Saturday, October 1, 2016

25 Year Old Boy

I turned 25 a couple of days ago, I'm also very well aware that the last time I wrote in this well of sadness, agony and depression was 1 year ago. I'm not particularly sure if that's a good thing or not.

Wait, what am I saying, of course that's a bad thing.

My one year closer to death anniversary wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be, if I were to be completely honest. Perhaps it was the people I went out with to celebrate. Perhaps it was the booze and the idea of liver failure which made that night so much more special. Perhaps it was the girlfriend who took me out to a fancy dinner which made me feel like a storybook princess. Perhaps it was this cake...

By @mangkiubakes on instagram

Perhaps it was everything and nothing.

What I did realise though, is that I have not learnt to deal with any of my insecurities. Instead they seem to be growing in number like rabbits or... URs. It's like my mental age is frozen but I keep getting older and older and older like some sort of cheap Benjamin Button ripoff.

The worst part is knowing that I haven't progressed with any of them, not even the basic ones. You know, the ones you gain when you're a kid like a parasite that latches on to your jugular when your father accidentally tells you that your brother is better than you in every way. Well, that parasite was supposed to shrivel up and die a long fucking time ago but nope, still here. Still feeding on that sweet sweet inferiority.

This does sound as if it's going down the same road every birthday entry made but give me a minute. It's been a while since I ranted like this and by God why did I ever stop writing. This feels amazing, like waking up in the morning with a raging boner.

See, the difference here is I don't give a fuck anymore. On the eve of my birthday, while we were out drinking, they asked me to give a speech. Everybody was bright and happy and having a jolly fucking time so I thought why not dampen their spirits a bit. Too much of anything is a bad thing, someone said (The Prophet?). So I told them none of it matters anymore considering we're all going to die. So why worry about anything when the end result is already set in stone? Understandably they thought it was a little too dark for the mood but I felt that the speech was more for me. It's as if Drunk Me had to address Sober Me through retrograde memory.

This past year hasn't been the kindest, I have to say. There were a couple of events which fucking sent me reeling into the realm of limbo, Dadhi's death being one of them. I still have an entry I wrote a few weeks after she passed but I can't bear to finish it off.

Maybe next year will be a better one.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

EOP and Jokes about Death

So I went home for a couple of days. Finished Surgery and hopped on a plane as soon as I finished work. In retrospect, that might have been overzealous of me.

I had a couple of things I desperately wanted to do once I got back. I wanted to see my parents because God knows this line of work makes you worry sometimes. I wanted to go back to Penang to see Uncle Ameer because nobody seems to know whether he has cancer or not. So begins the endless drive from north to south and all the way up north again.

Uncle Ameer has always been there for as long as I can remember. One of my earliest memories had him in it; he was about to send me to kindergarten and he said 'Mai I hantaq pi sana. Kita nek motocar'. And I remembered wondering what on earth a motocar was. I thought it was a car on two wheels and got super fucking excited.

It was a strange moment meeting him. He has always been this fit guy who smokes like chimney. And honestly, he was dapper as fuck. Now, he lost a lot of weight and looks pretty tired which is expected considering he's 75 but I just couldn't shake off the feeling that something is terribly off.

I read the TRUS biopsy results. Flipped the page and saw all twelve samples was adenocarcinoma. Gleason 8. Looked at him and his wife. Told them that yep, it's cancer. The whole room became silent. My father held his cigarette in between in fingers and let it smolder. My mom sat unmoving. I expected some form of sadness to take hold of everyone but surprisingly, it didn't. Uncle Ameer just sighed and said 'Betui ka?' and after a pause, 'Takpa la, apa nak buat.'

And that was it. We started talking about death in such a comical manner, it was difficult to believe, especially considering I've always been assailed with an immeasurable sadness when someone in my family is ill. My dad complained to Uncle Ameer that developers are about to start construction on ten new houses in front of ours and he can't take that. He said he wanted to go and live on the farm and Uncle Ameer told him that he should build a proper house there. My dad laughed and said that he's been sleeping over at the farm so often nowadays. Mom complained that our house is too silent now that my father is gone to which my dad said:

'Well yeah, soon when I'm dead, what are you going to do?'

Usually, that statement - which he uses a lot - chills me to the bone. But that day, I genuinely laughed. Perhaps it's the job that makes the thought of death so commonplace. Then the jokes about death came on full blast.

Uncle Ameer: Doctor told me to stop drinking coffee and tea.
Dad: Hang ada tanya dia beer boleh minum ka dak
UA: Apa la hang ni
Dad: Kopi teh tak boleh minum... Hang habaq kat depa soh bunuh hang teruih.

UA: Zufar, doctor habaq haritu depa nak buang teloq uncle haritu. Explain sat, betui ka ni?
Me: Ada pernah baca jugak la lagutu
UA: Alamaaak mintak simpang la. Mati baguih.

And we just laughed at all of these. It hit me right then; death is what we make it to be. It can be a cold, dreary topic or it can be something you laugh about. All it takes is a bit of humour and perhaps, some acceptance.

Tomorrow I'm starting my journey in Medical. Tagging here we go again.

Monday, September 28, 2015

24

Turned 24 today. Got the day off incidentally so that's cause enough to celebrate. Went out with the boys yesterday and just shot the shit over beers. That was nice change of pace, even if it was just for one night.

Been thinking a lot about the idea of happiness. Somehow I believe that happiness are for those who've given up. Who ended up settling for something less and deluding themselves into thinking that it was what they wanted all along. If I were to be simplistic; happiness is not meant for those who are young.

And why should the young be happy? They strive for things that are constantly out of reach and they'd go through hell and back to try and achieve it. There is no crack that can be filled with happy juice in that situation, just a constant depressive atmosphere that actually has a pretty good chance of fucking you up for life. It's alright for the young to be depressed because they have the mental and physical attitude to absorb it. Until they shoot themselves in the head or jump off a building that is, but we'll leave that for later.

Really though, we put too much emphasis on being happy, as if it's the only thing that makes life worth living. I'm not going to fuck with you, being happy is awesome but let's face it, not being happy isn't going to fucking kill you.

In other news, I have exams. 24 years old and I have to study for a fucking exam. Well done, man. This is the life. I have an 80% of being extended apparently so that's going to be something to look forward to.

Well, fuck this shit, back to studying. Next thing I know, I'm going to be 40 and still studying some shit that's fucking ridiculous and has no practical use in life. Wonderful future.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Relationship Goals.

I had this one patient. Obviously, I can't give out his details and come to think of it, it doesn't matter.

To put it simply, I pegged him to die every morning I walk into the ward. Not because I'm a cruel bugger but honestly, he was in such a shitty condition. Drains jutting out everywhere and frank blood pouring out of them. Severe bleeding disorder, Hb 2, PT/aPTT max.

But the fucker continued living. That's goddamn amazing.

This story isn't some motivational bullshit because the main character to this isn't the patient. It's his wife.

Now, see, let me be frank. This guy has nothing going for him. He isn't good looking, doesn't make good money and unfortunately, I know that he doesn't have a big dick. I can only assume that he is the greatest of men personality wise.

Why, you ask?

Because his wife is fucking smoking hot. I'm not shitting you. Blazing. She could rival the fucking Sun.

I observe her daily - in a non creepy way - and I've been trying to understand why she stays. I still don't fucking know. Everyday I see her taking care of this patient and it baffles me because even for me, the smell of his wound is something that I can't deal with. Yet there she is, chilling out with this guy who's bleeding non-stop. Who smells like Satan's gangrenous butthole.

People talk about loyalty a lot. I doubt they understand what it is but from now on, this woman will be what I think of when the word comes up.

I don't know if she takes time off to vent somewhere. Maybe she has ulterior motives. Maybe she cries in the toilet everyday. I don't know. What I know is that she has stayed by her husband's side, unmoved, unfazed and undaunted.

You see people posting shit on facebook. 'Relationship goals' or whatever the term is. And there'll be some sort of shitty caption like 'He braided my hair' or 'He let me be the bigger spoon'. I get upset nowadays when I see that shit. Genuinely upset.

You want a relationship goal? Here's one: She stayed by my side even when I'm bleeding the fuck out and have a rotting wound.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Return of the Ding

And we're back online, thanks to the fact that I now have money of my own to channel into repairing my ailing mistress/computer.

I can't believe it took me close to 6 months to get to repairing this shit. Jesus fucking christ.

So I remembered that I do have a blog. Logged in and the first thing I saw was this.


Hot damn.

I thought about writing the progress of my life these past few months but screw that shit. Let's talk about this. Considering I'm so used to writing in point form now thanks to working in the fucking hospital, I'm going to do just that.

1) I appreciate the fact that you've spent time to evaluate me, I really do. But, seriously, again with the anonymous bullshit. Come on, man.

2) I am one biased motherfucker. A bit of research into my blog is enough to make one realise this. Also, if you know me and I'm assuming you do, surely you must know that I'm biased most of the time.

3) Well, I wouldn't say no to meeting other people who are like minded. It makes things easier and less offensive. I am, however, prone to disagree on the idea that I 'shun people who are different'. I'm also somewhat interested on how you came to the conclusion that because I like like-minded people, I shun those who are different. Really. That's way past the vicinity of a wild assumption. Like way past.


If I do label people as boring, it's because I've listened to them and felt the desire to shove my head in a blender. Why would I listen to something that doesn't interest me? I mean, yes, I can pretend to be interested but that's not how I'm wired. I'd rather take the heat of people calling me a cunt than be someone that isn't who they seem.

4) I don't actually need the world to understand me. That's too high of an expectation, come to think. Actually, your statement is confusing as fuck because I'm at a loss to where you get these facts. If the world doesn't understand me, too bad la.

5) Close minded, no. Self absorbed and depressed, yes. I think your choice of words is coming in the way of what you're trying to convey but I think I understand what you're getting at.

Let's take an example. A guy says something which I don't agree with. I express my disagreement. If he persist with his idea then I don't talk to him about it. I do this not because in your words, I'm 'close-minded' but because I don't see the point in trying to push him to see the world from my point of view. Why waste my time doing something which has minimal point of success? I'm happy that I know his point of view and he knows mine.

6) My social anxiety stems from the lack of exposure to peers during my childhood. Come on, man, you gotta keep up. And to be judged like I judge them is what I really want. Pure, unadulterated honesty. I've been harping about it for years.

7) Well, shit, now I'm not sure what to call people who send dick/anus/other wildly inappropriate pictures to me. Saints? Avalanche of saints? And you don't have to sit at the top to pick out shiny stuff. You can be right at the base and do the same.

8) Come to think, this paragraph about loneliness is pretty accurate. Still, in lieu of the rest, the impact of it is dampened but it's okay, I'll give it a thumbs up.

I kind of love myself every day. You know, the manual way.

All jokes aside, grow a pair (Or two, that'd be awesome) and use your name. I mean what's the point of writing long essays if you can't talk about it?

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Sleepless Nights 92 - For the Bent and Broken

I don't expect you to understand.

The sudden silence, the growing distance, the darkness that envelops.

You are hurt by it, that much I am certain. However, the truth remains.

There is a void in me. An abyss of unfathomable depth and each day, I find myself sinking deeper. I know that I tend to be overly dramatic - and may I say poetic? - when it comes to expressing myself but in this case, unfortunate as it may be, the words do me justice.

I've stopped trying to look for a cause for this darkness that dwells within. Yes, you may say that I have given up - finally - and for once it does not wound my pride to admit it. Really, when I try to break it down and analyse it; observe it under the most minute circumstances, it merely gives way for more questions. It used to be interesting but nowadays it is too vexing a thing for my mind.

Maybe it is the reason why I reach out desperately to so many people at once, you included. I think that perhaps I may come to an understanding of myself by understanding other people. So far it has not been very profitable, the very opposite in fact. It's destructive to say the least and come to think, I don't mind it that much if it is only to my expense.

You've gone through the same phase, I suppose. It starts off with an absolute blast and then it goes downhill at 200 km/h. I remember the exact time you realised that something was amiss. You said 'Wow, the exams really sucked the fun out of you'. The exam had nothing to do with it, of course, you just witnessed what many others have; my true colours.

You say that you like me and believe me when I say that I am intensely flattered. To a certain extent, I reciprocate the same feelings but the more I think about it, the more I realise that it is to my own selfish agenda. I keep you by my side because I think that you may be able to patch up this monstrous emptiness that has taken refuge in my very being. Perhaps at one point, I even believed in it and in doing so, dragged you along into this make belief fantasy of mine. Which is quite fucked up to say the very least because deep down, I know for a fact that it is merely a delusion. 

You are correct, I think, when you say that I am not a bad person. If I am in the narcissistic mood, I may even say that I lean slightly towards the 'good' spectrum but it does not exclude me from noticing how very flawed I truly am. In my quest to figure myself out, I have torn apart others and what's worse is that I manage to leave bitter copies of myself in them. And these are the people who I used to care very deeply for. Fuck man, this probably makes no sense to you but what the hell, I'm in the mood to rant.

Being extremely self critical of myself also makes me look at other people the same way. The reason for this is so that I can use these flaws to make a quick getaway like some sort of cartoon villain. Shit, sometimes they aren't even flaws but hell, beggars can't be choosers. The point here is that a normal person shouldn't even give a shit about this, you know. It's all so very superficial. Time and time again I tell myself that all of this is bullshit and I shouldn't be bothered but holy shit, it fucks with my mind constantly. 

Everybody seem to have this idea where talking will make everything better. Maybe they're right but none of them actually considers the idea that some things can't be put into words. It's not even a matter of vocabulary; words really are inadequate at times. Then they'll say 'Oh it's alright, we don't have to talk about it' but sooner or later the variation of 'You should have told me something was wrong' comes up.

Can't really blame them, in a sense. We're wired differently after all.

I don't really know how you'll react to this. Confusion, probably. Perhaps with a pinch of disdain for good measure. Oh well.

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Sleepless Nights 91 - Slippery

Shit man, I thought of writing about Egypt and the past six years but screw that shit. I'll rant, as always.

I'm back home. Graduated. Someone messaged me and referred to me as Dr. Zufar and I had to smoke a cigarette to calm the fuck down. But I'm back home. That's good enough.

I'm drinking this coffee right now, Cap Gantang from Kedah and this shit is fucking awesome. As if made by goddamn prophets or something. I guess Cap Tupai has a worthy opponent now.

I went out yesterday with the high hopes of watching Ophilia.

Shit man, this film has been on my list for months and I finally get to go see it. So I make my way to motherfucking Mahkota Parade only to find that;

1) It was crowded as shit.
2) There was a lion dance competition (Which was awesome)
3) I have no idea where the cinema was

So I walked around like a dumbfuck and asked around until finally I saw the ticket counter. Strangely Ophilia wasn't part of the list. There must've been some sort of mistake so I asked the guy and he told me that nope, it wasn't showing there. Disheartened, I asked him if he knew where they were showing it and he told me Dataran should have it.

Not that bad, really, considering Dataran was just across the road. So I watched a little lion dance and made my way across. So the whole damn fiasco began again. There were so many fucking people and I can't seem to find the goddamn cinema. Asked around again, got lost, found the cinema and...

No Ophilia.

Well, at that point, my blood was simmering. You might say that I should have looked into it first but fuck man, Dataran's GSC is a popular fucking destination. I've never heard of MBO or Aeon for that matter. So the trip was in utter goddamn vain which led me to do something irrational i.e. splurge on books.

And MPH is a piece of shit bookstore. I cannot explain my disdain for it. The only saving grace was the fact that it had a lot of FIXI books which was on my list.

So I bought a couple of books. Then I went to Starbucks to sit down for awhile. I was feeling okay at that point because I got Zen Cho's Spirits Abroad and KL Noir Yellow was sold out so I went to order. I shit you not this was how the conversation started.

"Java Chip large satu"
"Eh, kenapa garang je muka ni bang?"

Fuck man. Had I been the type to lash out, I would've fucking lion danced on the cunt's face.

*

It's good to be home though. I sat on the swing outside my house at dawn a couple of days back, coffee mug in hand. I just soaked the whole thing in. I wouldn't trade this place for anything.