a word with another and I also fall victim to the problem that English just ain't our first language.
I mean it is, but what we speak is so rojak that I am forced to submit to the fact that 7 years in the UK has not increased my language skills as much as I would've liked it.

Firewords to celebrate Guy Fawke's Night

That night we had a mix of left over curry, frozen pizzas and a grilled chicken for dinner where only the hungry ate.

And yes, I was one of them.

We spent the rest of the night doing only one thing we know how to do - play Bridge.
Oh and also watched X Factor.

Liwan's 25th. Blueberry cheesecake with strawberry jelly topping by Mel

I went to bed at 3am this time and woke up the next day once again to the sound of people preparing breakfast.
I wanted poached eggs right, but this is what I got:

2 semi poached ones and 2 failed ones that I tried to make in a pot of whirling water.

A phone call to my angmoh mates did not help in the slightess as the eggs were nothing like what I had in Cornwall. I'm quite sure it is the quality of the eggs that caused the problem and not my skills.
Definitely. No doubt about it. Cornwall has got better hens that lay better eggs.

After another massive breakfast of croissants, pain au chocolat, fried/poached eggs and leftover curry (again!) we decided to go to Monkey World - the Ape Rescue Centre. Or more like I told them TripAdvisor recommended this place as #1 on their list of Things To Do in Dorset, and hence we ended up paying a tenner to enter the amazing world of monkeys.

Once again, I dive back into the fantasy world of a child where the sight of playgrounds excite me. Indeed, it wasn't only me who clambered onto the swings and see saws on the playground, indeed it wasn't only me as all 8 of us 25-26 year olds (there was only one 19 year old) pressed our noses against the glass panes in search for Rou Rou the chimpanzee.


A lot of the primates were saved from slavery and human abuse; some used to work in fairs and TV shows, some used to be lab experiments and quite a few were found wondering in Taiwan where they were kept as pets but later escaped.

It was fun to watch what was meant to be our not-yet-evolved-selves act so much like a human, it was fun to squint and point excitedly when we spotted the stumped tail macque (or whatever you call it) and it was definitely fun to growl at the small ape that was looking at us comically out of the cage as if we were the specimens that it had come to see at the zoo.
And there were those orang utans that will knock back on the glass when you did and those that stared straight back out at you as if it was looking at itself in the mirror.

Funny. I can think of some people who would fit right in there next to that chimp.

Another hour or so of monkey hunting led us outside and the drive back to London.

Starting the trip with a meal of Nasi Lemak, one can only end it in a just as Asian way- duck rice at Gold Mine.

Oh yeah.

Reaching A Quarter of A Century

It's been 2 months since I've turned the great 25 years - a quarter of a century old.

This post was started about 7 weeks ago but I have consistently failed to finish it, in fact, I have consistently failed to write on this blog for the past one year due to... oh, I don't know.... too many things going on in my life.

Which really, if I sit down and think about it - should not be filled with much things at all

All I do is work, and... not really much else.

I should have loads of time on my hands to blog, to exercise, to shop, heck even to watch all the series's that I am seriuosly lagging behind in.

Still, I do not have time where I can sit down in front of my computer and blog about my wordly experiences, still, I do not have time to watch all the TVBs and American soap operas I want to, still, I have done no shopping since...

oh, I do not know when.

Can't even remember how Oxford Street looks like anymore!!

But really, I cannot NOT have time to celebrate my 25th can I?

Then comes the next question? Where, when and how.

Should I hold one massive one with my ex Maidstone friends with my current London ones together? Should I split it? Should I have it in my house or outside? Should I go to a restaurant, or just a bar/club night.

Whatever.

I do it in style.

So 2 nights of celebrating, one with the Maidstone crew on my actual birthday in Cafe Pacifico at Covent Garden followed by a night out at this club just round the corner. Can't remember it's name, but they had a live band and the music was good.
Yes it was.

Left at 2am, with my other friends Still partying (on my behalf) and made it home only to get up at 6.30am the next morning for work.

The celebration was not over yet, as I had a follow up karaoke party at China City in Chinatown with the Londoners, mainly Malaysians and the night was.... pretty self explanatory.

So as I was sending out invitations a few days before my birthday, I had multiple enquiries from friends about what I wanted as a present.

In the past I loved getting presents. Who doesn't?
Not saying that I do not like it now, but I remember well back in my younger years when my mum will always tell us that presents more often than not collect dust than really prove themselves useful.

I did not think people will be giving me much presents anyway because at age 25, most humans seem to be too grown up to think of buying presents. And yet, I did not want to receive presents that will not only fail to enhance my quality of life, it will sit.... and yes. Collect Dust.

Or maybe, presents is just a thing of if you give me a present, then when your birthday comes I will need to get you one back.
Of equal value.
Yeah, whatever, don't give me rubbish about 'why you think like that, no one expects anything back, giving is better than receiving...' and all those saintly notions.
If you give me a tube of Mentos for my birthday, you will get a tube of Soft Mints back. Or at most, I'll upgrade you to Haribos.

And neither did I want to receive a Ferragamo wallet and have to think of getting you a Gucci purse in the near future.

To avoid any impending presents that could potentially fill my life with more clutter and dust or that could likely empty my bank account in the next year, I came up with a master plan.

Facebook being the best medium of communication nowadays suddenly read on Rachel Hung's status: Anything that isn't a SatNav, PS3 or Wii, Macbook or iMac, or a Mulberry bag Will collect dust.

Essentially giving out the message that if you cannot afford the above, do not get me anything.

A SatNav, because I really need one, and that will enchance my quality of life.
A PS3 or Wii because I would like one and it could also bring more entertainment into the mundane cycle called work.
A MacBook or iMac because my own laptop is falling to bits, bless, it is after all 6 years old.
And lastly, a Mulberry bag - because, really, nobody can afford it.

I mean, even if they can, they cannot expect me to get them something as expensive back.
Please.
I'm still a junior doctor.
But I will happily receive and write you a lovely thank you card.
So I think my FB message makes a whole lot of sense and is harldy misleading at all.

Birthday came and went, and I have to say, human beings are a cunning lot.


So for my SatNav, this is what I got:

A 50quid voucher to bring me one step closer to attaining that Garmin Nuvi I've been reading about all these while.


For my request on a gaming console, I got this:

Add ons to complement it, but not the ACTUAL console. Which means, I gotta get the console myself to make use of it right!? Smart.

And my impossible wish for an Apple computer, I got:

a gift card to start the ball rolling towards building my empire of Apple gadgets.


The only thing that didn't come close was my Mulberry bag request which fair enough, IS too expensive. Good thing no one gave me bin bags instead.

A final present was a teapot and teacup set, also from friends who know I like all things sweet and girly.


So this really isn't about what I request anymore, but from the pure knowledge of who I am and what I like that can only be attained through years of friendship.

Let's also not forget the amazing cakes that I had for both days, by both Susanna and Raj who made me my chocolate sponge cake and Mel's amazing cheesecake.

Mmm.

Next year, I am gonna ask for a car.
No models allowed.

Whizzing Through South West London

And then it was the year of the World Cup.

Lots of big beefy men gathering together to cheer on what can only be said as the world's largest and most influential sporting event.

Occurs once every 4 years.

And then there was Nigel the lad who decides to celebrate the first game of England vs USA by inviting a few of us over to his farm-converted-to-house home.

In Wiltshire.

Now.

Where on earth is Wiltshire??

Fret not. Nowadays, there are innovations called SatNavs.

And being the poor foreigner that I am, having no car really sucks.

It cripples your style, it decreases your quality of life by 10 fold and it just makes you the uncoolest kid around.

You know how in the past, it is all about what watch you wear in primary school?

Yes, the Baby Gs and G Shocks with its blue backlit face - if you can programme your name to flash the alphabets in its digital surface, you become top dog among the 11 year olds.

I don't even remember wearing a watch.

Probably a Mickey Mouse one.

Bought from Disneyland.
Hey, if I am cool enough to go to Disneyland, surely I should be highly regarded?

Oblivion is indeed bliss.

Then one graduates to secondary school and suddenly it is all about what bag you carry.

Yeah, Eastpaks and Jansports are the name of the game, if your bag had a suede leather base, you automatically join the popular crowd.

I mean rich crowd.

I carried a... gosh, so insignificant I can't even remember..

Timberland.

Aye.

Brand of shoes can.

Then when you proceed on to college, it's all about what car you drive. The ugliest and chubbiest boy in school can suddenly be head of the cool crowd if he powers a Nissan Skyline.

Or Mitsubishi Evo.

Or Mazda RX5.

Doesn't matter if it is daddy's car (of course it will be!).
I drove a golden Honda City. Shared between my sister and brother.
And mother.

It's cool the fact that it is gold in colour.

Enough said.

Then university comes and it is where you can afford to stay that puts you in the upper ladder of society.

So up in Edinburgh, if you stayed at QuarterMile, ensure you have signed a pre-nup before you get hitched.

If your parents bought the flat in QuarterMile, then seriously, just donate more to the poorer students can. Buy us dinner more often or something.

I stayed 4 years in a lovely university owned flat.

And now that I have officially joined the working crew, I find that I am left car-less and home-less.

While everyone had homes to go to during the boring weekends in Maidstone, I was left to be by myself most of the time.

While everyone had homes to go to during annual leave, I had to frantically find things to do, or plan holidays way in advance.

Not that it is bad, I don't have a car to drive to anywhere anyway.
Trekking to London with public transport can honestly be a bitch. But London became my home.

Or more like Liwan/Daniel/Mel's flat became my home.

Wait, I digress.

Back to original story; Alka drove us all in her little VW Golf to look for this farm in Wiltshire and that was when Lottie decided that wtf we should all just go to hers for lunch.


So drove to another even tinier village called Chilmark (I use to think villages were only associated with tiny and quaint English countryside dwellings from my childhood of Enid Blyton stories, or villages are kampungs; essentially rural and wooden houses on sticks, aka Malaysia kampungs), where the Carter household was situated.

I was pleasantly surprised I have to say - we arrived at a pretty Victorian style house with rose brambles crawling up the side walls onto the eaves.

What made it even more rustic was her back garden, where a solitary tree stood in the middle of the expanse with a whole load of roses in all its blooming glory draping casually off it's branches.

Very. Pretty. Indeed.

We shouldn't forget that our main purpose of getting here was for lunch. At this point, I was ravenous, ready to eat a whole pot of Bak Kut Teh.

Wait, digress again.

You know right, you are expected to call angmohs moms and dads by their first name.

SUPER WEIRD CAN!

Sorry if you don't find it weird, I do. I have already stopped myself long time ago calling them Uncle and Aunty and forced myself to address them Simon or Laura despite feeling really rude.

If my children call my friends parents Bob and Nancy next time, I will smack them.

Then you come to the part where there is ambiguity.

At Ben's house, his mom was English but dad Malaysian. Born and bred Malaysian. So when I enter his household, I say, hello Susan, and hello... er... Uncle ...er.. Patrick... er Uncle Patrick ... er...

Embarrassed max.

Mumbled something in a very deep undertone hoping people would pass it of as one of Rachel's inability to pronounce words.

Ok, back to Bak Kut Teh lunch dream.

Not disappointing whatsoever, we were served a lovely refreshing salad and bread with butter.

I really did not expect much because I know English people are essentially much much more simple at heart compared to Asians.
If you go to someone's house in Asia for lunch or dinner - expect no less than a 5 course meal. Full fat, cholesterol laden and calorie overload.

Step down to 'I am coming for tea' - no less than an array of scones, cake, chocolate, biscuits, kuih, currypuff and possibly some of the pasar pagi makcik's specially-made-super-best-only-available-on-today's delectable delight of some sort and form.

Wash them down with bottomless tea and coffee. Have to have both.

No such thing as I serve you salad.
Eat leaves and grass for your meal?!?!
No class.
At All.

But whole different story across continents.

It was a lovely fresh salad with feta cheese (another of my newly found loves) and bread with butter.

So butter.

Comes in all sorts and forms, but I do agree, good butter tastes different. Difficult to explain, sort of good red wine and cheap red wine, you get my point.

Well, I was so hungry, I ate loads of bread and butter, and later washed it all down with tea. I have become impartial to drinking English tea with milk.

Milk here tastes different from Malaysia.
A cup of tea in Malaysia with local milk just does not make the cut. I have to figure out a way to bring back an English cup of tea when I return home in the future.

Then we explored Lottie's house for a bit - low ceilings with beams, carpeted throughout, lots of small rooms - the study, the wet kitchen, dry kitchen, living room..

They even had an Aga. My virgin encounter with this old fashioned boiler/stove was met with a whole explanation of its works by Lottie's dad who actually made us tea and coffee by boiling a kettle of water on it! It doubles up as a central heater too and keeps the entire house warm during the chilly winter months.
According to Uncle.
I mean, Charles.

We concluded our afternoon with profuse thanks (of course, I am Asian, must say thank you 10,000 to the power of 1 million) and made our way to final destination - Cuckoo Farm, Wiltshire.

Like how you get to all farms, you need to go through a maze of narrow, meandering country roads with a one way system; all sporting the national speed limit.

Madness.

Lots of close shaves and screaming by driver Alka, but we finally made it to THE farm.

Massive 3 storey building with a kitchen I would kill for.

The boys were already there, and we spent the evening watching England draw with USA and lots of booze.

Yeah, celebrating when England scored the first goal. We all know what happened after

Wah, I know I say many a time that my alcohol intake has increased 1 million fold since I started F1.

But really.

Thinking back again to this weekend, there was just beer everywhere. That would naturally tempt you to drink despite not really wanting to drink as your peers are doing it.

So pick up a beer of can you will, pop it open you do and down it you must.

Good thing the deficient gene always helps by reducing the amount I can cap.

Dinner was BBQ that was really quite good, with lots of banter and horsing around.

That night was spent lounging in Nigel's comfy sofas and talking about random things.

Fast forward to next morning.

We went for a walk in the woods - another flashback down memory lane from Enid Blyton and we finally ended up back in his kitchen preparing Sunday roast.
My, Nigel's friend Duncan is Quite the cook.

What would I give for my future husband to be a good cook?

Quite a lot.

Roast chicken with au naturale gravy (non of these granules nonsense), roast potatoes, parsnip and butternut squash mash... made 12 very happy human beings.

Did you know that butternut squash is uber difficult to cut up? Not worth it to eat at all.

So a full weekend of doings and we were heading back to Maidstone when Alka piqued up - she wanted to stop en route to her house for a rest.

Just off the M25, we arrived at the Savani Mansion.

From the top of the backyard that overlooks a golf course

The bottom of the backyard looking towards the house

Look like football field can.

It was modern built, huge rooms, built in radio for all bedrooms - just a click of a button away, Madagascar granite table tops... conservatory that doubles up as a dining/party hall...

Wah.

See. Should have done pharmacy instead of medicine and be as well off as Uncle Savani.

Although, I think it is time to come clean now.

That middle big white thing is really my home ok.
And the other small independent bungalows around it?

Part of the family collection.

Don't.
Jealous.

The End of The Road.... The Start of A New Beginning

You know, I hate beginnings.

I dislike upheaval, I dislike new surroundings, I am even becoming a bit tired of having to make new friends and acquaintances.

Rewind 6 years back, I was raring to leave Malaysia to come to the UK for university, thinking I will make lots of friends, I will experience a whole new culture, come back a different person.

Which I do not think I have.

Sure, things have changed - I have changed (perhaps more for worse) and 5 years of university was what I wouldn't say the best experience of my life, but certainly almost at the top of the list. I think secondary school still tops it.

No wait.
Gosh. Can't decide.

And exactly ONE year ago, on this day, I moved in to Maidstone Hospital, starting a job at a hospital I have NEVER been to, with people I have never met.
While some of the F1s were from GKT, some from Brighton, some from other London unis, I was the sole representative from Scotland.

Makes me wonder what went into my head for going all the way down south only to end up in a whole new unfamiliar environment once again. I remember the first 2 weeks was spent completely alone, and I rang every person in my phonebook to speak to almost every night.
But at work, things was alright because I had a team. Although tough, but being the baby doctor out of medical school, you get a lot of lee way. Besides, I had Lise, my fantastic F1 partner whom I have grown to love and cherish. We work so well together, it's rather unbelievable and she certainly made my blur and scary F1 experience a whole lot easier to deal with (remember asking each other whether our English was correct when writing referral letters Lise?).

Lol.

As the year progressed on, I went through ups and downs - of knowing people were being sociable, but yet sometimes feel I was not invited, still I was invited to all the many houses of friends I have now been to, having my heart broken, experimenting new areas with the obvious ending of burning myself, and finally all the many nights out with a incredible increase in my tolerance to alcohol.

I kid you not.

But the night I went home with busy, bustling Willow House stripped bare of inhabitants and furniture, the hollow feeling in my heart is intolerable.
I did not expect to grow so close to my F1 friends, I did not expect parting to be so difficult, and I certainly did not expect to miss the fellowship and camaraderie so much. Having unsettled issues on my part certainly did not help but then I guess some things are better left unsaid and be allowed to slip away and disappear into the sands of time.

Who would forget what the Willow team taught me in regards to the finer points of the English Language? Especially Lottie who especially dedicated her time to ensure I learnt it all wrongly?
And what about how they all believed at some point that my parents owned a dog factory and imported dogs from RSPCA and Battersea Dogs and Cats home for human consumption?
Yes, the chihuahua is still the most expensive dog meat going at £20/kg of meat.

Also despite having a mostly MIA flatmate, all the fights we had where keys and shoes were thrown out of the window were fun and indeed women are as strong as men. I know in an earlier post I mentioned that I probably would never meet Liam again after F1, and I do still believe that but I think if I made an effort to meet up, he will too. Yes, we have progressed indeed.

All the birthdays that we celebrated together, all the cakes and food we shared, all the mess parties doused in alcohol and merriment with F1s and F2s alike and the rumours that spread like wildfire...

Yes, F1 is going to be the best year ever as we share a bond that no one else have as it was fate that brought us all together in the year of 2010 to Maidstone Hospital.

I will definitely miss it all and although I am dreading every minute now, I reflect back 1 year ago where I was in the exact same position as I am now, only knowing that it got better and better throughout.

I suppose nothing will ever beat my F1 year but as it is where there is an up there is always a down. I am glad I made the massive move from Edinburgh and I never regretted the things I did.

Of course F2 year can only get better.
There is no other way.

*+ Sunny Cornwall +*

Cornwall - just one of those British treasures you find and realise that the UK truly is beautiful.

Susanna invited us over to her house in Falmouth for the bank holiday weekend in May.
Open invitation to everyone - but only 4 hailed her noble gesture.

So we set out Saturday morning with the original aim to leave at 8am.

You know right, the famous Malaysian timing does not only apply to Malaysians. British people too.
I was the ready at 8.02 am on the dot, all raring to go as I figured that I should be good this year and make an effort to be on time in everything I do.

Mana tau...

All these british born people ...

Ended up leaving at around 9.30am, and even had a 2nd breakfast of toasted croissant on top of my cereal as one of our members took an age to get ready.

Susanna left the night before and she cautioned us that at night it takes 4-5 hours to get to Cornwall, in the morning anytime up to 8-9 hours.

By the time we reached Cornwall, it was almost 5 pm.
No joke. Because it was bank holiday, everyone was driving out towards Cornwall or that direction. It seemed like that anyway. At one point, we moved 2 miles in 1 hour! Madness!!

So when we arrived, we were pretty much cramped, tired and fed up being in the car. So of course, we moved on to the booze.

Welcome to Cornish cider - the Rattler.



A few hours of alcohol (by then which I have already turned red and tachycardic) we headed out for dinner.

Alcohol and me. The lack of the enzyme sometimes really suck.
I have narrowed down which alcohol affects me the quickest and also the many ways I can take it to ensure I have a good time.

1. Wine (red or white doesn't matter) and cider - shows the enzyme defect almost immediately. Blotching and erythema of my face, rash over my neck and 100bpm heartbeat is the first clinical signs and symptom.

2. Spirits - generally goes down better, does not get tachycardic too quickly. The facial rash and colouring comes on but much later.

3. Beer - don't like 'em.

4. Alcohol on a full stomach - able to stomach much more alcohol % but will feel sick almost as soon due to the fact that I cannot handle large volumes of food and liquid. Seldom regurgitate/vomit but have to spend the next half of the night placating waves of it.

5. Alcohol on an empty stomach - gets there pronto, but can only take small volumes of alcohol. Due to lack of food, might experience the horrible pounding in the head which means spending the rest of the night nursing it and pretending it is not there.

6. Alcohol while eating - probably best combination, with small amounts of food - only that when having dinner, one usually eats til one is full, and then forget to leave space for the large amounts of liquid to follow.

7. Best combination - dinner, followed by alcohol and dancing simultaneously. Truly work wonders as alcohol is burnt off, but leaving enough to intoxicate, but yet no side effects. Only bad effect is I sober up very quickly.

See.

Go out and drink also so many factors to take into consideration for me. Sometimes just not worth it.


Anyway, back to dinner at a neat bar called the Quayside Inn where we had 2 for 1 main meals of lousy pub food - but hey! 2 for 1. Eat what also can.


For me the night was combination no. 4. I spent the rest of the night refusing drinks because I felt nauseous but without the feeling of actually wanting to puke.

The other boys packed down the whole bar I think. Just the amount of times they went to get drinks was uncountable. And think of all the money they spent! (and I save. That's positive for being a lightweight) We were at a bar called Toast that had some Rastafari turban chap spinning hip hop music in a very cramped place. We of course left quite soon. We then moved on to Remedies which had 2 for 1 drinks (looks like Cornwall quite on with their 2 for 1 stuff) and we ordered like 7 drinks x 2, total of 14 gin and tonics!

Impressive boh

Arrived home after and then Sunday morning came.

Lovely Susanna thought of us and bought us ingredients for a post hangover fry up. I was kind of up the earliest and attempted to make scramble eggs - ok, so sue me, I didn't really know how to. I mean in Malaysia, since when does one have fry ups for breakfast???? NEVER! Or least, I never ever did. Can't even remember having much in the way of cereal... what did I use to eat before I went to school for 17 years of my life????

I need to ask Mummy tomorrow.

Anyway, a breakfast of bacon (grilled as an attempt for being healthy), fried mushrooms (allowed because we grilled the bacon), scrambled eggs and buttery toast was served up and I agree wholeheartedly that it is a fantastic boozy-night morning after cure.

Sunday was spent hunting down oysters and attending a local seafood festival where my cinakui friend and I queued up in front of Everyone for free oysters. After spending a good 15 minutes standing in front in the freaking spotlight for the shucked oysters, we finally got them only to have my cinakui friend spit them out right after putting it into his mouth.

Oirh. Seriuosly. British born chinese people. Fresh oyster also cannot stomach. Whats more enduring the stares of all while epitomising the chinese-freebies way only to not savour the fruits of our labour.

Should've just given it to me.



We then spent the rest of the afternoon wondering around tipping Pimms down our throats and dinner time was spent eating Cornwall's famous seafood at a little French restaurant.
When I say french, I meant that the name of the restaurant was french but nothing inside it is.

Maybe the picture on the wall was.

So £40 on wine and a starter of escargots and mains of fish soup. I love seafood. Did I say I love seafood?
But I feel still, nothing beats the chinese way of cooking seafood. I agree some types of seafood will be best eaten in their juices and au naturele - whatever man, the chinese way of doing it is packed full of flavour and tantalizes ones taste buds to no end.

Don't believe?

Try it.

Who can resist ham dan (salted egg) crab? What about butter prawns? Seong tong (soupy) lobster and even steamed fish with superior soy sauce?

Compared to the normal grill/pan fry/baked variety you get here, with a sprinkle of sea salt, coarse ground black pepper and fresh herbs. At the end of the day, it becomes the sort of thing you can do at home yourself. Why pay all that money to go and eat at a restaurant?

Don't understand max.

But the fish soup I had at so named french restaurant was quite good, although SO filling it was like drinking cream.

The last day in Cornwall was spent tucking into a poached egg and smoked salmon on English muffins (made by the boys - well done!) and then covering Cornwall for Cornish pasties and having cream tea with Cornish clotted cream. And yes, Cornish pasties in Cornwall tastes a lot better than the ones you get in London! They even have dessert/sweet ones like apple and raspberry pasty, custard pasty - the list goes on.

Our well set table for breakfast out in the sun, complete with juice and tea/coffee!

Oggy Oggy - pasties with a more doughy wrap, not as flaky

And yes, we enjoy our food...

Susann also managed to squeeze in a spot of sightseeing along the coastline.

Swanpool beach. RIGHT OUTSIDE SUSANNA'S HOUSE!

Sorry hunny, I can't remember what this place is called!

We left after purchasing 4 bottles of Rattler (must never forget souvenirs) to bring home with us and left for home well fed and watered with Cornish delights.

My verdict on Cornwall? I could live here. I really could. It's warm, by the sea, good food, and what made the whole trip one of my top getaways ever is the company. It is true that life is only as beautiful if you share it with someone and I am glad I had these people to share it with. I think the fact Susanna's house was so beautiful, the fact it overlooked the sea and the fact that it was surrounded with loads of greenery made the whole thing seem like an exclusive holiday getaway in a villa in the middle of Barbados.

The view from her patio out to the garden. Can so pretty or not?!

Obviously the real villa in Barbados will happen one day.

I also learned how to make scrambled eggs and poached eggs (an egg theme here I see) and sampled some of Cornish finest.

The only thing I missed out was Cornish clotted cream ice cream.
You know what? A great excuse to go back there again.

Annie's Engagement @ Brighton

29 year old Annie got engaged to her boyfriend of 6 years.

And with every engagement comes an engagement party, and with every engagement party comes lots of booze and food.
In this country that is.

So Annie invited all the house officers to Brighton, her home city to celebrate her happy day. I know Annie, but not like incredibly well, but I like really like her.
And the fact that it was in Brighton - which I have never been to - Why Ever Not?!

The organised person among us booked 2 rooms in Jury's Inn and 7 of us made the 2 hour car journey down to the famous seaside town down south.

I was however in London the day before taking my driving theory exam. Right, this is a story.
Annie's engagement can wait.

So I booked an exam slot for 1.30pm in Southwark, London - thought I'm smart, I'll just go into London on Friday and spend the whole weekend there.
Then Annie's engagement came up and suddenly it's not that smart anymore because that meant I had to train it down to Brighton whereas if I stayed in Maidstone, I can get a lift from some of my other friends here.

Now, I got this amazing all-in-one 2010 pass your driving theory DVD that I managed to borrow from a friend.
How much I actually practiced is perhaps too embarrassing to mention here. My plan was to finish ALL the questions in the week running up to the exam but me being me, of course that so did not happen.

Sometimes I still wonder how I got through medical school.

Anyway.
The ultimate plan was to wake up on Friday morning at 9.30am, work on more questions for 1 hour, then pack and walk to the station at 11, catch the train at 11.23 am to get into London for 12.20pm and make my way to the exam centre at a leisurely pace.
See, I like all these things planned out.

Then of course on Friday, the alarm clock mysteriously turns itself off and by the time I woke to the world it was 10.30am.
Didn't practice any mock questions, packed in a rush and decided that I really would not be able to make it to the station if I tried to walk.

So I rang a cab.

Specifically informed them that I wanted a cab at 11.10, only to look at my watch in horror after waiting for an eternity that it was 11.15 and the cab had STILL NOT shown up.

WTF.

By then, I was in a state. If I miss the 11.23 train, I'd have to take the 12.23 one and arrive at 1.20pm. That would leave me 10 minutes to get to Southwark from Victoria, and everyone knows that that can NOT happen.
It's like getting to Sunway from Bandar Utama or something at rush hour.
Which means I would miss my test and forfeit the £39 I paid. Money isn't the problem obviously, but it was the fact I took a day off work to do it and do not know how soon I can book this test again.

Wah, so many hurdles and decisions to make.

Mr Cabbie arrived at 11.18 - and I spend a precious 30 seconds explaining my predicament - I mean I'm not going to take the cab there knowing I will miss the train and on top of it, have to pay the damn taxi fare.

But Mr Cabbie says we cant try.
So I hop in and it took 5 whole excruciating minutes to get to the station. I. Counted. Every. Second.

Arrived and the train was already at the platform.

Screaming like a mad woman, I raced across the flyover - WHY MUST THE PLATFORM EVEN BE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FLYOVER? - and the train driver must've seen me or something because the train pulled off the minute I stepped onto it.

They waited. Aww.....

You know right, I always get into all these shitty problems. It's mostly my fault I know, but honestly?? I thought my year of bad luck was over.

Anyway, I managed to get onto the train alright. Full stop. I made it. The whole 1 hour training into London I spent burning and swallowing the entire Highway Code which I just got off another friend the night before.

Upon arrival, I decided to have a Cornish pasty before heading off to London Bridge where the exam centre is.

A girl has to eat.

I finally made a move for the Underground just before 1pm, only to find that the tube is NOT stopping at London Bridge!!!!!!!!
Ok.
Can so sui or not?!?!?

No choice - got off at Southwark (although the exam centre is in Southwark it is not near Southwark station) and Google Maped the place - it was a freaking 20 minute walk away.

My watch then read 1.20pm.

So putting all my muscles into good use, I sped walked all the way there, only to be unable to locate the damn street it was on.
It was now 1.35pm.

Back and forth, up and down, and a kindly Samaritan finally took pity on this China girl looking completely bewildered and pointed me down a narrow alleyway that looked like the perfect spot where chaves and trash of the society squatted to snort coke and smoke weed.
No wonder I couldn't locate it!!!

By the time I reached the counter to sign in, I was a full 10 minutes late.

Thank goodness I was still allowed in - although I kinda guessed it wouldn't be too strict anyway.

I passed.

Obviously.

The amount of work I put in to get to the freaking place. If I don't pass, someone somewhere really hates me.

Ok, end of story - back to Annie's engagement party.

So Saturday comes and I make it safely down to Brighton.

We went to this pub/bar called Brighton Rocks - where I had a ridiculous amount of alcohol.
And food.

Was the food good or what?? Platters and platters of never ending finger food comes out and I spend an enjoyable time eating and drinking all of it. Ah, Life.


You know right, I have a serious problem with alcohol. I have tried explaining it to all sorts of people but no one really understands me.

Yes, I fulfill the CAGE questionnaire, I need it as an eye opener in the mornings, I chug down pints and pints of lager, I have felt extremely guilty, I really, really need to join the AA.

Of course NOT.

I lack the bloody enzyme - alcohol dehydrogenase.

It is completely unpredictable when I will have the nice, heady effect when I drink.
Most of the time, I will flush red, my pulse will race and I get a massive headache or feel like puking without even experiencing so much of a touch of the happy alcohol response.

Most people tell me that you have to drink more and push through - but hello, if you felt nauseous and feel like throwing up, would YOU be in the mood to push on knowing full well you are going to puke?
And if you have a massive headache, become tachycardic and cold at the same time, would you not want to lie down wrapped up and wait for the pain to go?
Remember, all these is MINUS the high effect.

So how to push on when I feel horrible?!


Don't understand.

But that night at Brighton was one of my lucky nights where I felt heady with no side effects. And I don't get alcohol amnesia or nonsense like that either so I remember exactly what happens all the time.

So time flew by and it was suddenly time to go to bed. Like how all normal people do regardless whether you had a night out or not.


8am, the bloody alarm of someone goes off.
My friends want to go sun tanning.

Oi.
Sun Tanning?! Want me to get skin cancer?! Worse off, want me to be darker than what I already am!?


Nevertheless, I go along and hide under a huge umbrella much to the annoyance of the others.

Whatever man.

Don't care ok, I never ever said I wanted to go tanning. Should've gone to the shops instead.

After an excruciating 2 hours of sitting in the freaking sun (under the umbrella), we move off to Annie's house for a picnic lunch.

In the sun.

Again.

This time, no umbrella to hide under so I had to brave it and pretend that I really do like sun tanning and want to be brown like everyone else while slowly feel melanin build up under my skin turning it darker and darker.
All the ang moh thinks I am incredibly weird for wanting to stay white.

That aside, Annie's flat is MASSIVE, completely rustic and homely. I LOVE IT.
The ginormous garden outside her flat is for private use of residents in that square and it faces the FREAKING SEA!!!
So right, from her flat, you have a patch of greenery outside and in the corner is the blue blue sea - life is so unfair.

Where is my beachfront property?!?!

We have roast chicken, chips, salad and strawberries with custard and cream to polish off a perfect afternoon.


I then come home well fed and watered with a tan line across my arms.

Perfect ending to a perfect engagement.

Need to apply Olay Whitener onto every inch of skin - stat.