Late last night, I received some bad news. I took it very well, I think. And somehow no matter how many try to quash my spirit, I remain an eternal optimist. I remember smiling through devastation, personal crises. Being able to dissociate the grief from the fact: that tomorrow will always be a better day.
I'm not angry. Not even particularly sad at all. The future holds so much more. A different path, infinite opportunities.
Now maybe I can stop trying to mould everything to fit my intended path. Everyone is good at something. And I'm not good at this. My forte is emoting in words, developing rapport, gelling people together.
It's time to follow my heart, and make the best out of what God gave me.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Fried eyeballs
I did Lasik surgery in 2004. I'd been shortsighted since I was 8, but in my denial, delayed the spectacles for a year. I got my first pair of contacts when I was 14, out of vanity more than anything else. I never had very strong features, and spectacles just turned me from okay to plain dorky.
My contacts then cost me MYR500 a year. Considering how frugal my parents were, that was a small fortune. And after 5 years, I worked out it was cheaper to just to get Lasik done. Back then, it worked out to be:
Consultation (compulsory): MYR100
Surgery: MYR3,600
Sunglasses: RM100 (Moschino, bargain price)
You have to stop wearing contacts for two weeks before they can gauge the actual degree of your shortsightedness. For any vain college-going girl, this is the ultimate nightmare. My refraction error turned out to be a whopping 9.50 for each eye. Explained why I always had trouble finding my friends at the pool.
My mum and dad accompanied me there. The consultant gave me the green light to proceed (certain people with skinny corneas can't go through it). It took them about 7 hours to anaesthetize me. The happy potion they kept dripping into my eyes had another side effect - my muscles were relaxed; I basically lost my mind for that period of time, giggling inanely and babbling incoherently to all the other bewildered clinic patrons.
The surgery itself was quite painful, like the sore persistent kind. It was not unlike visiting the dentist, where the surgeon would have all sorts of nasty surprises every 2 minutes. First, they propped my eye open with this nasty vice-grip contraption. Then another whatchamacallit to hold the eyeball still. Then they took a mini SAW TO SLICE OFF MY CORNEA!!
Whatever they tell you about it not hurting, that's bullshit. It feels like... someone slicing off your cornea. Period.
As if that wasn't enough, they then shone this light in my eye. It's a blue light, and they ask you to focus on the red dot from where it shines. And I could smell burning flesh. And I could hear it.
Sizzlesizzlesizzle.
After that, I couldn't see very clearly. They then patched the cornea flap back, and sat me in a dark room. When I finally gained the courage lift my eyelids, the pain was searing. "How is it?" my doctor asked.
"Really painful." The tears were pouring.
This was clearly not the reply he was expecting. "That's too bad, you're too sensitive."
Clearly, sensitivity wasn't his forte.
To cut the story short, I spent a week recuperating, with blinders cupped over my eyes whenever I went to bed. And after a week, I could tell what time it was every morning without having to squint at the clock. However, I was extremely sensitive to light (even indoors) and had sunglasses on all the time like a paparazzi-fearing celebrity.
Four years on, I'd still say it's one of the best decisions I've ever made. I'm still slightly shortsighted, but not enough so that glasses are necessary. Might be time for a touch up though.
Let's hope my eyeballs don't explode the second time round.
My contacts then cost me MYR500 a year. Considering how frugal my parents were, that was a small fortune. And after 5 years, I worked out it was cheaper to just to get Lasik done. Back then, it worked out to be:
Consultation (compulsory): MYR100
Surgery: MYR3,600
Sunglasses: RM100 (Moschino, bargain price)
You have to stop wearing contacts for two weeks before they can gauge the actual degree of your shortsightedness. For any vain college-going girl, this is the ultimate nightmare. My refraction error turned out to be a whopping 9.50 for each eye. Explained why I always had trouble finding my friends at the pool.
My mum and dad accompanied me there. The consultant gave me the green light to proceed (certain people with skinny corneas can't go through it). It took them about 7 hours to anaesthetize me. The happy potion they kept dripping into my eyes had another side effect - my muscles were relaxed; I basically lost my mind for that period of time, giggling inanely and babbling incoherently to all the other bewildered clinic patrons.
The surgery itself was quite painful, like the sore persistent kind. It was not unlike visiting the dentist, where the surgeon would have all sorts of nasty surprises every 2 minutes. First, they propped my eye open with this nasty vice-grip contraption. Then another whatchamacallit to hold the eyeball still. Then they took a mini SAW TO SLICE OFF MY CORNEA!!
Whatever they tell you about it not hurting, that's bullshit. It feels like... someone slicing off your cornea. Period.
As if that wasn't enough, they then shone this light in my eye. It's a blue light, and they ask you to focus on the red dot from where it shines. And I could smell burning flesh. And I could hear it.
Sizzlesizzlesizzle.
After that, I couldn't see very clearly. They then patched the cornea flap back, and sat me in a dark room. When I finally gained the courage lift my eyelids, the pain was searing. "How is it?" my doctor asked.
"Really painful." The tears were pouring.
This was clearly not the reply he was expecting. "That's too bad, you're too sensitive."
Clearly, sensitivity wasn't his forte.
To cut the story short, I spent a week recuperating, with blinders cupped over my eyes whenever I went to bed. And after a week, I could tell what time it was every morning without having to squint at the clock. However, I was extremely sensitive to light (even indoors) and had sunglasses on all the time like a paparazzi-fearing celebrity.
Four years on, I'd still say it's one of the best decisions I've ever made. I'm still slightly shortsighted, but not enough so that glasses are necessary. Might be time for a touch up though.
Let's hope my eyeballs don't explode the second time round.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Under the blue
I miss diving. Haven't done that in ages, about a year and half probably. Last dive in Redang, a beautiful albeit commercialised island about an hour off the coast of Terengganu.
I suppose I do hate one aspect of it - the oxygen tank! It's ridiculously heavy, at least for someone of my size. I am pretty petite. I struggle with it towards the water, with the grace of a penguin with a stubbed toe.
My first dives were done liveaboard in Cairns, the legendary Great Barrier Reef. I wouldn't recommend it as an initial experience. Quite traumatizing and possibly the physically hardest thing I've done ever. Waking up at 6am in the morning and leaping into the 23C water. 20+kg tanks. 20 knots wind. Rocky catamaran (not the glass bottom type). The first time I got in the water, my ears wouldn't "pop", i.e. I couldn't equalise the pressure. The pain was so awful, I was pretty sure my eardrums were goners. My instructor, a Kiwi appeared to dislike me from the start and was non too sympathetic.
Nontheless, I earned my stripes in three days and am an SSI member. Have been eagerly looking for opportunity and company to dive the infamous Sipadan, off coast of Sabah, but yet to find the right moment to do so. Plus it's ridiculously expensive! Costs about an arm, a leg and my first newborn.
When I do get Down Under, I'll be living about 200 metres from the beach. Yup, a 5 minute walk. *takes a moment to gloat* Hoping to get my advance open water certification then.
I guess my love of diving stems from living in a noisy city. When you're down there, all you hear is the sound of your own breathing. It's quiet. Things seem slower. Time stands still and allows you to leisurely examine minute, but beautiful underwater inhabitants. Soft corals wave lazily at you. Batfish follow you around persistently. The occasional moray eels snaps at you in greeting, sort of like my current senior.
It lets my mind to go blank, neutralising my neurosis.
I suppose I do hate one aspect of it - the oxygen tank! It's ridiculously heavy, at least for someone of my size. I am pretty petite. I struggle with it towards the water, with the grace of a penguin with a stubbed toe.
My first dives were done liveaboard in Cairns, the legendary Great Barrier Reef. I wouldn't recommend it as an initial experience. Quite traumatizing and possibly the physically hardest thing I've done ever. Waking up at 6am in the morning and leaping into the 23C water. 20+kg tanks. 20 knots wind. Rocky catamaran (not the glass bottom type). The first time I got in the water, my ears wouldn't "pop", i.e. I couldn't equalise the pressure. The pain was so awful, I was pretty sure my eardrums were goners. My instructor, a Kiwi appeared to dislike me from the start and was non too sympathetic.
Nontheless, I earned my stripes in three days and am an SSI member. Have been eagerly looking for opportunity and company to dive the infamous Sipadan, off coast of Sabah, but yet to find the right moment to do so. Plus it's ridiculously expensive! Costs about an arm, a leg and my first newborn.
When I do get Down Under, I'll be living about 200 metres from the beach. Yup, a 5 minute walk. *takes a moment to gloat* Hoping to get my advance open water certification then.
I guess my love of diving stems from living in a noisy city. When you're down there, all you hear is the sound of your own breathing. It's quiet. Things seem slower. Time stands still and allows you to leisurely examine minute, but beautiful underwater inhabitants. Soft corals wave lazily at you. Batfish follow you around persistently. The occasional moray eels snaps at you in greeting, sort of like my current senior.
It lets my mind to go blank, neutralising my neurosis.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
A different shape
I'm 23. Or 23.5 to be precise. Has my life turned out the way I thought it would? I'd have to say, pretty much, yes. I found a guy I think is right for me. I love him, I feel home. I'm immigrating, something I'd always known I would do in my heart of hearts. Malaysia never felt right. I'm still friends with many of my classmates from primary and high school, college and kindergarten. I have a healthy social life. I'm still childless, unmarried (I've vowed to stay single as long as possible, if not forever). I'm wearing a suit. I'm professionally qualified.
Things are going well for me. Thank God.
But I wonder sometimes, what if things had turned out differently? What if I had met someone else? To be purely honest, at the risk of sounding like a spineless bimbo, many of my decisions were made with my boyfriend in consideration. He drew the adventurous side of me out. Things I'd dreamt of doing, but never had to guts to just go for it, he pushed me to do. Like diving, backpacking, camping, sleeping in the car, wearing a bikini even. An offspring of overprotective parents, I have never broken a bone and never been hospitalised. My childhood rebellion consisted of multiple piercings and wearing black bras under the flimsy white cotton (recently classified as "sexy" by another one of our retarded politicians) school uniforms. This later changed to not wearing bras in college, dating everyone wrong for me etc. But I never really crossed the line. Sad to say, without him, I might developed into the stereotypical submissive, indoor-sy Asian girl.
I'm kind of glad I didn't.
Things are going well for me. Thank God.
But I wonder sometimes, what if things had turned out differently? What if I had met someone else? To be purely honest, at the risk of sounding like a spineless bimbo, many of my decisions were made with my boyfriend in consideration. He drew the adventurous side of me out. Things I'd dreamt of doing, but never had to guts to just go for it, he pushed me to do. Like diving, backpacking, camping, sleeping in the car, wearing a bikini even. An offspring of overprotective parents, I have never broken a bone and never been hospitalised. My childhood rebellion consisted of multiple piercings and wearing black bras under the flimsy white cotton (recently classified as "sexy" by another one of our retarded politicians) school uniforms. This later changed to not wearing bras in college, dating everyone wrong for me etc. But I never really crossed the line. Sad to say, without him, I might developed into the stereotypical submissive, indoor-sy Asian girl.
I'm kind of glad I didn't.
High school memories
With Vig back from Moscow and K from Vancouver, some of us have been getting together again on weekends. It's been fun, reminiscing about the good old times at Seri Hartamas. I don't remember too much of high school. Or at least my memories never stray too far from things I had personally experienced. Unlike my friends, I've never been too observant of others. Quite self absorbed, you could say.
Here are the highlights (or at least what little I remember), personally, in chronological order:
1998 - Nothing really. I think I had a crush on some librarian who was two years older. When he discovered what I looked like (I had a flat chest, acne, greasy skin and glasses), he was instantly turned off. There is nothing sadder than the sound of a 13 year old heart breaking. They also killed a cow on school grounds for Hari Raya Korban, which was very insensitive to Hindus and bovine-friendly people in general.
1999 - Got contact lenses. Started getting into trouble with some gangster wannabes for no apparent reason other than minding my own business. Also dated NL. We lasted a grand total of two weeks. When he gently tried to let me down, I took the news calmly and burst into tears later. I still remember cradling the receiver of the public phone, sobbing my heart out to Syl, who later became my sister-in-law. I'm still friends with NL and I still think he's sweet and sort of cute. I still keep the slip of paper he passed me, "Will you be my steady?"
2000 - I was very bored this year. Bored enough to get multiple piercings and one on the navel. Also made grand mistake of agreeing to be MarvThe Perv's girlfriend. He turned out to be a lecherous cheat. We are no longer in contact. I would recommend chemical (or preferably physical) castration as a preventive measure.
2001 - I only got 5A's in PMR. Only made it to the "second rate" Science stream class, Marikh. For the first time in high school, I no longer had a gang in class. Felt awkward and miserable, not to mention stupid (I failed Add Math all the way through the year). Met my first love, MT. We lasted about 9 months, I think. I still have a box of keepsakes. I told him it was over, to spare him in having to do so. I never believe in holding someone back. I didn't go to school for two months after that, unable to do anything but cry. I was a wreck. I met MT this January, for a quick drink. I realised he never really knew me for who I was, but what everyone else assumed me to be. And that was a sad fact to discover. Nonetheless, I think he's a catch and wish him nothing but the best.
2002 - An awkward beginning, having to be in the same class with MT. I broke off contact with many people, unnecessary acquaintances acquired through him. Soon get used to it and make friends with other people. Realise I can relate so much better with them. We had a store room adjoining our class and we soon turn that into the hooky safehouse, as christened by B, The Toilet Room. Our anthem went like this: "Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiis... is the toilet song, it isn't very long, hey!" In this room, we played poker, Uno (but instead of Uno and Uno Game, we yelled, "Haemmorhoid" and "Haemmorhoid Cream!" respectively) and discussed about a variety of complete utter nonsense. I consider these people some of my dearest friends, who have seen me for who I am, and love me, warts and all. Whenever we do get together, we continue our toilet humour as if we'd never left The Toilet Room at all.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Prologue
At the encouragement of several friends, I’ve decided to begin a public blog. My previous one was only seen by a privileged few MSN contacts. Actually, anyone I didn’t bitch about anyway. I sure vented on that one.
For those who know me, I’m Jan, the irreverent, crazy, bohemian chick in a suit. Or if you’re a colleague, I’m just a chick in a suit. If you just happened to stumble upon this site, then hello, I’m Jan, a girl trying to make the most of her life. Nice to meet you.
At the moment, my life is about to launch into Major Transition Mode. For the past two and half years, I’ve been preparing to move to Australia. That sounds really easy, but it’s not. You don’t just get up and go. It’s a long story, I’ll divulge you someday. And if you know me, then I’m sure you’re super sick of listening about it.
So anyway, I got my visa in July. It’s a big deal. You have no idea how I’ve suffered to get it. Like blood, sweat and tears. So I’m now about 2 months from quitting my job and 2.5 from leaving Malaysia.
It’s funny, but everything I’ve been trying to run away from suddenly looks so attractive now. I’ll miss everyone. I’ll even miss my work. What if I can’t get a job in the same capacity? I’m actually starting to like what I do now. Lots of uncertainties. I was pretty naïve about the whole thing at first and thought getting a visa was my only hurdle. But now as D-Day looms near, I realize there’s a lot of considerations I hadn’t looked into before.
Now how am I going to ship the 50kg of books off?
For those who know me, I’m Jan, the irreverent, crazy, bohemian chick in a suit. Or if you’re a colleague, I’m just a chick in a suit. If you just happened to stumble upon this site, then hello, I’m Jan, a girl trying to make the most of her life. Nice to meet you.
At the moment, my life is about to launch into Major Transition Mode. For the past two and half years, I’ve been preparing to move to Australia. That sounds really easy, but it’s not. You don’t just get up and go. It’s a long story, I’ll divulge you someday. And if you know me, then I’m sure you’re super sick of listening about it.
So anyway, I got my visa in July. It’s a big deal. You have no idea how I’ve suffered to get it. Like blood, sweat and tears. So I’m now about 2 months from quitting my job and 2.5 from leaving Malaysia.
It’s funny, but everything I’ve been trying to run away from suddenly looks so attractive now. I’ll miss everyone. I’ll even miss my work. What if I can’t get a job in the same capacity? I’m actually starting to like what I do now. Lots of uncertainties. I was pretty naïve about the whole thing at first and thought getting a visa was my only hurdle. But now as D-Day looms near, I realize there’s a lot of considerations I hadn’t looked into before.
Now how am I going to ship the 50kg of books off?