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Crazy Rich Asians

Harini aku nak bercerita or orang putih sebut review pasal Crazy Rich Asians, sebuah novel yang ditulis oleh Kevin Kwan. Aku baru just habiskan novel ni minggu lepas dengan jayanya selepas beberapa halangan yang tidak perlu disebutkan di sini. Seperti biasa, apabila kita melakukan sesuatu dengan alasan yang tidak munasabah, baiknya untuk kita tidak bercerita pada orang lain supaya kita tak dapat malu pada kemudian hari.

Ini novelnya.

 

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first time upload gile lama. Noob

Ceritanya mengisahkan tentang Nicholas Young yang aweknya nama Rachel Chu. Nak dijadikan ceritanya, Nicholas Young ni adalah tuan muda keluarga Young, satu keluarga yang sangat-sangat kaya based in Singapore di mana keluarganya memang ada warisan yang turun temurun. Kiranya memang sangat kayalah. Tak mainlah naik Audi ke, Benz ke, ini dah memang main naik helikopter dan private jet je dalam cerita ni.

Rachel Chu pula ialah ABC (American-born Chinese – aku pun baru tahu ada istilah ni bila baca buku ni) yang jadi girlfriend Nicholas ni since four years before the setting started. Ceritanya bermula apabila ada kawan keluarga Nicholas ni, yang namanya Colin (yang juga anak orang kaya gila babs) nak kahwin dengan seorang supermodel aka selebriti antarabangsa.

Rachel dan Nicholas ni tinggal di USA, Rachel seorang profesor ekonomi dan Nicholas ni pun seorang profesor (aku tak sure dia profesor ape, tak ingat). Dia tak pernah beritahu Rachel yang dia ni waris kepada kekayaan yang tidak akan habis sebanyak tujuh keturunan, dan untuk kenduri kahwin kawan dia, Nicholas ajak dia balik ke Singapura untuk bertemu dengan keluarganya. Rachel bersetuju sebab itulah kali pertama Nicholas ajak dia bertemu dengan keluarga dia sedangkan Nicholas tu dah berapa kali jumpa dengan ibunya sendiri, Kerry.

Bila Rachel ni balik ke Singapura, barulah Rachel ni tahu siapa sebenarnya Nicholas ni. Dia macam sudah ternampak sisi lain pada Nicholas yang dia tidak pernah tahu. Dia memang tak pernah tahu yang Nicholas ni anak orang kaya, sebab dia dikatakan sangat humble dan diorang berdua memang lovey-dovey habis.

Novel ini pada aku lebih memaparkan betapa mewahnya kehidupan orang-orang Asia yang sangat kaya ni. Crazy Rich Asians, sesuai sangat dengan tajuknya. Nicholas tu kiranya yang paling humble la tu sebab dia antara yang terkaya dalam warisan keluarga yang ada banyak lapis tu. Cerita dia lebih kurang 70 peratus cerita pasal kekayaan diorang, baju apa yang diorang pakai, jet peribadi, makanan, high tea macam mana, cerita pasal rumah agam diorang. Kadang-kadang aku skip sangat kalau dah sampai dua tiga page cerita pasal lavish lifestyle, dan bila dah back to plot baru aku fokus balik. Bukannya aku menyampah ke apa, tapi sebab jenama-jenama yang disebut tu aku tak kenal langsung dan aku taknak ambil tahu.

Kemudian, gaya bahasa. Mungkin aku familiar dengan beberapa ayat, sebab ada perkataan Melayu, Chinese, dan kadang-kadang ada jugak French or bahasa lain yang aku terlupa. Mostly ayat lain adalah dari Chinese dan Malays, sebab cerita ni banyak pasal dia dari Singapura, yang semestinya bercampur kaum dan bangsa.

Plot dia pun lebih kurang unexpected jugak bila sampai tengah tu. Aku ni macam ex penulis la sebab dah lama sangat aku tak menulis, so aku ada expectations for the unexpected, kadang-kadang orang rasa tak sangka plot twist dia macam tu tapi bagi aku ohhh ok plot twist dia macam ni, takdalah twist sangat sebab aku dah expect the unexpected tu….haa gitu.

Apa-apapun cerita ni bagi aku ok je bagi sesiapa yang teringin nak jadi macam diorang. Boleh survey siap-siap barangan berjenama, kann…tetapi bagi aku, ok je kalau nak tambahkan pengalaman dengan orang-orang ada-ada ni. hiii

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Starting Over

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Pen Pilot, dewa pen

The title is in English.

But, I’m going after this with my mother tongue, which is in Malay.

Disebabkan title untuk post ni bermaksud untuk ‘bermula semula’ dalam bahasa Melayu, jadi aku akan beritahu kenapa aku mahu bermula semula dalam blog ini. Bagi diri aku yang banyak sudah menulis beberapa blog sebelum ini – yang nampaknya memang tak jadi, dan aku jadi macam hangat-hangat tahi ayam je, jadi aku nak mulakan yang baru dengan ini. Bukan senang nak start dengan benda yang memang kau dah mulakan, tetapi aku akan cuba.

Aku mengalah dengan beberapa blog sebelum ini, sebab aku tak faham. Aku suka menulis, aku merasakan menulis itu adalah sesuatu yang perlu bagi diri aku, sebagai suatu terapi. Aku jarang sekali menulis novel dalam beberapa tahun belakangan ini, tambahan pulak dah keja kannn jadi aku lagi banyak tumpukan perhatian pada kerja aku la. Bagi sesiapa yang rajin nak baca blogpost aku sebelum ni, dapat tau yang aku ni kerja doktor cabuk je.

Sekarang ni aku kerja di jabatan kecemasan, maksudnya aku dah masuk hospital balik sebab aku telah membuat keputusan untuk berpindah. Aku ingat bila aku bertukar negeri, aku mungkin akan dapat kerja di Klinik Kesihatan juga, tetapi salah. Aku ditempatkan di hospital – itu nanti aku cerita lain.

Aku nak bermula semula sebab sekarang aku tengah start pakai Bullet Journal.

Aku baru start berjinak-jinak dengan Pinterest dan aku bertemu dengan Bullet Journal ni. Memang nampak macam senang, tapi aku kena pastikan yang aku konsisten. Macam mana aku nak bagi diri aku ni konsisten, dengan mencatat sesuatu di alam maya, di mana aku tidak menulis tangan.

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Not my BuJo. Obviously. Mine are half less beautiful. Courtesy of Google Image.

Aku ada sebuah diari. Diari tu aku guna untuk luahkan perasaan aku (duhh), mengutuk sana sini, mencar*t, dan most of the time just negative and positive thoughts yang aku tak boleh nak cerita kat orang.

Manakala tujuan blog ini dilahirkan semula adalah untuk memberikan ruang untuk aku bercerita. Aku ada Facebook, ada Twitter, ada Instagram, tetapi aku tak suka menulis panjang dalam tu sebab bagi aku Facebook itu perlu ringkas, hanya gambar dan beberapa caption. Sekarang ini, trending untuk menasihatkan orang dalam FB, dengan tulis post yang sangat panjang dan bagi saya bukan itu gunanya FB.

Jadi, blog ini merupakan alternatif aku untuk meluahkan perasaan dan mengupload gambar-gambar yang diperlukan.

Ada banyak kawan-kawan FB aku upload gambar rumah, gambar anak mereka, gambar family dan dengan caption, bersyukurnya akuu bla bla bla. you know the drill. Tapi, aku taknak macam tu. Memang aku nak show off anak aku, memang aku nak cerita pasal rumah baru aku, tapi aku nak letakkannya di satu tempat yang jika ada orang berminat, ya, boleh datang sini!

Kecamlah saya saya tak kisah.

Aku pun ada PHD. Perangai Hasad Dengki, tetapi aku tak mau itu membantutkan semangat aku untuk membina blog ni.

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Losing myself, like again

I have reverted to my original self. I had been a slob, and also lazy to update this blog. I had a lot to talk about, but right now due to I’m writing this at my work place it seemed like it had given up the vibe that I initially had when I first started this blog. I wanted so much for this blog to represent me, and yet I had been secretive with my own blog.

I do write. I write in my own diary, in my own sweet time. I cursed and I wrote down everything that I felt into the paper. Maybe it was who I really am. I am too scared to even type down what I feared most. I was constantly be reminded that what’s on the Internet will stay on the net, and I figured I had so much things to lose.

And yet, I didn’t want to lose this blog. I wanted to grasp onto the last thin line of whatever remaining in this blog. I wanted to type down, pouring my heart out.

But somehow I can’t even do that.

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Job Description

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A 50 something woman came in through the door and sat beside the doctor’s table this morning. She wore a sullen face, and smiled slightly when her name was read by the doctor. She paid her attention to the doctor, telling her about the recent blood investigations. She nodded, smiled sheepishly and made promises that she would follow the doctor’s advice. She didn’t look uneducated, but she didn’t look like somebody so sophisticated either.

The meeting ended with the woman leaving, after saying thank you to the doctor.

A young energetic man came in, with complaint of hamstring strain due to the football practice he had yesterday. He was limping, and his eyes winced when the doctor palpating the sore muscle. He walked out the door and went back inside, asking the doctor for medical certificate. The doctor shook her head, and he insisted, and she explained the reasons of her not giving his leave is due to the condition not severe enough for a sick day.

He argued, claiming that the doctor didn’t understand how he feels. She smiled, bitterly and still refused to give him due to the mild condition. Plus, he’s working in an office and isn’t required to do any strenuous heavy lifting or activity using the lower part of the body.

He left, shouting cursive words to the doctor as she resorted by giving him a time slip to rest before he returned to work.

A girl stepped inside the door. Her face was wet, might be she just only stopped crying. She looked at the doctor, her face was evident of fear. The doctor talked to the parent who accompanied the girl while the girl watched the conversation cautiously. When it was time for a proper clinical examination, the girl screamed and shouted with tears streaming down her face. The doctor was sympathetic, but she couldn’t just leave the girl unattended. What if there’s something that she missed? What will be the consequences? What will be of the girl who seemed active enough, healthy enough to see a doctor in her practice? Will her condition deteriorate if she missed it? Will she recover without consequences?

After a whole lot fighting and screaming the doctor could finally examine her throat and given her the proper medications for the common cold she had protracted. The parent thanked the doctor and patted the back of her daughter.

There were a whole lot of almost similar situations every day in my life.

I worked at a clinic as one of the medical officers. I encountered 30-40 cases a day, ranging from ordinary common colds, to the elderly who messed about their diabetic medications and ended up being hypoglycemic all day, to the occasional emergency situation like kids needing nebulisation, or pregnant mothers battling eclampsia.

I didn’t hate my job. Working in clinic, is not as busy when I was an intern back in the hospital. I didn’t adore my job too, it’s just what I think I was taught to do. I don’t know what else can I do other than treating sick people, and monitoring the normal healthy ones. I tried to think of one thing, just one thing to do if I ever got out of job (it is very unlikely in my country! unless you are in a very frisky situation), and I never found it. I couldn’t find any job that I liked to do other than being what I am today.

During my early days as a doctor, I learnt a lot. I was posted in a medical posting, one of the most crucial discipline in the medical world because it was so vast and general, yet very confusing to some, including me. I learnt how to take blood, setting up intravenous drip (after learning from the staff nurses), and adjusting beds (this is not our scope of job, but hey it doesn’t hurt to learn, especially when you are left alone with somewhat fussy patient!). There’s so many knowledge that I gained inside and outside of the hospital walls, and now that I’m currently working at a primary setting it’s actually worth it.

When you’re in a hospital setting, it is not a primary care. People in hospital usually dealt with complications and that’s why they were admitted in the first place. I used to think that people hated it, or just not compliant to the medications, or maybe, might be just the incompetence of the medical practitioner there. My attendance in the hospital, just a few of them usually like to blame the primary care GPs because they think they had not done enough. Sometimes they pointed fingers and mocked what the GP tried to do in the first place before the patients were send to the hospital. Back then, I was not affected but thinking back, I should actually back the GPs up.

I didn’t know how vast a GP job is. For some people, they thought being a GP is the easiest part of becoming a doctor. When I actually worked as a GP, it’s far from being easy. Who else would have to emphasize on the compliance on medications to most stubborn patients, who else would have to deal with minor illnesses as common cold, runny nose and sore throat and hoped for the best that it was only common cold and not something more peculiar?

I have to deal with difficult patients too sometimes. This kind of patients were usually here just for some excuse to be late at work, or just wanting some escape and requesting the doctor to provide them a medical certificate (which here means they can get a day off). I don’t know about how your health system works, but here we doctors are very particular about who we’re giving a day off to. For me, I would defend my MCs if it’s not as serious as what the patients want me to believe. I’ll give time slips, just for the clarification that the patient DID come to the clinic and meet the doctor. On the plus side, they would get another four hours of rest before they are required to go to work. If I were them, I would ask for a time slip and not a day off, that would be in my record book.

I already heard stories about employees being sacked due to too much sick days in his record. They were just simple cases, like flu and mild stomach ache, and some days you got to have that extra day of holiday just because all your compulsary off days had been used. So, they pretended to be sick, maybe just saying to the doctor that they had stomach ache, or any headache.

But, I had ways to know how they’re lying. I can’t enclose them here.

However, I didn’t hate my job.

Yes, it’s a desk job, and there were no more hustle and bustle around you like how it was in Emergency Department. There were no very sick person just like how it was in the wards.

I’m dealing with healthy people with chronic diseases, the occasional common colds, follow ups of pregnant mothers and asthmatic children.

And so much more.

But it was never a boring day in my life.

The most boring day in my life was when there were so few patients due to the festival season, and people hate to come during the holidays to the clinic unless they are very very ill.

I enjoyed my job. Who else can encounter the same situation everyday, but with different people with different attitude and knowledge. All of them are unique. I can’t manage someone exactly the same as I treat someone else with the same disease. They might need reassurance, they might need courage, and I’m glad to give them some reassurances that they are going to be okay.

 

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Careful, You’re Not Careful Enough

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There were certain sentences that I hate when it comes to raising my baby boy, especially when you think that you know what’s best for your baby and someone else telling you that it’s not.

I had had my own share of dilemma whenever I felt like screaming my heart out to the world that he is my baby boy and it’s my responsibility to see how he’s going to grow up to.

My baby boy had started to crawl at six months plus, and already started climbing up his cot. It’s been accompanied by my ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ to encourage him doing something that is somewhat new to him. It was also accompanied by hideous cry when he fell down silly on the floor and anxious grandmom – who was babysitting him when I was not home working. I myself let him do what I wanted and fall, lumps and bumps will be quite an essential for him once he started going mobile. I wouldn’t always be there when he fall, or when he decided that it’s okay to eat sand if he likes to.

I know I had not been an attentive mother as I wanted the society to be. I could even see now that what I felt safe for the kid is not like how my MIL see it. She wouldn’t let my baby boy crawled beyond the soft mattress lying on the floor, and IMO I wouldn’t stop him from roaming around the tiles floor. One way or another, he would breakthrough and he would try everything that he ought not to be doing. Mind you, there’s a lot on his plate once he knew the world is out there.

Watching my baby boy grows up also reminds me of us, when we were kids. I thought of how I always gave up after a failed trial, and just blamed everything on others. When I watched him fall, and yet he got up again and didn’t mind the pain at all made me realise that I’m not an exemplary adult for him. I gave up easily, almost too easy that I hated myself.

Why can’t I channel to my inner child? Why can’t I follow the kids’ exceptional will to force himself to learn how to crawl, and to walk eventually?

I don’t know what I was babbling here. I felt like I’m losing my point. Like, again.

 

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Starting Solid

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My son just turned six months recently and I was very excited to give him his first solid food.

He was keen to start solid food, even before he turned six months. When we went out dining, he liked to grab anything that we were eating even when he was actually far from our food. He drooled and keen to touch the cold surface of our glasses, and smiled brightly when we encouraged him to touch new things.

The first food that he ate was a home grown mango. I planted the trees myself at my own home when I was still single, and been working full time as my parents’ handyman – as in my context, handy woman. I planted the trees outside of my parents’ house, and watched the trees thrived and bore fruits.

The mango was very famous for its sweetness. It was very expensive and only can be found in one state. The season could last only for forty five days annually, and then you have to wait for next year if you’re a bit late.

He liked it, of course. The mango was sweet and creamy, just like how kids love it. And I love the way he looked at me then, maybe asking me with his googly eyes, why didn’t I give him this sweet thing earlier and just fed him with bland milk?

He loved his sweet time eating, and enjoyed every single fruit that his grandmother made for him. He loved his meal time, and never throw tantrums.

I hope his weight will become normal soon. Currently he’s still a bit underweight, and already touched the yellow line for his BMI group.

 

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Of Breastfeeding, Baby and Me

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Let’s face it guys, breastfeeding is not an easy task.

When I was pregnant, I vowed to myself that I would breastfeed my baby exclusively until he turned six months, and proceed to breastfeed with additional solid food until he’s two. The plan seemed so simple, like when I was writing it out on my to-do list. I’ve seen mothers with breastfed children, and mothers who formula-fed their children. I’ve observed and I decided that breastfeeding is the best option for me.

But like I said, breastfeeding IS NOT an easy task.

When he was delivered, he tried to clasp his tiny mouth onto my huge gigantic nip and failed. I thought it was my fault, and his cryings became more and more prominent as time passes by. I tried giving him some more time to tuck onto my breast and waited but he still wailed. I called the staff nurse and she taught me the correct and easiest way for the baby to latch. There was some thick liquid – anyone could guess it was the colostrum, and I tried to feed him with it. He sucked it in – I guess, because up until now I didn’t know if the colostrum did enter his tummy or I just swiped it all away because of my ignorance.

Okay. I told myself, maybe he did drink.

He ¬†was silent until minutes later. He started¬†wailing, crying, his face red with maybe, rage because he was angry. As per what I had learned, babies only need colostrum to pass by, and the colostrum wasn’t that much.

There was no spare formula milk. I didn’t bring any because I was confident I can feed the baby all by myself. We will be alright, right, baby?

That first night at the hospital, he couldn’t sleep well. I couldn’t sleep well. My mother in-law couldn’t sleep at all. She took care of the baby, hushing him down, serenading him and tried to tuck him into the baby cot.

When I went home, there was still no sign of breast milk. I expected them to be runny, maybe a bit thinner than the colostrum. I pinched and I pressed and massaged my breasts, but nothing came out. My masseuse told me I had blocked duct, and I supposed to know about it since before I gave birth. She even told me that I should know as I am a doctor and well, DOCTORS KNOW EVERYTHING. Pffftttt

No, doctors know everything when it is someone else.

If it happens to them, do you know that doctors are the worst patients?

My baby sucked and sucked, but there’s nothing came out. My breast felt heavy and a bit tender. He was hungry, I’m sure but momma’s milk is not here yet.

My husband then decided he wouldn’t let my baby go hungry for another day. He bought formula by the end of day 1, which means I’m unable to feed anything to my baby for almost 24 hours. I felt like a loser. My breasts were aching and I was crying (damn those hormones!) when I tried to breastfeed him. My nipples ached so much, and when he sucked, the pain sent me off the roof. There was nothing in this world compared to the pain of a first time mother trying to breastfeed his child.

I watched my masseuse and my MIL fed him formula milk. I wouldn’t feed him myself. I refused to give him any formula as far as I would. I was a stubborn person, and I would stay that way. My baby too was a bit fussy in his early days. He was used to getting formula milk and how easily the milk poured out in his mouth as compared to when he had to suck harder for my breast milk. He cried restlessly when I tried to breastfeed him, because he knew there wasn’t much milk for him.

I was disappointed. I was depressed because I couldn’t breastfeed him. So what am I to him then? I used to think breastfeeding is the only way for mother and child to bond but now what am I going to do that I couldn’t breastfeed yet?

I was frustrated by the fact that what I read confused me. The text books told me that I would be able to feed as soon as he comes out. They told me that breastfeeding is how mothers experienced happiness – because that was when the oxytocin (the happy hormone) oozed out of your body. But I didn’t have any of that. My nipples hurt, and sometimes they bled. They were dry skins and baby scratches on my chest and every time I fed him I cringed because I couldn’t stand another pain in my nips. Where is the oxytocin? Where is the fucking happiness? Where is the relief? I would ask myself over and over again, and then spiraled down the misery alley again and again.

My husband then resolved to buy a breast pump for me. It was a bit pricey but he told me it was going to worth it.

I used it, tried to pick up my own pace in my breastfeeding journey. My MIL and masseuse still used formula to feed him now and then, but as time passed by the milk started coming out. I used all the tips in the books and also from the Internet to try to enhance my breast milk. The nights were messy with my tears, again when he tried to feed and failed and my MIL had to feed him formula. I scrubbed the nips and massaged it quite harshly in the shower after I took analgesics to ease down the pain.

But slowly I started producing more milk. The formula was weaned down little by little. I pumped my breast and let him latch on. My breasts still felt sore, and I still winced at the pain when he latched but after a month or so, there wasn’t any pain at all. My confinement ended with me happily breastfeeding my baby exclusively.

Then, I already established that breastfeeding is a very tough journey. It demands determination and perseverance. It needs practice and knowledge. It will come naturally to you, but you have to work upon it. It’s like learning to walk, you naturally can walk but you need perseverance and practice. Babies never stopped learning, adults did.

But most of all, all you need is love.