Lost in Limbo

Living with Lupus

I've been having these weird and (to me) disfiguring rashes that started off on my left cheek. That was mid May. Initially I thought they were just zits gone wrong. But the rash got worse. It was itchy as hell!
So I went to a Dermatologist in the hospital I work in (one of the perks of working at a Specialist Hospital). After lots of questioning, she came to a conclusion that it was mostly taenia faciei, which means face fungus in plain English. I was like "WTF?! - don't tell me it's from Keeno for sleeping on my bed for so long..."
I was prescribed anti-fungal cream, and when I informed my Head of Department, she went "How is it possible? You're a young man, not immunocompromised." And i went "I dunno..."

For three weeks I applied the cream, almost religiously. We're talking about my face here, dammit. But nothing happened. And much to my relief, the scraping she took came back as negative. I was fungus-free! But my dermatologist was puzzled. The diagnosis now changed to contact dermatitis; ie I was allergic to something. She had to ask me "Sorry to ask you this, but do you wear makeup?" for which I answered plainly and simply "I don't even use talc." So maybe the OT mask was the culprit. But I've been using the same standard-issue brand for years. Hmm...so the anti-fungal cream was out and in came the steroid cream. Which, for some reason, made it worse. The itchiness was barely tolerable, I kept waking up every two, three hours finding out I was scratching my cheeks, my chin, my ears. I felt like a flea-infested dog.
I went back to my dermatologist after a week. I had stopped applying the cream after a few days, and medicated myself with antihistamines, which made me drowsy almost all the time. Drat. She consulted a senior Dermatologist: it was time for a biopsy to be taken. And since I'm working in Plastic Surgical Department, she suggested that they take my biopsy, since the surgeons achieve a more cosmetically pleasing result. Fair enough. I went straight to Hasnul, my senior registrar. We arranged for a date for biopsy.
And OH MY GOD! I've always operated on patients, telling them the local anesthesia injection would hurt, but I had no idea how much. And now I can relate with my patients. Damn that hurt! But I'd rather bite my tongue off than scream like a girl (to hell with being politically correct!). And the scar is barely visible. I'm happy with it.
However, I am not happy with the biopsy report. I can still remember the day I got the result.
It was August the 5th, and I had taken leave cos my face was just plain itchy. My phone rang at about 8:30am, and a lady pathologist informed me that my report was ready. So I asked her: "So what do I have?" Her reply was: "Confirmed. DLE."
Discoid Lupus Erythematosus. The one diagnosis I really dreaded. So I called Farrah-Hani, my registrar and good friend (sorta like a big sister to me), and informed her I was going to take the rest of the week off. She kindly told me to rest and she would sort out the 2 calls I would not be doing. And a few minutes later my Head of Department called me and gave her condolences, and told me to rest and sort this whole thing out.

Before I go further, let me give a bit of light on this DLE thing that has set me off course. Discoid lupus is a form of an auto-immune disease, where my immune system attacks my skin. It is the mildest manifestation of lupus, and only 5-10% of patients would develop Systemic Lupus Erythematosus, SLE, which is a full-blown autoimmune disease that attacks the whole body from the inside. It usually manifests on the face, being the most sun-exposed area. Something about UV light altering the skin's DNA so that the immune system attacks the skin. It presents as itchy rashes, and if it occurs on a hair-growing patch, that area becomes bald. Meaning, if it occurs on my scalp, I will have bald patches. And this disease recurs and relapses. It may take months to years for an active attack. When the lesions heal, it is by hyperpigmentation or by scarring. The bald patches usually remain bald.

And let me describe a bit about myself. My vanity borders narcissism. I am not good looking, but I would - by reflex - check my own reflection on any surface that gives off a reflection. Those who know me know that I love dressing up. Not using dresses, but smart-casual wear, or sometimes the grunge look, depending on my mood. And I don't dress up to impress people, but to make me feel good about myself. I am of average height, slightly thin, with no distinguishing features. It is my sister who looks good on all the photographs, and who is popular everywhere she goes. It is my brother who has the height and build, and looks good in anything he wears, even when the clothes are mine. I would always be behind the lens, simply because I don't look good on camera. Hell, I don't think I look good, period. But I love the way I carry myself. That, and how under-aged I look. And I would freak out if i even have small zits, much less the major zit breakout when I was sitting for my final exam.

So you can just imagine what my reaction was when I got the diagnosis. This is a lifelong disease, which can only be controlled and not cured. And the lesions may just get worse every time my DLE recurs. My world came crashing down. And I kept on scratching to relieve the itchiness.

My dermatologist asked me: "Are you depressed?" And one of my closest friends, Zay, who suggested that I came to Dermatology in the first place, told me that DLE is almost nothing to worry about. It's not a systemic disease.

And these are my thoughts, that I've been keeping to myself, and cannot bear to tell my mom:

To me I will be disfigured for life, no matter if people say otherwise. I used to check myself in the mirror to make sure my tie was straight, or my hair was in the right place and spikiness, or to adjust my shirt. Now I look in the mirror to check if the lesions are spreading (which they are), or to apply the steroid cream or sunblock. I avoid looking at mirrors whenever I could. When I try new clothes and almost ending up buying them, I inadvertently look at myself, and think "Why bother? I still look bad." And I'm dreading any itchiness on my scalp. I really do not want to get bald. And now I get people's attention, but for the wrong reason. How would you feel if people give you a funny look and ask you whether your illness is infectious? I wake up lethargic cos I can't sleep for more than 3 hours without waking up all itchy. And I have to avoid the sun. Me, who love being under the sun, the clear sky, and the beauty of the land with the display of light and shadows! Photography is one of the only things I really have passion for, goddamit!

So do I fell depressed? I sure am on a straight road towards it. I don't go ranting about "WHY ME?! THIS IS NOT FAIR!" I have lupus, so I have lupus. No use blaming anyone. But I do keep on asking, of all the places, why my face? The lesions are going to get worse with time, and I am positive the full depth of it will finally hit me when i find a bald spot somewhere. Touch wood.
To everyone else, it's a mild disease; nothing much to worry about. To me, it's life altering. If there is a reason for my getting it, I may or may not find out. But the full depth of what's going on in my head, it will break my mom's heart if she ever finds out.

Ramblings

I lie with my head resting on my folded arm, simply watching her, breathing in her sweet scent. The gently morning sun found its way though the slits of the shutter, illuminating her features with its soft, warm glow. Even asleep, with her hair sticking out at impossible angles, she takes my breath away. She looks so calm, without a single line of worry or doubt on her face.

I reach out with my free hand and smooth her hair from her eyes.

She blinks, lazily, languidly, and smiles.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Watchadoin?" she mumbles.

"Nothing. Just watching you sleep."

She grumbles and pulls the blanket to cover her face.

"I'm ugly like this!"

Smiling, knowing she can't see my face with hers buried under the down cover, I wait a moment before joining her.

"No matter what time of the day, no matter how you look, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes on."

She lifts the blanket enough to peer at my face. She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

"Well...besides Angelina Jolie." Which earns me a hearty punch on the chest.

"Oof! Ouch, that hurts!" And we both laugh.

"Well, I'm thankful you consented to share your life with me. I'm glad I'm able to wake up beside you everyday, and to be able to look at you, watch over you while you sleep."

She smiles deeply at me, her dimple showing clearly even under the shade of the blanket. And we kiss, a long, soft, and gentle kiss.

"Ugh," she mumbles between kisses. "Your breath stinks!"

"Yours too. But I'm not gonna stop kissing you!"

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other's chests; then, recognising each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.

- JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

And so begins the first chapter of young Harry's final leg of his journey.

On Monday, when I bought the Nightwatch trilogy, I inquired about the final Potter book. The lovely girl behind the counter informed me to read up yesterday's (Sunday's) StarMag. There's a discount voucher for the book. When asked further, the paperback copy would only come out after 1 year. And they didn't order that many copies, because the 6th installment didn't sell that well.

I didn't pre-order the book. And the pre-order list had been filled up at least 2 months ago.

I don't normally buy newspaper; but somehow, I'd bought the Sunday Star - which I didn't read, obviously. Once I reached home I rummaged through the newspaper stack, hoping that the particular copy I was interested in hadn't ended up as Chiqa's toilet reading material. I was in luck.

I flipped through the newspaper twice before I found the page I was looking for. Apparently there was an almost-full-page article on the book sale. Kinokuniya KLCC is selling the Deathly Hallows at 7:01 am on Saturday.

But wait.

The first three gets a free copy signed by JK Rowling herself. The next ten gets a free copy each as well, minus the signature. But there's a catch. You have to intone the password before the Fat Lady to enter Kinokuniya. "Gillyweed Violet." The article also mentioned KLCC entrance would be opened at 5:00 am for people to line up.

I thought, "What the hell. Why not? Not that I'm on-call this weekend, anyway."

I fell asleep reading Nightwatch, with Keeno occupying much too much space for a cat on the blanket covering me. I slept fitfully, waking up at odd hours, and Keeno adjusting her position as I moved.

At almost 4:00 am I decided I had to wake up to shower and get ready to go to KLCC. No way was I going to the middle of KL with sleep written all over me. Faiz knew of my plan but was not interested in joining me. He promptly went to sleep after long hours of Warcraft. Keeno (the traitor) woke up long enough to jump off my bed onto Faiz's and snuggle under his blanket and promptly continued sleeping as well. What the hell.

I showered, took my time, drank cold chocolate and browsed through the net for a bit. The article said the parking lot would only be accessible at 5:00 am. I left home at 4:40.

I had a few minutes to spare as I entered the parking lot. Apparently we can enter the carpark before 5. Damn liars. Lo and behold, there were already a gaggle of people crowding the glass doors to the basement escalators.

My hopes were crushed. "There goes my freebies." Well I'd brought cash, so it made little difference.

I was on my way to join the crowd when a man suddenly announced there was an accessible elevator accross the parking lot. It was enough to put everyone in a frenzy. Before you can say "banana split," the crowd dispersed as everyone ran toward the referred elevator. A walked at a slower pace, grinning at the enthusiasm these people showed.

So the elevator was the one that led to the park. Everyone had to wait at the park entrance, it seemed. To dash my hope even further, guess what I saw.

The whole wide steps leading into KLCC were filled with people, jostling and pushing each other.

The guards could be heard yellin, "Belakang! Belakang!"

I just wanted my goddamn book and all these people here meant competition!

I waited, standing, reading Nightwatch. My ears were perked, overhearing button-nosed, dark-skinned, chubby and average-height Malaysians converse in perfect English, with non-Malaysian accent. Kids nowadays. The things they pick up from MTV. People say I speak English with a non-Malaysian accent, not American and not British, but a mangled up version of both. But hearing these kids, and not just a crowd or two, but a whole lot of them, simply amazed me.

The guards had posted a sign reading "Queue starts at 5:30 am." I did not check my handphone for the time. I kept on reading.

Suddenly there was a commotion, people clapping and cheering. I looked up. The guards were unlocking the chained doors. Finally.

Without warning, the guards opened the doors and the people started rushing through the half-opened doors like starving hyenas spotting an unguarded carcass. Quite literally. They were yipping, yelling, stumbling, running. All wanted to be the first to line up.

The escalators became a bottleneck; people had to slow down as only two people could run side-by-side on the escalator. I actually saw discarded, unpaired shoes at the base of the elevator. Beasts, these people.

When i got to the actual line, I was simply dejected. Ahead of me were at least 100 people. Some even came from the back, hugged their friends in front, and assimilated themselves into the line. Those little fuckers. (You get the point. I was getting more than annoyed then)

I checked my phone. It was 5:16 am. This was going to be a long wait. Luckily I had Nightwatch. I immersed myself in the story, a bigger part of my mind in Moscow with Anton the Light One (a story for another time perhaps) while a small part of my awareness moved along with the crowd.

At 6:00 we were ushered onto the 4th floor to continue the long line. At the entrance I spotted a garishly dressed up lady play-acting the Fat Lady of Gryffyndor. Okay...

I stopped glancing at my K800i for the time. Why make myself further depressed? I moved along with the crowd like a pre-programmed zombie.

Suddenly there was a commotion ahead. People could be seen whispering to the Fat Lady and entering Kinokuniya. Those behind were cheering. Was it 7:01 already?

I got nearer and nearer to the entrance. By the time I had only 10 people in front of me, I could read no longer. Sorry Sergei Lukyanenko. Looks like Nightwatch has to wait.

I approached the lady and said, "Good morning, my Lady."

She replied, "Good morning to you. Password please."

"It's Gillyweed Violet, if I'm not mistaken."

She reached out her hand. I held it. "Come in, careful of your steps."

"Thank you," I politely replied.

And what a sight it is. Stacks of hardcover Harry Potter books; a cartoon illustration marking the American copy, and a more somber, darker illustration marking the British one. I reverently picked the somber one, naturally; not because I prefer British writing, but it would look less childish when I hold it.

The queue to pay was oh...so...freaking...long.

My fingers caressed the matte texture of the book I held, and I took sneak peeks inside. The smell of the paper, of dry,grained wood that was fresh at the same time, refreshed my love of reading (novels. I cringe at academia). I just couldn't wait to read the book.

When I finally reached the cashier, I spotted a display of Harry Potter bookmarks. The choices were either Harry or Voldermort from the movies. Harry then, since Voldermort looks so scary.

They were giving out quills along with the book. I was thankful that at least I would be getting that. I spotted two different colors. White and reddish-brown. I asked for the brown one.

The cashier glared at me and stuck the white one into my bag. "Tak boleh pilih!"

"Ala, bolehla."

"Tak boleh pilih! Maaf, tapi tak boleh pilih!"

Well, at least she said sorry to soften the rudeness.

Finally. After almost 3 hours of waiting, I'm a proud owner of a spanking new, 607 pages worth of Harry Potter and his magical adventure.

Will he die? Will Voldermort die? Is Albus Dumbledore actually alive? Will Harry snog Cho Chang or Harmoinie Granger?

I'll find out soon enough. As for you, line up your-goddamn-self to get a copy.

Aah....all these eloquent lines from someone who's been having a permanent writer's block.

JK Rowling, if you happen to come across this sad, pathetic blog, I thank you for keeping the magic alive even to adults. I still itch to go through that platform 9 3/4, to prove that I have a wizard's blood in me, and not just an ordinary Muggle.

Salute.

What the hey...

Drat. I had a lot to write but the slot in Whom I'd Like to Meet section only allows for 1000 characters. Drat.

Well, there's room to elaborate here. So here goes.

    I sit quietly by her side, ensuring she has her personal space while letting her know I'm here when she decides to come to me. Slowly her sobs quiet down and she lets out a long sigh. I raise my arm parallel to her eyes and she buries her face within my sleeve. Her tears are warm.
    "It's gonna be all right."
    She stops wiping her tears and turns her face towards me. Even with her eyes red and puffed up, she takes my breath away. "How can you be so sure?" comes her soft question between hiccoughs.
    Seeing that she no longer uses my sleeve, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. "Because."
    She leans her head against my cheek. The weight on my face comforts me. Time stretches unnoticed as we sit on the wooden bench overlooking the lake. The leaves overhead rustle softly with the soft evening breeze.
    "Promise me you'll never make me cry," she whispered, barely audible.
    "I can't." As simple as that.
    She pulls herself away, staring at me with the defiant look I know so well and love so much. Tears start to well up again. "Why not?"
    I look at her calmly, my fingers idly playing with her soft curls. "Cause I will fight with you, make you angry. I'll disappoint you. I'll sometimes show up late, or may not even show up. Sometimes I won't be available when you need me. And I'll definitely make you cry."
    "You-! You're supposed to say nice things to make me feel better!"
    "I refuse to make promises that I may end up breaking. Coz then I'll hurt you even worse. And I want to have fights with you, instead of us bottling things up and explode when things are too far gone. But I want you to know this. Tears don't only come when you're unhappy. I want to make you cry happy tears as well. And I may not be able to solve your problems for you, but I want you to know I'll do my best to be there for you when you need me the most."
    A clear droplet trickle from her lashes. "Why?"
    I pull her close to me. "Because."

Drama Romance

Here's a typical Korean drama setting:
Main characters: 4
Episodes: 16, 20 or 24
A is in love with B (more often than not, they start off hating each other), who's actually in love with C. D loves A, but it's one-sided.
Usually A is average-looking but has a certain quality that makes her endearing (although, being dramas, they are usually pretty, but will only reveal their beauty later on).
B has a hidden past that is usually revealed midway, which brings A and B together.
C is the hot babe. Looks perfect, gives A an inferiority complex, but has a mean streak.
D is the chingu (friend) who's always there for A, and seems compatible with A, but A sees him only as a friend.

When it comes to confessing their love, A and B would either confess very early on, but get separated, or will only reveal their love for each other towards the end of the show, with lots of misunderstandings before that.

The ending: A & B get to be happily together in romantic comedies, but get torn apart in heavy dramas, either from illness or accident.

So what happens to C & D? Being the losers to that Epic Romance, they fade away, usually running away to other countries. Very rarely they end up snogging one another.


That sorta sums it up. Yep. It takes the fun from watching these shows, knowing what to anticipate. But some scriptwriters are good; they think of twists along the way.


But all in all, the chemistry between A & B is usually so great that leaves me yearning for their kind of romance. Why can't it exist in real life? Or does it?

Then again, these dramas are not unlike fiction novels. They exaggerate real life, they are filled with the hope, dream and fantasy of the authors who long for that kind of romance in their own life.

Sigh. If only.
In the meantime, Mama's going "Fadz, go out on a date already! You're like your sister at your age, wallowing alone at home."
She's out there. I know that deep in my heart. But will I have the courage I need when I finally meet her? Or am I gonna let her go?


By the way, I have on occasions been D. Only I stay friends with A(s) and don't run away overseas.

Profile update

Updating profile. Don't feel like deleting this entry, though.

She watches me as I tune my guitar, chin resting comfortably on the back of her hands, legs swaying idly in the evening sky.
I strum once and listen to the sound. It'll do. Softly I pluck the notes to the song I love most. Just above a whisper I start singing,
"And even though the moment passed me by, I still can't turn away..."
"Stop."
My fingers freeze on the strings. I look at her nervously. "I told you I don't sing that well. Hell, this is one of the only songs I know how to play."
She wrinkles her nose in mock disgust. "Obviously, you're not the Goo Goo Dolls." In her eyes I can't see the condemnation I am looking for. She shifts her body a fraction and takes out her handphone. "Start again. I want to record this."
My fingers refuse to move. "Why?"
"Because it's you, singing this song for me. Because I want to hear it every day. Why else?"
A smile creeps on my face. "You'll get bored."
"So learn a new song. Sheesh!"
The smile still lingers when I start playing "Name."

Lessons in Life

"Wait! Don’t jump!"

Raindrops were accumulating fast on my glasses, making it even harder for me to make out her figure. The front lights of my car helped a little; if I had taken the time to kill the engine, I would not have been able to see anything beyond myself. I was out of the car for only a few seconds, but my T-shirt underneath my thick sweater was already clinging to my skin.

The midnight sky suddenly became bright for a fleeting moment. It was then I saw her face looking straight at mine. She was just about twenty steps away, and she was still holding the railing firmly. Absolute darkness. A rumbling ‘Boom!’ followed in less than five seconds after that. Almost blind, I rushed to where she was standing. The wooden planks at my feet groaned a little, but the bridge had been standing there for more than two decades, and it could still sustain the weight of a loaded lorry.

Lightning struck again. She let go of the metal bar and surrendered to gravity. I reached out with a primal energy born out of desperation. Thunder rolled overhead.

                                                                      * * * * *

Alya hummed softly to herself, thinking I’d fallen asleep. Lying under the shade of an angsana, I opened my eyes a little and stole a glance at her. She looked different when she was calm. I hated admitting it, but she looked much saner, in a way. If only Prof. Zalmie could look at Alya the way she was right at that moment –

Zalmie.

Shit!

I jumped to my feet so suddenly my head almost drowned in the condensed air. Wobbling, my feet unsure of their footing, I leaned against the wide, living trunk until the world stopped spinning. Alya laughed at me.

"Alya, where’s my bag? I’m late for class!"

The first thing I saw when I regained my eyesight was Alya clinging tightly to my backpack. She wasn’t letting me off easy.

"It’s 2:03. You still have seventeen minutes before he locks the door." A trace of laughter was still clear in her voice.

"C’mon. I don’t have time for this. Lecture hall’s ten minutes away from here, and that’s if I run. Bag. Please."

"You can drive there."

"Broke down, remember?" How could she forget? She was the one who rammed my car into a lamppost three days ago.

"Fine. Just promise me one thing."

I was getting desperate for my bag. "What?"

"Be here at 3:30 sharp, or else…."

I knew exactly what was coming, but I knew she expected me to ask.

"What?"

"See the roof up there?" she asked, pointing at the top of the four-story library in front of me. "I’ll jump off it."

For the next ten seconds I looked at her in silence. Not to dare her to do just that; she never joked about killing herself. In my mind I calculated the time I would need to be there on time. Class would end at 3, but Prof. Zalmie had a tendency to take up extra time. Even if I ran back here at top speed, the best time I could make was 8 minutes.

"3:40. Give me ten minutes, that’s all I ask."

Alya’s coy smile disappeared immediately. For a moment I thought she would make a scene. "Fine. 3:40. Take your bag. If you’re not here –"

I took my bag and started running downhill. "Said I’ll be here. Just wait for me, okay?"

For the twentieth time in under ten minutes I checked the time on my watch. 2:11. Great, I had four minutes to spare. My legs were killing me, and I could feel my heart thumping in protest. I took deep breaths and waited for my breathing to pace down before I grabbed hold of the handle and opened the door. Air-conditioning cooled my sweat-drenched skin almost instantly, but heat still emanated from under my clothes. I knew it was useless to even think my entrance had gone unnoticed; everything was suddenly dead-silent. Almost everyone turned in their seats to look at the door at the top of the amphitheater. Prof. Zalmie looked up from the slide on the overhead projector and met my eyes. He looked at his watch. He resumed his lecture. I couldn’t figure out he was pissed off or not; his face remained expressionless throughout.

I found an empty seat at the back row and made my way there as discretely as possible. Zalmie was talking about the chemical structure of petroleum. I took out my notepad to jot down important points, but then I remembered Alya had taken my one and only pen that afternoon. I had read about the subject last night anyway, so I decided to just sit back and listen to what my lecturer had to say.

There’s something about sitting way back in the lecture hall and being sweaty that just dampens your will to study. Not five minutes sitting down and Prof. Zalmie’s voice began to fade away.

"Razif, let’s get out of campus."

"But I’ve got class."

"C’mon!"

"Razif, I don’t want to go home this holiday. Stick around with me here?"

"Razif, do you think there’s happiness out there?"

"I’m happy."

"No, you’re not."

"How would you know?"

"I’m a girl."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I’m a girl."

"Razif, just leave your books for a while."

"And do what?"

"I don’t know. Hang."

"Hang?"

"Yeah. Hang."

"Razif…"

"Razif!"

The girl beside me elbowed my ribs. I turned at her and almost growled, but she ignored my creased eyebrows and set jaw and calmly pointed down toward Prof. Zalmie.

"Razif. Follow me to my office."

Everyone was looking at me. I didn’t know people realized I exist. I looked at my watch. 3:10. If I sneaked off now, I would make it back to the library in time. But Zalmie sounded serious. There was no running out of this one. As quickly as I could, I grabbed my bag and walked out of the amphitheater. I was getting uncomfortable with people looking at me and whispering to each other.

Prof. Zalmie’s room was just beyond a corner from lecture hall, and when I knocked at his door, he was already inside.

"Come in."

His room was not alien to me. I immediately noticed a new addition to the already crammed book cabinet behind his mahogany table. Files and books rose in tall stacks on and beside the table, leaving barely enough room to work on. Zalmie was already seated and gestured me to take a seat. Again, his face was as expressionless as before.

"I’m worried about you." At least one thing was clear. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

I squirmed in my seat. "Is there anything to be worried about?" I wasn’t trying to be rude. I really didn’t think there was anything wrong with me.

He tossed a brown file at me and beckoned me to opened it. I took a moment to just look at the file. The outlines of the university’s emblem was printed out in bold, black ink at the center. My full name was written in blue ink below the emblem. I opened the hard-paper folder and looked at my grade for every test I’d taken this semester. I looked up and met Zalmie’s unreadable gaze.

"Look again."

I stole a glance at my watch. 3:21. I had to get this over with in less than ten minutes. I looked at my grades again and took a guess.

"It’s dropping?"

Zalmie nodded once. "You’ve been scoring 4 flat from the first semester you came here, but I don’t think you’ll get the same grade this semester. You did so bad for your midterm exam."

I looked at my grades for the third time. I got a B. What was so bad about that?

"Razif, why do you study all the time?"

"I’ve got to score."

"But why?"

Yes. Why indeed? Alya asked me that question a few weeks ago and I still couldn’t find the answer for it.

"You are the best student I’ve ever had. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you." Zalmie finally showed a hint of expression. His thin, sparse brows creased toward his nose a fraction.

"What do you want to do after you graduate?"

"Let me think. I’m learning Chemical Engineering, so my guess would be working my butt off on an oil rig off coast somewhere?"

"Nothing else? You don’t want to see Paris or Italy? You don’t want to go snorkeling at Tioman or Perhentian? Don’t want to be the father of ten children?"

"Ten?"

"I don’t know. More?"

In truth, I’d never seen myself doing all those things. I just wanted to become the best engineer I could be.

"Major companies have already queried about you. There’s a position for you anywhere overseas if you want to continue studying after getting your degree. You have the chance to go farther than any of your colleagues."

I had a hard time digesting my lecturer’s words. How could getting a B hurt my future?

"I suggest you stay away from this Alya Yasin."

My eyes must have almost popped out of their socket. How could he know about Alya? She was studying Mass Communication.

"I don’t have friends. People think I’m weird."

"You are."

"Razif!"

"But you’re my friend."

"Never tell a girl she’s weird!"

"Prof., I don’t think hanging out with her has anything to do with my grades."

"No? Look at this." He tossed me another file. On its light blue surface was Alya’s name, written in elegant cursive characters. Inside was page after page of psychiatric evaluation reports followed by a ten-year history of medication. Among them were diazepam and lithium carbonate.

"Anxiolytics and Antidepressants. You know what that means? She is manic-depressive, she has a history of long-standing insomnia, among other things. She’s mentally unstable, Razif. She even tried to kill herself more than once, but I’m sure you’re aware of that. Your name came out in police reports from the hospital three times."

I’d already known about the medication. I’d known about her from the moment I hauled her back onto the bridge that stormy night. I knew she was still unstable when I carried her in my arms with her blood flowing from her wrist, drenching my shirt and making a trail from her dormitory to the campus infirmary. I was almost dispelled for entering girls’ dorm. Her roommate had called me in the middle of the night, asking for my help in between hysterics. I had no choice, and I guess people at the administrative department saw that. I also knew there was something wrong with her when she purposely rammed into the lamppost. Her head was still bandaged from that ‘accident’.

"Is it really that important to get an A every time?"

"Of course it is. What kind of question is that?"

"But why?"

"I don’t know why. Do I need a reason for it?"

"I don’t see why her mental status is in any way hurting my grades."

Prof. Zalmie’s face was fully animated for the first time since I knew him. He really was concerned, though I was still unsure whether his concern was directed at me or my academic achievement.

"You’ve always been half an hour early for every single class. Since you met her, you’re either late or you don’t turn up at all. And it’s not just for my lectures. All your lecturers are worried, Razif."

One thing I always hated was people breathing down my neck. It was time I got defensive. "I can handle myself. I’ll make up for my grades during finals, okay? Don’t sweat over it. I know what I’m doing."

"It’s not your grades I’m worried about. I’m worried about you. You’re like a son to me, Razif. Look at me as a father, not just your lecturer."

At that, I bolted up. My chair tipped backward and fell with a heavy thud.

"You are not my father! I don’t have a father!" No one would have known. I never talked about the bastard who ran out on Ummi and I when I was two.

"Razif, calm down." Zalmie half-stood, not to challenge me, but to express the concern he felt. He was holding one hand out to reach for my shoulder.

"You’re my lecturer. Nothing more. I’ll get that A so get off my case, okay?"

"Razif –"

Prof. Zalmie didn’t sound angry. I wasn’t expecting that. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Look, I’m sorry I yelled. I’ll be fine, so don’t worry about me." I looked at my watch. 3:34. Shit! I grabbed my bag and rushed to the door. "I have to go, or my name will be in her file for the fourth time."

My lecturer made no move to stop me. Instead, he only asked, "Do you love her?"

I ran out without answering him.

                                                                      * * * * *

I found myself running harder than I’d ever ran before. My calves were screaming for mercy, my lungs were at the brink of exploding, and my heart was palpitating furiously. I never once took a peek at my watch after running out of Prof. Zalmie’s office. Didn’t have the time to do it, and I also didn’t dare.

I left a trail of people falling and yelling curses, blaring horns and burning rubber stench. I would be dispelled for sure this time, but I kept thinking about Alya.

"Promise me, Razif. Promise me you’ll be there."

"I’ll do my best."

"Not good enough."

"Fine. I’ll be there."

"Always?"

"We’ll see about that."

"Razif!"

"Okay! Always."

"Why won’t you leave me to die? Why go through all the trouble to save me?"

"I promised I’ll be there, remember?"

Silence.

"What?"

"Just because of the promise?"

Silence.

"Do you love her, Razif?"

"Do you love her?"

Zalmie’s voice plagued me as I ran up the final bend a few meters off the library. What did I feel for Alya? A common loneliness from being deserted by people? An urge to protect her from the world and from herself? To uphold a promise I made? What? Was it love? I’d never been in love before, so would being in love feel like this? Sometimes I would feel trapped, but most of the time she made me feel so alive.

"Have you ever thought about life?"

"What is there to think about?"

"Is there anything worth living for?"

"Why do you ask me all these questions?"

There was a large crowd in front of the library. Everybody was trying to get a look at the entrance of the library. I stopped running only because my path was blocked. And I wished I hadn’t stopped.

"Did you hear? Someone got pushed out of the window."

"I thought I heard someone jumped off the roof."

"No, I heard someone got stabbed."

"Haven’t you heard? Someone died and there’s a pool of blood at the entrance."

Everyone was talking at the same time. Different stories, different versions, but with the same message.

Alya, wait for me! Please, wait for me.

I lifted my right arm slowly and looked at my wristwatch.

Alya, just wait for me, please!

3:41.

"Is there anything in life worth living for?"

Finally I had the answer.

Life in O&G...

Beurgh!!! It's been ages since I've published an entry! Goes to show how busy I've been in O&G! I didn't like one bit of it at the beginning. Who would, to have to tag for 1 whole week with EOD calls to boot? Then Raya came, and I was lucky enough to get a long stretch of holiday. But I was sick the whole duration I was off!! I even got turned off by my grandma's lontong and all the lemang and rendang! Which never happened on the 1st day of Raya!!!

Then I got back to work, covering 1 whole ward for 4 different teams all alone! 2 of my colleagues cover the other ward, with 1 of them dropping by once in a while to help out, but I was basically alone running for all 4 teams. I was lucky enough Kam and Alias came by often to help out with discharge and some admissions. But when they had their own problem with another fellow houseman...basically I was alone lah.

Then this week, when I finally get to be the runner (who basically don't have to follow rounds and help out whichever ward swamped at the moment), I end up having to cover for those 2 colleagues of mine, who suddenly had some appointments laid out throughout this week. BLOODY HELL!!!

Okay. Enough complaints. Labor Room is among the highlights of my life in O&G. The nurses and midwives there are simply tha Bomb! I get to repair episiotomies, and all of them know I usually take a long time doing it coz I want my work to be pretty!!! Sub-cuticular, tu...learnt it during surgery.

I'm also glad to say the staff at Ob 2 (my ward) appreciate me too. Yeah! My registrars are mostly good people, a nice bunch....

So basically I'm adapting, almost comfortable even. Only thing uncool is that I'm losing weight! I scare even myself when I look at the mirror.

Ahahaha...come to think of it, my most overused phrase during this posting would be "Kaki angkat, buka besar sikit, saya mau masuk jari."

Oh come on, u pervert! Seeing a half naked, bloated and heavily pregnant woman is so NOT a turn on!

The Piano: Lesson 3

...

Too tired to write about it.

Still suck, but not as much as the previous lessons. Got to play Ode to Joy (beethoven's piece). Sounds grand, eh? It's a 1 hand basic keys song. Eheh.

Finished my 3rd day tagging out of 7. Delivered 3 babies already (could've delivered more, but I'm shoving my tagging partner to take some). Only 5 required anyway. Post-call. Yes, they do have actual on-calls for taggers!!! Alternate days pulak tu. Which means I'm on-call tomorrow on my birthday! Dammit!!! I'm gonna make sure I get paid for this.

The Piano: Lesson 2

Started off with that walking exercise. C, D, E, F, G on the right hand and C, B, A, G, F on the left. Easy enough.

Then my tutor went through with me some of the previous lessons. Again, easy enough.

Then she taught me how to play with both hands. I was like "WHAT THA FCUK?!" It. Was. Freakin. Difficult! Sub-cuticular suturing was a stroll in the park compared to the torment of stumbling on the keys. And we were just playing some basic keys!!!

If it weren't for the air-conditioning, I would've sweated like hell. How people read both staves and tap on the right keys at the same time is way beyond me.

Then my half-hour playing the piano was up and I did my theory lesson. Still feel like a kindergarten kid, I say. I even got a homework (which I almost finished in class. I hate homeworks!). While I was filling in the blanks and drawing notes, a girl of about 10-11 years of age came in for her session. My tutor left her to warm-up. The kid was freakin fast! Tutor came back, told her to step it up to the beat of 200, and the girl hammered away.

To tell you the truth, I was seething inside. If my skin were not tanned, I'd be green with envy.

Maybe one year from now I'll read back this entry and laugh myself silly. Provided my piano skills have improved by then.

Hah! Wait till I buy myself a brand new piano. I bet the little girl has to depend on her mommy to do that! Hah!

Down, boy!