082: Cinema eateries

Note to self: Sweet popcorn in England is not at all sweet.

I rarely visit the cinema in this country because of the hole it burns in my hypothetical wallet. I only indulge myself to a cinematic experience then and again when a must-see or long-anticipated movie comes around. My last visit was to see the final instalment of the Hunger Games trilogy. Although I was half an hour late thanks to rush hour in the London underground, we didn't miss the opening scene because of the customary advertisements that precede it. However, because I was a half an hour late, we went into the theatre empty handed (ie no popcorn).

This time, it was Star Wars. You see, I am a non-follower of this series. The last time I attempted to watch a Star Wars film, I fell asleep. To be fair, I was really tired - it was on the first day of Eid. Thus, it was exactly after visiting 5 houses from the wee hours of the morning. Again today, I was also tired. I didn't want to run the risk of oversleeping because we booked a morning film at 10.15 am, so I chose to not sleep after Fajr prayers at 7am. I am very much dependent on sleep, so without my 8 hours of shut eye per night, my attention and behaviour tend to waiver. Needless to say I only got 6 and a half hours last night, so I was groggy the moment my rear end parked on the comfortably soft theatre seat.

This time I had a get out of jail free card - munchies. Namely, popcorn and water to keep me awake. If I was in Malaysia, I would have had a regular sized portion of caramel popcorn. Since I was little, my trips to the British cinemas would be accompanied by a treat of salty popcorn instead. But today, I had a sudden change of heart and ordered sweet. And boy was that a mistake. I hate being adventurous in ordering food or drinks - it always leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth (pun intended). I once tried a lychee concoction at Chatime instead of my regular roasted milk tea - it unfortunately ended with me throwing a half filled cup in the trash. Similarly today, the popcorn was so bland, tasteless and raw. It was literally like munching on puffs of air. In the whole tub of popcorn, I can count with one hand how many bits of popcorn that actually held on to a flavour of some sort. The rest - nada. Disapointing.

And because my plan of keeping awake failed because I couldn't bring myself to chew on cardboard-like corn, I found myself sleepily closing my eyes for a couple of minutes during the fight scenes. Thanks, Vue Cinema for your under-enthusiastic confectionaries. It maybe partly influenced by the popcorn, but in the end, I found the movie a little bit on the bland side too. If it was not part of the Star Wars franchise, and if it was a stand alone film, I doubt that it would have gotten the good reviews that it did. But maybe thats just the popcorn and lethargy talking.

081: A trip to the bookstore

Theres nothing quite like it. Shelves after shelves of penned thoughts and ideas. If there was a single word to describe the act of browsing books like "shopping" is to browsing items in stores, I would have that as a hobby. We visited Waterstones near Piccadilly Circus today. Just what I needed to boost my mood - 5 floors of books to explore. I love how physical stores classify their items not just by genre (which is so been here, done that) but by interesting themes like "Armchair books", "Exploring British crime" and "Books of the Decade".

Walking through a physical bookstore gets my heart pumping and my mind racing, something that online stores (although I do love them too because of their ridiculously low prices) have yet to achieve for me. I love holding books in my hands, smelling their new printed pages, and experiencing each book cover design to even the smallest embossed letter. Classics by the greats like Charles Dickens and Jane Eyre are reprinted with Penguin rebranding with breathtaking beautiful covers to attract new and old readers alike. Honestly, if not read, they can just be framed for their beauty. Some of the older bookstores have been there for so long that the act of visiting them also feels like you're going back in time. Evident from the creaky stairs and haphazard book arrangements, and not forgetting the smell of old musk. In contrast, there is the newly renovated 6 storey Foyles located in Soho. It was closed for so long due to construction work. I pass that area often to get my customary cup of bubble tea. And when it finally opened, I was starstruck by the enormity of its size. Upon my first visit, I spent hours browsing aisle after aisle without committing to any purchase in the end because of my loyalty to Amazon.

But sometimes, although not often, I would purchase a few items to add to the library from physical bookstores. I must admit it is really hard not to just go on Amazon's app and be enticed by its hard to beat prices. But today, I thought I should do my part in keeping bookstores alive and in business - so two books did I buy. I shudder to think of a time when my children, or I for that matter, may not be able to experience the thrills of bookstores anymore. I cannot imagine not getting lost in the endless aisles, running my fingers through the spines until there is a cover, a quote or a title that would catch my eye.

If I could go anywhere in the world, I would choose to dive into the scenes of my favourite books. I would duel with Malfoy at Hogwarts, run a marathon with Murakami, roam Amsterdam with Hazel Grace and eat chocolates in the chocolate factory. But since I can't do that, I find solace knowing that there are special places where these adventures are kept safe and treasured. And that bookstores are always a place where I can physically inch nearer to the stories that have been great companions of mine throughout the years.

080: As you chatter

As you chatter.

I try to laugh at your jokes. But as I do so, a sharp ringing pain explodes from my mouth down my neck and up onto my skull. It is piercing, paralysing. It is red with anger, and silver with strength. Thump thump goes the artery in my forehead. Suddenly, the inner workings of my body becomes increasingly apparent. Water cools it temporarily - giving it a staccato-like relief from the endless scratching of nails on blackboard. But the only therapy is pouring salt on open wounds.

With that, it is like a volcano has exploded. My body coils into fetal position seeking refuge from the hypothetical heat. My eyes are tightly shut as I count the seconds to its evacuation.

Then, numbness. Stillness. As if I had reached the top of a steep hill. Just for mere moments till I am reminded again of its inflicting pain when I talk, eat or even flinch. Damn you - I wish you never existed. And I treasure the days you are absent.







_____________
An ode to mouth ulcers. I hate thee.

079: The feels

With only positive things being visible publicly (ie on social media), there is an instant knee-jerk when negative associated feelings are vocalised. Here are two such examples:

1. "Don't be sad."
Uttered for instance, when your pet goes missing. If hypothetically, my cats (Mamat and Bubu) suddenly leave, I have a right to feel upset. Relationships filled with warm cuddles, silent pauses broken by loving purrs and just the fact, I witnessed these kittens turning into confused teenagers then man-cats, gives me the right to shed bucket loads of tears and cling on to my blanket for days. Most times I do this in private, but if my guard suddenly comes shattering down during a conversation with you, and I turn uncontrollably teary, do not expect me to be happy when you deny me of my true feelings.

2. "Be strong."
Often this is the first thing you might say when a friend, colleague or a family member has lost someone that they hold dear. Although this is definitely said with good intentions, I honestly get annoyed if someone says this to me. It is a common sense for anyone who has lost someone they loved to be strong. They are doing the best they can to hold the fort down in the circumstances that they are in. Thus, saying a passing remark like, "be strong" isn't at all conducive or helpful - because naturally, thats what we already do. It is in hard times like these, like when I lost my grandfather, I wished someone would have told me, "I know you're strong but for now, its ok not to be." Weakness is strength in the right circumstances. And grief is a necessary step towards healing. So by saying things like "Be strong", its as if the griever needs permission to feel grief. It is your job as a friend not to expect intrinsic strength from them, but rather provide them a safe space for them to be able to comfortably feel.

I don't know - I just find it terribly annoying.



Baring it down to its bones, feelings are meant to be felt - however painful it might be to watch. I feel as spectators we need a crash course to deal with uncomfortable feelings cause we are definitely doing a poor job of it at the moment. Real life, not the things you see on screen, is not all sunshine and butterflies. You might have glimpses of it everyday. But what really makes the sun sunnier is when it is contrasted with the dark darks.

Never deny the dark darks. Or you'll find a dimmer sunshine.

078: Running again

After a very long hiatus from exercise, my body has finally returned to adequate doses of intermittent physical strains. My husband and I quite carelessly signed up for 2 races: a 10k and a half marathon. The former just shy of two weeks away and the latter in March. Nothing like an actual test or assessment of one's physical and mental stamina to get one's arse of the couch.

So then we started. Slowly but surely. Going through the motions. And as predicted, with every run, there are less instances of where my lungs screams out for air, or my muscles tense up throwing a hissy fit. I can run longer distances enjoyably. Running and joy: two words I would never have thought to be in my associative vocabulary.

I like running. You really get out what you put in. You can't cheat it, and often it asks or expects more from you than you are prepared to give. The first few kilometres is a mental struggle. All I can think about is why put myself through this torture...
...in the freezing cold...
...and it's raining...
...the ground is covered in mud...
...my socks are wet...
...has it really been only 7 minutes?!?!?!?

But then I reach what I call a threshold. The top of an uphill climb where the internal psychological struggles hushes up and a zone of numbness ensues. I am reading a book my the famous Japanese author, Haruki Murakami - "What I talk about when I talk about running." And he describes this mental state too when he goes out for a run. Mainly, one just enters a quiet place, where just no thoughts or worries are allowed to trespass into the internal psyche. It is so serene; quiet and peaceful. And just like a robot, the body just moves in a paced rhythm.

Sometimes observations might enter your consciousness. Like, "Oh, that grass is pretty" or "Those ducks are eating." Really mundane thoughts. But overall, its just silence. Mind you, this has only happened recently when I am running with my husband. We always plan to talk to one another, to keep the rational mind that is screaming abuse at us at bay. But once we run, we don't really speak. We accompany one another whilst respecting the need for our individual solitude.

However, I have not attempted running stimulus-free alone. I am either listening to podcasts or a musical playlist of some sort. Running alone with solely my uninterrupted thoughts is intimidating. I don't really know why this is considering I go about my commutes never with my headphones in. My thoughts entertain me very much so much so I often take the wrong turn or get lost on long walks. But there is something about running that makes my mind really vulnerable. Thoughts become enemies at war. It literally shouts to end runs before I am ready to finish. It exaggerates pain and simulates failure at every step. But when they shut up, running is so incredibly therapeutic. It drives me to achieve goals and face fears in real life. Cause really, if you can survive a marathon, it is highly likely you are able to survive any life obstacle head on.

We go to a free Saturday 5k every Saturday. I have attended three now, and am planning to do this weekly. When I see people twice my age or even approaching their 70s running miles ahead of us, their feet almost never threading the ground, I think: Man, I want to be them.

Well, here's hoping!

077: The 5 stages of distance

So my husband has gone back to Malaysia again for another meeting. Unlike previous times where I would not see him for almost a month, this time its just over a week. But it has happened frequently enough that I can distinguish patterns in my behaviour as a result of the loss of his presence.

Stage 1: Shock
Almost every time he had to fly back, he would give me a weeks notice or less. Its just the nature of his occupation: "We need you, and we need you right now." So weeks of our weekend plans are cancelled. Somehow I always get the news whilst sitting down, right before or right after establishing daily prayers. He is suave and gentle in his delivery. But my eyes widen and I am rendered speechless every single time.

Stage 2: Utter sadness
Since being married, I HATE (with block letters) being apart from my husband. I love his presence, to talk to and to physically hold on to. We have also been living by ourselves since marriage - just the two of us. When he is gone, I am alone, left to my own devices. And idleness and loneliness is never a good combo. It is a far departure from living in a flat full of girls, if I am lonely, I can just knock on someone's door. But now my friends live so far away. Currently, my sister lives with us. That has helped slightly but we are two so very different people. We stay locked in our rooms most of the time, so even if she is here, it feels like she is not. And when we do open conversations, I struggle to find things to talk about. So, with the departure of my only friend and companion, it is always hard to stay positive.

Stage 3: Rage
Feelings of abandonment creep in and I feel so angry. Logically, its not that he left for Malaysia on purpose - I know that. But I can't help but push the blame on him. He is and easy target after all. It is not right, but this is an involuntary stage, thankfully a short one. It often happens when he has already left. Any little annoyances trigger it: hair in the sink, slow internet, dishes in the sink. Boring everyday stuff. But with the absence of him, it just magnifies in amplitude and I would find myself swearing violently under my breath, throw things across the room and bang doors shut. It is not a pretty sight, but its one that I do in solitude when no ones there to be a spectator.

Stage 4: Numbness
The new flat that we have moved into is in a real quiet neighbourhood. Eerily so. So much so, one can detect white noise filling in the background. Usually when I get back from school, I would snuggle up to my husband and we talk, cook, eat - filling in the rest of the day. Without him around, I'm just yearning for time to tick faster. I fill in the physical lulls of my life with mind-numbing entertainment. Documentary after documentary. Movie after movie. Just to fill in the time gaps in between. Then it would be 11pm, time for sleep. Yay sleep! Time moves faster in sleep. And daytime is good too - school now is a saviour - it distracts me very well. Its just the evenings really, and weekends. I just don't know what to do with myself when I am alone. I am no extrovert - I stay away from gatherings with loads of people. But I want to be alone, alone with my husband.

Stage 5: Anticipation
I don't know why we do this, but we count weekends till we are due to meet again. 1 week could be misleading, especially when it involves 2 weekends instead of one. And counting in days involves too many numbers - making things seem even longer. So weekends are ideal. Especially when weekends are the hardest. Not for him of course, cause he works the whole weekend. Just me, cause I have nothing to do. Stage 4 and 5 overlap alot, but this anticipatory stage would supersede, especially if the days left can be counted with one hand. Thoughts like: "What should I cook?", "What should I wear?", "Should I pick him up from the airport?", "What is his flight number?", "Should I surprise him?", "I should clean the house" would fill my mind and heart with glee. Its like preparing for a date that you are certain would go extremely well. I love when we reunite as much as I hate us being apart. It is filled with relief, joy, contentment and a sense of home. My self is complete; whole.



I miss that feeling.


Currently I am in Stage 3/4. Too soon to anticipate our reunion as he just left. But writing about it reminded me that I have something beautiful to look forward to in 10 days time. Gives me hope. I might sound like a needy dependent person with no self worth, but I don't really mind. I am honest about my feelings however complex they might be. And I am comfortable with the part of my identity where I am attached to my other half. My ego doesn't drown it out, proclaiming that this feeling contradicts the fact that I am an independent woman (which it doesn't). Instead, I acknowledge this invisible knot that binds Akmal and I. When it feels incredibly taut and strained as a result of the physical distance between us,  I say to it: "Hello, have a seat. There is much room for you here. You are in all the sense very welcomed. We'll get through this together."

076: Big fish or big pond?

I watched a couple of videos explaining the difference between being a big fish in a little pond and being a little fish in a big pond. And I thought I would attempt to deconstruct my thoughts on the matter via writing about it. This is what I came up with.

1. Ponds are relative. 

At high school, I thought that that was a big pond. There were around 50 of us in the year; most extremely talented, driven and academically successful. One can sort of predict this cause to gain entry, you have to fill in an application, take an entrance exam and participate in a 3 night evaluation camp. Competition was fierce for a 12 year old, but I didn't know any better. Upon taking the first test in Form 1, I was ranked at number 35 in the year. Problem was, I never was a double digit for anything. So one might guess that I was under enthused. So I pulled up my bootstraps, put my head down and worked; resulting in finishing top three every year after. So as fishes go, I thought of myself as one of the bigger ones in this small-ish big pond. Academically at least. I was never great at sports and my social skills lacked big time; so academic excellence was so ingrained into my identity. This subsequently carried on to college.

But then university happened. Medical school happened.

My pond got a lot vaster, the water was choppy and fishes were huge left, right and centre. I met award-winning researchers and student leaders from elite British boarding schools; all extremely bright thinkers. Now, drowning against the current feels like a norm and one's instinct is to keep up because one feels so behind. Like kayaking against a strong current or more literally in my case, against rowers from Oxford and Cambridge. At this point, one's instinct is solely to survive. Everyday, I felt minuscule, inadequate and not smart. Quite gradually, I lost a large chunk of my identity. My ego was severely battered and bruised, not by anyone else, but through my own doing - as a result of constantly comparing myself to my peers. After many months of intermittent thoughts of "what am I doing here?", I acted. I coped with it like before; by pulling up my bootstraps, putting my head down and worked. But as circumstances (ie. the pond) have changed, now, my aims were quite different. Which brings me to my second point.

2. Bigger ponds come with lower expectations of oneself.

At this point, the days of chasing glory are over. Now its just about not getting left behind. Praying that you are at least not in the bottom 10% with every page revised. Greatness is no longer a goal, I just wanted to be good enough. However, what I learnt through this process is quite enlightening. Fear, and in this case, fear of failing, is one good motivator. One might not aim for glory, but that doesn't mean that the fear of fire does not lead one to the sun. Practically speaking, I didn't aim for anything except passing, but with the grace of God, I somehow (and surprisingly so) picked up a few academic prizes along the way. Every time that email with results come, I am sure that an administrator have messed them up. Because looking around, I always feel inadequate to deserve any such praise. But I guess inadequacy goes both ways. Unless you are a crowned genius, if you're in a big pond, chances are you will feel inadequate most of the time.

Inadequacy becomes one's new norm. One's new identity.

3. Big ponds are worth it.

I think the bottom line is: big ponds give you hope. If you can look at this situation positively that is, cause big ponds can be the source of hopelessness too. But to me, big ponds are a great blessing. Because here, I am surrounded by awe inspiring people. Here, noble prize winners are lecturers, award-winning professors are tutors and history-making clinicians are mentors. Just the mere proximity to them transmit flickers of hope that I could possibly be them one day. I could literally, follow in their footsteps in hospital and observe how they work. I could have conversations with them about the future of medicine or science's next frontier. This not only happens in the scientific world as London in itself is a hub where prominent religious scholars congregate to spread knowledge. I can just stand still and take it all in my osmosis, and I would feel like I am progressing.

In a nutshell: yes, big ponds will shatter one's ego. After a month, it will be as abstract as a modern art painting. But in return it gives glimmers of hope. Hope that one day, you could be a bigger fish than when you came. Cause really what is the point of being a big fish in a small pond if that is the limit of what you will become? Big ponds keep you on your feet, make you progress, make you better. And that push really, makes it all worth it.




________________

Sidenote:

Done with ponds? Try the ocean next.
(credit this ocean idea to husband, Akmal Khadir)

075: Death's door

*Details have been altered to preserve patient confidentiality

Arms are throbbing and sweat trickling down my back. On my way back home, it was raining. Everyone is in a hurry to get back home, its rush hour after all. Each of them preoccupied with their own lives, giving me enough space to reflect.

Walking in the rain without an umbrella, I thought: I did my first actual CPR today. On an actual patient. Whose heart stopped. A heart that couldn't be restarted. 

It was a mere twenty minutes between the nurses calling the doctor worrying that her fingers and toes were blue; cold as ice, and when the paramedics closed her eyes shut; preserving her dignity in the light of death. "God bless you," he said as he gently pulled her upper eyelids down. I was there helping the doctor upon the first call. I failed to insert a cannula. But I did help write the patient's details on the blood sample bottles. Between the chaos of oxygen masks and sliding her on a paramedic bed, wheeling her towards the ambulance, her pulse was lost.

I was given the task to call for help. When I got back, chest compressions commenced. Hard, fast, brutal. Shock pads were on her chest. After two minutes, just like clockwork, her heart's rhythm was assessed.

Asystole; a term to describe the absence of any rhythm in the heart. The closest one could get to flatlining. Basically, her heart stopped beating. This tall, muscular paramedic started to fatigue. I mean, he was a big man. He did CPR with one hand at times. I volunteered to take over. Up till now, the only practice I had was on dummies so I don't really know what possessed me to step forward. Arms throbbing, sweat trickling down my back. I managed 2 minutes before my muscles burnt out and my brain gave up. The big paramedic took over again. 

After 8 minutes, the doctor came to us and called it. "After discussing with the medical team, she has signed a DNAR, is everyone ok to stop?" Nods all around. It was a silent agreement to let her pass with any last shreds of peace. Everyone stepped back and she was wheeled back to her bed to be cleaned for the last time.

The doctors thanked us for helping. "Are you sure you're ok?" they asked. We nodded then headed home.

I don't know how I feel. The best way to describe it is numbness. Like an out of body experience. But reeling in my mind like a broken record player is the patient's last words. Loud and clear, I hear her shouting her two final wishes: "let me die" and "please help me."

074: The joys of medicine

"Save one person, is akin to saving the whole of humanity." (Quran, 5:32)


I am now in my fifth year of medical school - the penultimate year. Just shy of 1 and a half years till graduation. This year has proven to be a large upgrade from last. Fourth year was spent acclimatising oneself to clinical work, getting lost in the endless corridors of hospitals and fidgeting with blood results and stethoscopes. Each touch on a patient was greeted with utter caution and anxiety.

But after a year of practising, each of us grew in confidence. We now know what the consultant is talking about when she says, "Send an MCS, I think she has a UTI. Have you done an AMTS? She might need a TWOC." Yeah, medicine is filled with strange acronyms that can only be truly learnt after repeated exposures to them. 3 weeks in, and I have taken blood unsupervised, examined a patient with Ramsay Hunt syndrome and wrote in patient's notes during morning ward rounds. Basically, I feel more useful. Although I still feel like a nuisance from time to time, taking up coveted floor space in already crowded wards.

However, day by day, I am reminded of what a true privilege it is to be a doctor. For one, you are able to help people in their times of need. In times of pain, loss and loneliness, you are there to go through them with your patients and hopefully provide them with some relief. Most times just being a listening ear is enough for them to unburden their distress.

Secondly, patients trust you with their deepest darkest secrets. Even as only a medical student, I have heard countless beautiful and heartbreaking stories - all ranging from "My late husband knocked up my sister" to "I lost my son two years ago, he overdosed on heroin." Everyday I collect strands of people's lives; diverse and colourful. I have to pinch myself to think that this is my future job!

Lastly, you make a difference everyday. In the wards, no doctor leaves on time. They willingly stay 3 hours or more after the end of their shifts, motivated by the fact that their work is important. If the work stops, people might die. It truly epitomises the happiness of pursuit. The work drives you, it fills you with warmth and satisfaction. It lights you up inside. Although the work is indeed hard and demanding, seeing your patients being wheeled out of hospital better than when they came in, makes it all the more worthwhile.

So I hope that if my future self reads this, I am reminded that to work as a doctor is a true privilege. And if done with the right intentions, will be a source of light, love and happiness for many years to come, inshaAllah.

073: Plan N > Plan A

If someone were to invent a machine that can image thoughts, my head would probably resemble a multicoloured beehive. Cause a lot of the time, I tend to zone out and be immersed in thoughts. May be an explanation for why I am relatively quiet. For my head is already extremely noisy. And compartmentalising my thought processes takes concentration and effort; which is in part impossible to do when verbally communicating.

After reflecting, the bees in my head can be grossly categorised into 3 categories:
(a) observations
(b) ideas
(c) plans

Type C is what I want to elaborate on today.

I spend SO much time on this. When I was younger, I would plan my career path whilst in primary school. Family plans in high school. And now, retirement plans. My thoughts would be planning my life decades in the future, and then I would plan backwards - to figure out how I can achieve the goals set. Sometimes I would divulge my ever evolving future plans to my husband.

Today it would be, "This is my plan A and these are what I have to do now!"
Tomorrow it would be, "Wait, yesterday's plan is unfeasible. Now its revised plan A!"
The next day: "Ugh, I can't do this. Revised plan A is so beyond my reach. I mean, look at me! I'm not plan A material!"

...and so it continues everyday. Hypothetical assumptions upon hypothetical assumptions day in day out. Until my husband said one day, "Sayang, you can plan. But don't be so stressed about things that might not happen. Situations change, and often the outcomes are out of your control."

"Out of my control?!? It was the motivation, meticulous planning and focus that got me studying in London in the first place!"

"...or was it?"

London was never really Plan A. I wanted to go to Cambridge. This revelation prompted me to conduct a small review of all the Plan As I had in the past; and the results were quite astounding.

*Plan N stands for "not even in my radar"


Plan A : In high school, I wanted to participate in a school exchange to Japan.
Plan N : I went to a school exchange to Thailand.
I wanted to apply to Japan - cause it sounded amazing! But the caveat was that I had to be equipped with the talent of dance. And I have two left feet. I applied to Thailand on a whim.
And if I hadn't, I wouldn't have met my now husband.

Plan A : Medschool in Cambridge
Plan N : Gap year then UCL.
If I originally got accepted into Cambridge, most likely, I would be alone alot. Cause many of my friends are in London. Flat 10 with some of my now best friends from high school (ie. the greatest blessing of my first 3 years in London) wouldn't have happened. 
And Kenya wouldn't have happened. And writing for magazines as a job wouldn't have happened.
UCL and gap year was not even my plan B. It just happened.

Plan A : Undertake a BSc in Medical Anthropology
Plan N : I did a BSc in Philosophy
As I previously said, I am a planner. So the plan for Medical Anthropology was decided even before I started my first year. Then, I went to the BSc fair, and there was a niggling feeling in my heart that swayed for philosophy after an introductory talk. Asking Akmal at the time, he said, "Anthropologists observe, philosophers ponder." That gave me the courage to pursue a subject totally different from what I was used to. And if I didn't follow my gut and jump head first, I wouldn't have walked away from that year completely loving learning with a Dean's List under my belt.

Plan A : After marriage, Akmal was to continue his Master in Architecture in Manchester
Plan N : He didn't get the offer. But instead, he got a job in London.
This. An example of outcomes when one lets go and trusts that everything would be ok. Before marriage, getting Akmal to UK was our main priority. So it seemed that the only way was for him to continue studying in Manchester. And when that fell through, it was difficult to accept. 
But after getting married, it felt like jigsaw puzzles that we didn't realise existed, just assembled themselves into place. Not only was Akmal and I able to live together as newlyweds, but also his company gave him a major raise - so much so he was able to finance both of us in London. Subhanallah! I have to intermittently pinch myself to ensure that this is really my life. I don't know what I did to deserve such gifts.


So here are a few examples, but I know that the list is endless.
Since then, I have adopted a rather laissez-fair approach to planning. If I was a teenager again, I would have a 20 step plan to being a surgeon by now. But as it stands, I am undecided on my future career path. I have a narrowed down list but its content changes month by month. And I am perfectly fine with that.

Cause what I do know for sure is that whatever happens, it will happen for the best. I could plan everything perfectly, but once I get there, I know that there again would be that gut feeling, or that chance encounter with an important person, or that spiritual push towards the right path. And that is beyond my control, for it is divinely constructed. This doesn't mean I can let go and not do the work. Hard work is still an essential requirement - but maybe less towards a specific goal, and more for the sake of working hard. As I have learnt, I am selling myself short if I didn't give it all I got.

At the end of the day, I find comfort knowing that Allah swt is up there leading me to the right path. For if I were to rely on myself alone to decide whats best for me, I would be lost. And I pray that wherever the right path may lead, that He pushes me to my greatest potential and utilises me for the greater good.

Ameen.

072: I can do that

Once in a while I encounter what I call "I can do that" conversations.

For instance, I was in a gastroenterology clinic last year, and one of the consultants was talking to me about the London tube strikes. He said, addressing the underground tube drivers "Their jobs are so easy, I could do it. Even kindergarteners can do them - its just pressing buttons."

Another example could be the well-known hierarchy in the professional medical world where orthopaedic surgeons are often called "glorified carpenters".  Stereotypically, an ortho is a tall, buff male who played rugby in university. Meaning if one is in that profession, it is implied that one needs or has less cognitive power compared to their other colleagues. After hearing it countless of times, embarrassingly, I got caught believing in this stereotype.

So I brought it home with me. In one of our conversations discussing my future career prospects, I said to my husband, "Do you know what they call orthopaedic surgeons?"

"What?"

"Glorified carpenters. They are quite low down the pecking order."

I expected a laugh, but laughter didn't come. Then, he replied.

"Imagine if there weren't any orthopaedic surgeons, who do you think would fix all those knees and broken bones? Everyone would just be in pain or limping or both."

I tried to think of a smart comeback, but none came. In instances like these, I'm afraid the husband is right. This mentality of perceived superiority is really toxic - fuelling egos and marginalising the work of important groups of individuals.

My husband continued, "It is not who is better than whom. Everyone has their place and their role in society. We need one another." Yup, I married a smart one.

So I thought about what the consultant once told me about the tube drivers. Case and point; look what happens when they do go on strike. London goes into complete chaos. People lining up a block away from the station, buses filled to the brim, work slows down, businesses lose money, and the list goes on. Yes, you might think you are better than them, but you can't deny you need them.

I recently watched a documentary on BBC about China's new rich. After the economic boom, the country saw many young self-made millionaires. However on the other end of the economic inequality divide, there are still many struggling financially - sometimes leaving their children at home in the village on months on end to find jobs in the city. In one of the scenes, the journalist interviewed one of these men, a factory worker who works everyday, 12 hours a day, making car parts.

She asked, "What do you think about the Chinese millionaires? I met some guys in the city who had insanely expensive cars. One of them had a Lamborghini worth 600k."

He replied, "Without workers like me, how can they afford that? The products can only be made because of the work we do."

How right you are man, how right you are.

If you pluck a janitor to do a CEO's job, I doubt he can handle it. But likewise, if you ask a CEO to carry out a janitor's job, I doubt he can do it either. Everyone has their roles - no one is less important that the next. Cause however important you might feel, ultimately you can be replaced.

So next time I find myself feeling superior to others, I have to firstly kick myself... hard.
Then, be reminded that most likely, I can't do what he does.

071: Humble beginnings

We have officially moved out of our first marital home yesterday. It was a small studio apartment in a student accommodation building in Stratford City. As many memories were fostered there, needless to say we left with a heavy heart. Bittersweet really, because we practically built our 2nd home from scratch - cleaning it, painting the walls and buying the furniture - its alot bigger too, so its a definite step up. But the studio was and will always be our first little space to ourselves.

Before getting married, I was quite apprehensive about the flat. Not only was it way smaller than what I was used to (living in a 4bed flat with girls), it was also in an unfamiliar part of town. Wayyy east, in Zone 3 of London. It would also like reliving my stint in student halls in my first year of university -often drunk and noisy teenagers, dirty bathrooms, rowdy behaviour, etc. But we had our own bathroom and kitchen, so we figured it wouldn't be so bad.
So yes, I was very nervous - so many prayers were uttered to ease this particular transition.

However, I did not expect it to be as good as it was. A few things I couldn't have predicted:

1. We loved being in a small space. 
Maybe it was that our wedding bells were chimed only few month prior so we were effectively still on a honeymoon, but it was nice that there weren't any physical walls between us. I might be a clingy wife, but sometimes when I was studying on the desk and Akmal would be working on his laptop on the bed, I would miss him. So I would urge him to sit next to me, or I would slide next to him. Like I said, clingy.

Even after transitioning to our also humble 2 bed apartment, we spent many weeks sleeping on our sofa bed in our living room instead of on our nice, comfy bed in the bedroom. Mainly because it was now weird having a room just for sleeping. Strange, but true. After 3 whole months, we have only just accustomed ourselves to the extra space a few days ago - now comfortably sleeping in our bedroom. Although I foresee the sofa bed still being used from time to time.

Less space also means less stuff. And less stuff means less clutter. And less clutter makes a happy Ayne.

2. Our friends moved to Stratford.
This was a total surprise on our part too. Cause having moved from central London, everyone knows that if you are Malaysian, most likely you would end up living in Bayswater/Paddington. But maybe being the exceptions to that rule, two of our high school friends decided to move into our area at the same time we were moving in. Wawa was a mere 10 minutes walk away and Fred lived in our building. We didn't consult one another on this prior to us moving, it just happened. So Fred, being one of the groomsmen in our wedding, kept my husband company a lot of the time. Tea was served and our flat became like a bro's cave when I was at school. And since Wawa and Fred were in their final year of medical school, Akmal became Fred's "test patient" in preparation for his exams, and I became Wawa's on occasion. Fred being the only guy in his cohort of Malaysian medics at Queen Mary would have struggled to find a "test patient" if we were not in close living proximity. It was really, Akmal to the rescue! Haha.
Alhamdulillah, they both passed - and they are now doctors!
How beautiful did Allah swt arrange our lives!

So we weren't alone in Stratford - we had a community around us. One that enjoys each others company, each others home cooked food and nights of endless board games.

3. We had many guests over.
Before moving in, the kitchen gave the greatest anxiety. The flat was initially meant for disabled students, so the kitchen counter was alot lower than normal, accommodating for possible tenants on wheelchairs. However, after taking a few weeks to adjust our posture when cutting up vegetables and cooking sauces on the shorter stove, we acclimatised to the kitchen quite well. Although, there might have been a few instances of sore necks and backs in the process.

There wasn't any space for a dining table. Nada, zilch. So we had two options: (a) to eat on our desk, or (b) to eat on the floor. We opted for the latter, purchasing a picnic blanket on Amazon. So every night at dinner time, our tartan blanket would be gently placed on the small floorspace connecting our kitchen, workspace and bedroom. On it, laid magnificent meals because of course, I married an amazing husband cum chef. I cook pretty well too *insert self-advertisement here*. And we enjoyed eating meals together every night. But I didn't expect that we could share that small space with the many people we did.

We had many friends over for gorgeous dinners of nasi lemak, nasi kerabu and sometimes, a full roast dinner. At most, we had 6 people eating together on the floor at one time. How we manage, I couldn't tell you. But all our guests were more than happy to sit cross-legged on the blanket sharing a meal with us. It goes to show, you don't necessarily need a big house to host awesome dinner parties! One just needs good company and good food.




So in a nutshell, we are grateful for our little studio. If in the future, we are destined to live in a bungalow, so be it - but we will forever be reminded where we started. In our tiny home in Stratford.

070: Visual representations of knowledge

A sketch to visually represent what I learnt from a Nouman Ali Khan lecture.

069: almost (365)

It has been almost a year since we vowed ourselves into marriage. Without a shadow of a doubt, it has been the best year of my life yet. I have had my final exam season recently and was on the brink of madness (as it happens every year). However, having my husband by my side - it wasn't as bad this time. He lulls me to sleep, feeds me when hungry, holds me when sad and embraces me when anxiety consumed.

When falling asleep on his shoulder every night, being cuddled with his arms around me tight, I try to remember: how did I sleep before? It feels so safe, serene and complete now. Was I oblivious to the emptiness of my bed before? Or was I aware of it but I needed it not? Maybe it is something God reserves to those who commits themselves to an eternal relationship. Possibly a present, or a gift - something to say, congratulations here are feelings of utter contentment which you once didn't know existed.

At present, his absence is emptiness. A void superficially filled with distractions - work, tv shows, books. Things that fill the physical space of where he should be, but does not come near to filling the emotional blanks between constant text messages and video chats.

At present, his presence is home. Wherever he is, there it is.

068: A stranger's story

It is strange when a person you met a few minutes ago suddenly opens up to you about very personal stories. This happened to me today.

I was waiting in the dermatology clinic for an appointment. The doctor popped out for a minute to get advise from a senior on what to do with this mole I have on my right eyebrow. Sitting across from me is a middle aged health care assistant. After few attempts avoiding eye contact (because I am so awkward with conversation starters), she thankfully asked me where I was from.

"Malaysia," I said. "Quite far away from here."

Her tanned skin and her accent told me that she wasn't a local either. And when asked, she told me she was also from the same region of the world - albeit 9 hours away, rather than my 13. I haven't heard of her country before but I was too shy to ask where it was. I didn't want to seem ignorant.

We talked some more, and somehow rather she suddenly told me that her daughter had passed away 2 years ago.

Quite taken aback, I replied as my medical training taught me with, "I'm so sorry to hear that." She shook her head indicating there was no need for pity. She continued, "There were no symptoms. Although the scientists had said that she is the second in the world to have this disease. The third was just documented this year, a few months ago. A person of the same age too. She was 13 when she passed."

And just then, the doctor came back in - cheery and joyful. The change of atmosphere in the small consulting room was like earth and sky.

After the consultation, I thanked them both and headed out. As I was queuing to book another appointment, the lady tapped me on the shoulder to hand me a document the doctor forgot to give me. I looked at her, squeezed her arm and said, "Thank you." Although within me, I wanted to transfer whatever strength I have to her through that brief contact - because I can't even begin to imagine how painful it must be to lose a child.

Maybe it is easier to talk to strangers about things that are difficult to express. They don't know you, thus there are no judgements or expectations. The act of unburdening can be itself therapeutic. And it is highly unlikely that you and the stranger will ever cross paths again - so if it is awkward, it will only last a few minutes. However, does this act require trust? Maybe. Maybe, the lady saw in me someone that she can entrust her secret stories with.

Realising this, I feel responsible to do something about it. And therefore, I do only what I able to - I turn to prayer to ask Allah swt to grant her great strength and patience as she goes through this difficult trial. For He never bestows anything upon a person, which he/she is not able to bear.

067: An answer to unity?

Of late, I have been watching many documentaries. Two BBC documentaries stand out from the crowd. These two in particular addressed the question of national unity in a multicultural society.


France.


The first was, A Nation Divided? The Charlie Hebdo Aftermath. It portrayed a female Muslim British journalist interviewing people from both the right wing nationalists and the French Muslims from immigrant families post-Charlie Hebdo. Through the documentary, one thing was clear - unity in France meant assimilation. You are not truly French, unless you put your loyalty to France above all else. It is banned to portray any religious symbolism in schools, universities or any official government building. Thus, the cross and the hijab is banned.

To the French nationalists, being born in France is not enough to make you French - your parents and grandparents have to be born in France too. In the documentary for instance, a highly educated French woman who loves the country she was born in had to change her Muslim name in order to obtain a job interview. Thus, there is alienation of those who do not fit the mould  - primarily those who choose to hold dear to their "un-French" identity. On the surface, this method to unity makes little sense: to avoid inter-cultural strife, we shall strip everyone from any unique or alien identity; for if we are all the same, we shall not fight right? Maybe we can empathise with this in another way. Maybe post-French revolution everyone shared the same values and beliefs? But with a population of millions - that statement seems a tad far fetched.

In short, France's answer to unity: assimilate or leave.


Russia.


The second documentary was the first episode of Reggie Yates' Extreme Russia. This time, another British journalist followed a right wing nationalist party in Moscow. Since the fall of the Soviet Union, Russia has become home to millions of immigrants - many of whom are Muslims from Central Asia Republics. Halfway through the documentary, the journalist covered a nationalist march where he was warned by another Russian journalist of the dangers of being a black man in this setting. "These people kill people," he warned whilst laughing; but you can tell that he wasn't joking. The British journalist was ridiculed by the marchers because of the colour of his skin - quoting allegiances to Ku Klux Klan, Nazis and white supremacy when he was spotted amongst the crowd. Also, it won't be a nationalist march if there weren't anti-Islamic slander too - so that was chanted loudly as well.

Immigrants were shown to be often brutally physically attacked by the people who hold this purist ideology. Knife crimes leave many immigrants in hospital where treatments were withheld because of their status. Another point of hostility comes from the fear of "blood mixing" between Russians and immigrants which will contaminate the "pure" Russian breed. One of the interviewees said, "You can't wash white clothes with colours. It is not right." At the end of the documentary, it was clear what the Russian nationalists want - a pure, white Russian community. And they would stop at nothing to obtain it.

Thus, Russia is one step ahead from France in that their answer to unity: no assimilation, just leave.



Malaysia.

This brings me to reflect on my own beloved multicultural country. In Malaysia, we have the Malays, Chinese and Indians making up the majority of the population with other smaller cultural pockets such as the Sikhs, Kadazans, Ibans, etc. As far as I understand it, unity in Malaysia does not end at mere acceptance, for it is a national prerogative to celebrate each other's differences. Major religious holidays no matter what religion you are from are national holidays: so we don't only celebrate Eid ul Fitri, we also celebrate Chinese New Year and Thaipusam for instance.

I am of the belief that if there is total free speech, there will be anarchy; social chaos. There will be marches and protests against  each other's race as seen in the West where things of the sort are lawful. It is easier to be angry than be tolerant, it is easier to alienate than to integrate. But Malaysia chose the road less travelled. 

Languages are preserved through National-Type Chinese and Tamil schools of which one doesn't have to be of that ethnicity to attend. Growing up in an integrated primary school, race was no concern of mine for I had Malay, Chinese and Indian friends - many who have stayed my companions to this day. However, racial relations remain delicate and Malaysians knowing what happened on 13th of May 1969, have learnt the price we will pay if we outwardly offend any particular group of people. Then there is the 1948 Sedition Act which initially aimed to protect against events such the 1969 riots with one of its clauses criminalising acts that "promote feelings of ill will and hostility between different races or classes of the population of Malaysia".

In a nutshell, in Malaysia, identities (race, religion, etc.) that you hold dear are preserved and celebrated with perimeters in place to uphold your right to do so. Culture is not something to hide in your home, nor is there one cookie-cut out Malaysian - in my country, diversity is what is beautiful. We are not perfect, but I feel this in particular is something worth to be proud about.

So the recipe to unity in Malaysia? 
Be yourself and embrace that you are one important piece completing the multi-shaped jigsaw that is Malaysia.

066: A cupful of principles

After 23 years of life, I cringe thinking of things I held dear when I was an angsty teenager. Things like social status, recognition, beauty and fame. All skin deep, not even scratching the surface of one's potential.

Since then, I have experienced and I have learned. And although these might change in the next 5 to 10 years, it is nice to look back at a list of principles you held at one point in your life. So here is my current list.

1. Experiences > Material Goods

I have (thankfully) yet to be bitten by the luxury handbag bug. And I pray that it will be ages till I succumb. However, living in London and in a tiny flat or room brings with it great life lessons. Currently, my husband and I live in a tiny studio - 2 steps brings you into our kitchen from our bedroom, and another 2 steps brings you to our toilet. It is cosy and it is our first home - and we love it! Being a studio, there isn't much storage space - therefore we are nit-picky on things we keep or purchase. We don't feel limited by the lack of possessions. On the contrary, we feel absolutely liberated!

With less time focused on material things, we have more time and energy to devote to new experiences instead. For instance, for each other's birthday, instead of exchanging gifts, we bought one another a weekend getaway. Basically, what I have learnt is that things come and go, but memories last a lifetime.

2. Nothing is earned

This lesson in particular was a curveball. When I was a teenager, I worked hard thus I felt the world owed me things. For instance, it crushed me when my dream of going to Cambridge didn't pan out. "Why didn't I get in? I deserved that spot." Successes were well deserved and failures were incomprehensible. Boy, was I wrong. My mama told me one day after my ego-driven self chatted about how much I worked hard on my exams and how I deserved the top 3 placing in my year; she said, "You can never deserve anything. God does not owe you anything. Everything you have is a gift."

That stunned me. And from that moment on, I did not equate hard work with the right to demand anything. Nor should I take this opportunity to be complacent. Islam teaches me to work hard and then hope for the best. And if success comes my way, I did not earn it - instead, Allah bestowed His Mercy upon me and chose me to be the receiver of His gift. Definitely a way to dampen down that ego!

3. If you want to do bad, imagine everyone is watching you do it

This is very effective in instances when it is so easy to do bad things however small. For instance, would you throw that plastic wrapper on the ground if you knew a 100 eyes are witnessing you do it? I hope not. Or even subtler - would you download illegal movies on your laptop if there were 2 policemen behind your back as you press download?

Although I am far from perfect, this nifty principle helps me keep myself in check. In Islam, we are taught that we are always being watched and our deeds recorded. Many times, we forget this reality, so imagining physical people around you witnessing your bad deeds helps audit out the bad in your life.



I have other principals but I didn't realise how long this post was going to be. Maybe I'll continue my rant next time!

065: the little things

My greatest blessing.

Our toothpaste was about to run out - frustrations heightened last night trying to get the last bits of toothpaste out. We were both brushing our teeth before bed when I moaned that I hated squeezing the life out of this tiny, flattened tube and how it annoyed me so. I didn't think much of it later. Many things annoy me when its that time of the month.

Today, I woke up after a lovely Saturday afternoon nap, greeted by a smile and a kiss from my husband. I slept on his arm whilst he was tapping away on his laptop, working with a quickly approaching deadline. Two hours of sleep and he didn't flinch a bit because he didn't want to wake me. Akmal headed to the bathroom to have a shower and I said that I would go after him. Still rubbing my tired eyes, I went into the bathroom for a shower and I noticed my toothbrush on the sink. 

My toothbrush with toothpaste already squeezed neatly on it.

"I know how it annoys you," he said.

I melt, and I think to myself - I am the luckiest girl in the world.

064: Self-superiority and its Many Evils

In light of the chaos that has happened in Paris, Sydney, Nigeria and Pakistan, my heart aches for the victims. I am pained, confused and outraged by how people could spread violence and hatred in the name of my beautiful religion of Islam. The Quraish of Makkah did more heinous acts to our beloved Prophet s.a.w. and he did not react with violence; instead aggression was reciprocated with love, peace and understanding. The prophet s.a.w. when stoned till blood trickled down to his shoes, did not even attempt to defend himself, instead he prayed to God asking for forgiveness for what he saw as his own weakness - for in his eyes, he was not a successful enough messenger, for not being able to be someone people listened to or respected. 

He did not blame the stone throwers, the Prophet s.a.w. blamed himself.

He reflected on his own weaknesses instead of projecting his frustration on others - he did not see himself as superior. This is true Islam.

Recent events did not come without its many predecessors. So long as an individual finds him or herself superior to others around them, violent acts like these are going to keep happening. It happened with the Quraish and the Muslims because of Quraish's "superior" traditions. Despite a horrific history, it is still happening between "superior" Whites and the Blacks in many parts of the world. Decades of war ensued between the "superior" Israel and Palestine. It happened between the "superior" Hitler, and almost everyone who differed from him. And I don't have to look very far away from home to find Malays who feel that their benefits are a "superior" right rather than a responsibility; or even Muslims who feel that they are better people than Jews, Christians or Atheists. Islam is perfect, but being a Muslim doesn't automatically make you a cut above the rest.

Self-superiority or self-righteousness is a venomous disease of the heart that stems from pure arrogance. And if anyone (me included) has a slither of belief that "my mould is better that theirs, therefore it is best for everyone", our future together as a diverse global community is as murky as our tarnished souls, deluded with beliefs that we are ever "good enough" or dare I say, "great".