Research ID

Deraman Part 2

"Come on now. Your turn is up! We don't have all day." The man donning in kebaya ensemble urged nonchalantly.

"Relax, Manisha. I haven't finish doing her hair. The bun is not ready, it must be as big as her head you know. She must look perfect tonight, right?" another skinny man in a tight 'Marilyn Monroe' imprinted t-shirt retorted lip pouchingly.

"Don't give me that crap! It's your fault who came late. I don't give a damn whether you are dating a datuk's son or whatever, I want her finish in 5 minutes!" yelled Manisha twice his previous tone. The skinny man stunned and one of his rib must have fractured as per aura of Manisha's tantrum. If it was not because of the defeaning musics of Barbra Streisand all over the abandoned warehouse, the audience out there must have contemplating a big fight back stage. His voice was one of the kind. Everybody in the industry knew the voice too well. In fact, Senah knew it too, only she had to learn it the hard way. She had to learn it by mere incident. She never thought in a million years that she would had involved in this part of drama let alone to be the sole character of the show. Never.

It was a prank by her friends. She recalled the other day just right after she was heading home from the Al-Quran circle class at surau Kampung Berembang. Everybody was talking behind her and the chuckling annoyed her very much. Senah could tell something was up but she couldn't figure it out. As the eldest daughter of a widowed Tok Empat, the time was consuming her. There were infinity of exiguous time for a social call. She had no friends except her small brothers and Limah. Limah was the only one who being nice to her despite the hatred from other people on her thanks to Mak Joyah. Limah was the one who came and handing over some rendang and biscuits once in a while. Not that she could not buy them on her own but the comfort of a friend is way too soothing. Senah missed her mother. If only her mother was still alive, none of this would had happened to her. Sometimes, she felt as if she could just leave the mephitic kitchen to join the happening muster at Limah's parent brick staircase once again but she was afraid. Afraid of something in the past that she could never ripped off of her mind.

Usually, during its peak all the seven steps of the staircase would be occupied by sets of woman settling in a uniquely order manner. The story tellers who also known as the elders were given the first class seats which were the first step of the stair from the ground. Well, it was not any given seat per se, but it was rather a mutual understanding between them to set up the co-ordination so that the story teller would have the ample space to tell stories (mostly vicious gossips) uninterrupted. As for the upper benchers, they would happily scrutinizing for louse on heads of one step down seaters while listening to the prattling and all.

Senah found this activity was rather disgusting and one day out of curiosity she sneaked out of the house to join the group. A brilliant idea popped up in her mind. Instead of sitting upstairs and had to do the gross thing she wouldn't do, she might as well sit somewhere she didn't have to do such thing. What a clever girl, she whispered to herself. Smile engulfing her blotchy face. But, in the god's love, the self admiring was not long as she found herself being banned from the club forever. She cursed herself. Such a naive girl. She sat on the very spot of Mak Joyah's, the living legend of detractor who would pick his own husband to tale about. From then on, not only Mak Joyah would rolled her eyes every time she passed her but came to the habit of adjourning the staircase meeting by spreading execration upon the poor Senah.

But, Senah never took anything to her heart. She knew for a fact that after a while all the slanders and trash talks would diminished. And, she also knew when they had a more spicy issue they would forget about her. She kept her prayers and above all she secretly prayed for her to be found with a prince charming and get married. Sadly, the village had yet to have a new spice to talk about. Therefore, she must hold on for a little while with Mak Joyah's world war. What Senah didn't know, the latter part of her prayer was currently undertaking its course and the destination was not that far.

"Hey, why are you still waiting there? The show is about to start and you need to be on stage now!" Manisha grunted again this time his hands on the waist. And, once again everybody knew with that demeanor he will kick anything that came in his way.

Senah was so disappointed with Limah. How could a friend did this to her. Senah felt betrayed. She never knew the decision to go to the warehouse was actually a trick. She trusted Limah very much. Senah was forced to do the thing that could bring up her father's wrath. Senah had no choice. She walked on the runway sheepishly. If only the nerve was visible, she bet everybody in the warehouse would had fainted because of it. She didn't know how long had she been on the stage. Last thing Senah could remember was the metal crown had already clipped on her thick hair bun. No diamonds whatsoever, just a plain metal crown. Manisha must have taken it from a garbage center or somewhere. She won it. She won the Ratu Kebaya contest!

As Senah struggling with her mix feeling of should her winning deserved to be celebrated or not, her eyes were fixated onto a manly figure at the corner of the stage. Her heart stumped. Her mind flattered. But, it was not long when suddenly, a sharp blow to the warehouse door startled everybody in the warehouse. Several man with white prayer cap came forth shouted 'Haram.. Haram!'. The crowd was scattered in chaos. Senah was almost fainted when she saw a fierce-looking man marching into the crowd. It was her father!

Senah was certain that her father didn't know she was there let alone participating in the contest and won it. She must find a way to get out of the crowd. She glared at the corner of the stage. No body was there. Perhaps, the man that she saw just now might freaked out and ran away. Senah started sprinting as if there was no other day tomorrow. She looked back only to notice that somebody had chasing her. Thinking of that could be her father she started to double the speed. She was thankful that she used to be a prowess sprinter in her old days of primary school. Mr Chong must be very proud of her if he saw her running this fast. Senah grinned. Her grin ceased prematurely when she stumbled upon the enormous root trees.

"Damn it," she griped holding on the crown on her head. She had made a decision. No matter what happens she will cling on to the crown. Even if her father came out of the bush. Senah waited. The pain of the fall sipped in her sensory up to the brain little by little. Suddenly, a black shadow came out of nowhere approximated her distance. The shadow gave its hand to Senah. Senah took the hand and came closer to the shadow. Under the faded moon light Senah could see the face that she prayed for a long time. It wasn't like what Senah expected. His face was scarred and blotchy. Never came close to Senah's prince charming fairy tale. Nevertheless, Senah could feel a sense of dejavu with this man. He was the man at the corner of the stage and he was DERAMAN...

Again, I bore the readers!

I attracted to one article I found in FB shared by a friend of mine. It was a full page of a primary/secondary education chronicle on teachers over work and several other chores. What interest me the most was when I came to the 7th paragraph where the writer deliberated on students class segregation accounting primarily on grades achieved from examinations.

Well, it sounds like one hell of a system where teachers can teach in a peace of mind in different cohort of students response. Good students are segregated from the not-so-bright students on sole reason to facilitate the knowledge transfers. As a matter of fact, I could not be more agree to this implementation as long as it applies to primary and lower secondary education. Apropos, this system should have not be implemented in upper secondary education specifically when it comes to choose which stream shall the students undertake for his/her next two years in secondary school. Be it biological science or art or whatever, for me it is neither up to the teachers nor the results who has the prerogative to determine of whether 6A's are going to art and 7A's are going to science.

This is a carrier we are talking about. And, it's definitely not just another transition to finish the compulsory 11 years of education. By still implementing this system it is not just show how grotesquery our education is but furthermore it ruins the students aspiration of becoming whoever he/she wanted to be. If only they introduce an interview to evaluate the students tendency and place them in class where they feel comfortable with, that would be a good start. We never know when is the individual kick start. Some may develop after years of education but let's not punish them by not giving a chance to them to study what they love the most.

I couldn't help myself to relate to this issue. It is always in my most vivid memory of how I almost slipped to the drain when I was placed in physical science merely because my grades were not qualified me to enter the biology science class. Not that I hate the class but it was just the fact that I hate numbers in which I had no choice but to study accounting. Of course, as a growing young man who didn't have a clue of what was in outside world other than what had been told by teachers and parents, my perception towards achieving good grades and becoming somebody in the future was not the first thing in my list. Well, I wouldn't be fair if I speak on behalf of my other friends because some of them were really good. In fact, few of those could memorize some of the complicated terms that were used in medicine contemplating one day they would become a neuro-surgeon if not a robust money making private general practitioner. Hat off, they are all do, not to mention the FB status nowadays that are full with medical descriptions and lengthy discussions on how to manage this patients and that disease. 

Well, back to my story, although I had no intention at all of becoming a doctor or anything related to health personnel I had a strong inclination on science subjects especially biology (not physics for sure!). Still, because of this education system restriction I couldn't enjoy what I wanted to do the most. Until one fine day I got summoned by the class teacher of the biology science class which also happened to be a math teacher, Mrs. M telling of my intention to enter the biology science class. Bear in mind that during the time, there was only one biology science class in which belonged to cohort of the most elitist and brainy students. And, in the most gracefully manner one could ever be she told to me to forget about biology and try to learn accounts for the sake of my future. I was shocked but as a student who has been taught for 4 years to respect the teachers and all I nodded and went away. I wasn't cry though but since my father passed I never had this kind of disappointment and sad all at one time.

But, the disappointment was not long as after a week I got the news that there will a second biology class opened for students who aspired to enter the biology science class. And, again I was called by Mrs. M only to ask me not to appeal to enter her class and instead enter the second biology class. This time something struck in me and it occurred as if she didn't want me in her class at all. Perhaps, and I hope I was wrong, the reason was that she didn't want me to drop the good graphs that have always been and continue to go on in her class. An outlier was indeed something that had to be dismissible.

So, as where I see I stand right now I am still far from achieving my dreams. But, I am grateful that I know I'm on the right track. I pursued my biology pathway regardless of the advise to forget it. I hope someday the system will change and I pray it's not too late affecting my child or my grandchild future.

Obedient Wives Club

Yesterday I wrote about lady's coach in Malaysia. However, that was not the whole point. My purpose of writing in the first place was to highlight several points during the debate between Marina Mahathir and Dr Azlina (Chair of the Obedient Wives Club, OWC). In the early stage of OWC establishment, I was quite skeptical with its agenda. Masking by the highlights made by tabloids and news I was certain that this club was delirious if not an oddball looking for a goofy publicity. Well, for what it matters only the aberrant senile would say you have to be a first class prostitute to your spouse out of the blue.

Firstly, prostitute is a taboo especially in Malay's community. People don't always talk about it let alone to openly discuss it in the media. Whatever subject it has with prostitute will always be preceded with obnoxious prejudice. Secondly, as regard to the prejudice earlier on, the majority of the readers will only contemplate on the first picture of the sentence. The minds are fixating on 'you have to be a first class prostitute' and directly excogitate to the panoramic view of Lorong Haji Taib. What they don't see is the subject of this matter, the spouse or the husband. For this, I give all credits to the media. The arts of writing has been so tremendously efficient these days that people no longer need a spell to hypnotize.

I'm sharing a radio interview on BFM between Marina, Dr Azlina and Dr Farouk. From what it seems Dr Azlina has good points on her side. I wish for her to be more articulate to answer vicious questions from the liberal Marina. And, I believe Marina should show her professional in handling this matter. The constant exchanging smirky looks between her and the other guy was not helping.
Enjoy watching!

Salam Maal Hijrah

It's 3 am Belgian time and the eyes are still refuse to make peace. To my left lies a petite body that belongs to a little guy who has zero tolerance towards listlessness in his day out. And, to my right lies a womanly curve that of course, belongs to my one and only wife. Both has two things in common; they are in deep slumber land sleeping like a log and in self warming fetal dispose. We all had quite a day yesterday, engaging almost 2/3 of our time in train. From Leuven to Brussels to Atomium, well I must admit, it was a tiring journey. Even Chan-Chan managed to score a nap accessorized with spilling drool all over the seat. Luckily for us the train was not full house. There were few spaces to move around although it was hard to sustain equilibrium in the shaky train.

I saw people hopped on and off the train as the train made several stops at the allocated stations. Some were decent enough to punch the train ticket into the slot machine. But, many who didn't. Perhaps, their destination was just a stop away, I was thinking self-justified. So, I assumed it was routine if not a tradition. Everything went smoothly without hiccups. There were hardly any harassment nor riots at least on this particular day. Something that a bit strange to see in KL's LRT. A total cap size I would say. Perverts, pick pockets and all sorts of criminal are under one LRT's roof. Leave alone the intolerable codgers who has no value whatsoever towards the elderly and pregnant ladies.

And then came the Ministry of Woman Affairs fighting over the must of having a special coach exclusive for woman. All other feminists association rolled along bickering about the same issue of woman's inferior. Sister in Islam slamming polygamy and Marina condemning the OWC members for being sex whores to their husband. Tupperware party is no longer discussing about Tupperware and instead brainstorming on how to equalize woman in men's world as if woman in Malaysia has never been allowed to go out of the house. Then, why on earth asking for woman's coach if woman can do everything on their own?

It's a never ending sad issue. In Islam as the rule of thumb men are the Imam and the leader. It is always like that. And bear in mind, by abiding to this rule it does not mean one is obeying to the principle of dictatorship. In dictatorship, the rules have no power against it. The rules have to be bent in necessary to follow the command of the dictator. This is of course a total misleading from Islamic view. In Islam the leader is still bound to the principles and rules. There are procedures and laws for leaders who are proved to be inadequate in his duty as a leader. The same applies to woman whom the husband is a HIV positive. In such case the conjugation is not allowed and the husband cannot practice his power as a leader to make his wife to follow his command. And the wife has all the support from the Islamic authority to protect her right. Isn't it wonderful?

Therefore, to answer this question, everybody must understand the roles they are playing. If it takes to come out with a club or association, be it. As long as it does not quibbling about religion and always on the rail of Al-Quran and As-Sunnah, go ahead. No body will stop you. And if it does, believe me, you are on the safe side.
Salam Maal Hijrah to all. I pray for more good deeds for this year around.

Task for Myself

Whoahh.. as I was gobbling the old archives of my blog, I noticed I had almost 8 drafts that I never published. So, as a task for this month I imperatively assign myself to publish all of them before the new year comes. Bear in mind, the actual events may have taken place long prior the date of publication.

New Life in Belgie

I'm supposed to do my scoring now but instead, I'm blogging. Not that I'm almost finish or what but the temptation of doing other things outweighs the home works. Plus, with an autopsy to attend to tomorrow, I should have prepared for something. Ahh.. Screw them!

As I approaching my week-3 in Belgium I sense my skill of adapting has evolved on its own. I am no longer craving for nasi lemak or teh tarik. No more post-skyping tears although the frequency were obviously not that significant. And, of course, I am proud that after so many years being a brat waiting at the table to be served I am literally behind the stove now. Well, I wouldn't call it a stove. In fact, I have no idea what is it call. For that, to make ease for everybody I name it 'The Thang'! (enunciated as black rapper's sounds out 'The Thang'!) It's a horizontal double glazing glass with a heater underneath it operating entirely with electric. The design is rather small. With one medium-sized Tefal pan I couldn't place anything else on it. Despite nameless, The Thang really makes my life so efficiently easy. No more fire starter or worse the gas tank!

As a matter of fact, I started cooking last week. The first two weeks were a real trouble for me. Of course, what do you expect from a 28-year-old codger with foods? It's either he eats out or having a take away and obviously for each methodology the concept is the same. HE JUST SIMPLY WON'T COOK! 
But, wait, I was in the middle of European continent and literally the accessibility to halal foods were not as if I was in Saudi Arabia or UAE where I can grab any foods with a blind towel on my face. It was so hard at first to even spotting a single onion. Then, I met several Malaysians who mostly are here for their PhD. They told me that just around the corner to the left and to the first junction on the right is the location of the asian store. So, I went. Only to learn that my leather shoes had worn as a result of excessive walk. Not to mention I lost my way 3 to 4 times looking for the sacred asian store. I was later told by a friend of mine who lives in Ghent to buy a sport shoes as he was experiencing the same fate as me during his early times in Belgium. It was indeed, the advise of a life time!

So, back to the story of spice hunting. I managed to find a the asian store, at last. Petite and mephitic. Despite the non-attractiveness the store possessed, I was so surprised that it had all the groceries that Malaysian Giant had. From the Maggi instant noodles to the Thai rice you name it they were all there. They even had plenty of lemongrass. It was just that, perhaps, due to the months of contra-banding process it had all dried up. So, as a starter I bought several basic ingredients with all hopes that I will be making something out of them. One theory that I learned from my sister-in-law who once read her doctorate in Notthingham was how to manipulate Google to the most. One way of doing it was looking for recipes on Google. She even called it the saviour of her marriage (well, I definitely need a citation for this! I think it was from my wife~ Ilham et al 2009). So, I surfed. Thinking that this would be an easy treat for me I went through several blogs that provided the recipes I was looking for. To my stunt, I was completely puzzled with almost half of the ingredients listed. Some of them described about the rempah tumis 3 beradik or 4 beradik or even 5 beradik. What the hell is rempah adik beradik? Are they really siblings? As I was blinking cluelessly at the ingredients listed by Cik Jah Chef Kampung and my ingredients on the shelves my mind was slowly resorting to bread and butter dinner again.

Yaiy, I guess I have to stop for now. Read up, read up! Later folks.

Deraman Part 1

"Prangggg!!"

A sharp deafening sound suddenly killing the calming night. The gloomy old abode finally making its voice after of so many days in hush. The surface of the swamp flanked to the hut stirred in reflection of the full moon.
A figure came out of nowhere running towards the abode. The path was not a friendly friend. Stumbling upon the solid radix of the forest trees made the figure plunged, head first, kissing the wet ground. The figure sneered in agony. But adrenaline had taken its toll long ago, the pain that in any normal circumstances would cause a faint seemed as if a nip of fire ant. The figure got up on the feet and started sprinting again. More alert this time, of course.

 "Abang!!" she shrieked cuddling the trembling 6 years old boy that faced a two-times of his height man looking very stern and ferocious. A crumb of broken ceramic plate spotted all over the floor. The boy stood still too frightened to move anywhere worrying to get cut by the sharp fragments or worst, to be slapped by the man before him.

"I told you so many times never set your foot in this house!" the man barked out. Several driblets came out from the man's mouth as in evening drizzle. Thanks to the rampant caries the man has lost his front fences.

"But I just wanted to give some foods to Atok. Pity him, he hasn't eat for so many days" the boy retorted slowly while looking sympathetically to the old man at the corner of the house.

"Shut up!. How dare you talk back to me!" once again the driblets spraying. Only this time, its double the amount of the previous.

"Abang. Don't be too harsh on him. He's only 6. And, he is right, Abah hasn't eat anything. Look at him" Senah trying to console her husband while at the same time budging slightly to the back afraid of her husband's free kick in the face. Deraman has always been known for his bad temper. And it got worst these days. Senah still remember vividly the current incident that had happened in surau few days back. The old nyatoh wall of the surau almost completely destroyed because of him. The reason was not big, in fact it was so silly Senah had to pinch herself so hard when she first heard about the story from Limah, the head of the woman's affair in Kampung Berembang.

The reason was Pak Jak accidentally stepped on the brand new leather BATA shoes of Deraman. Well, it was not really Pak Jak's fault as the non-stop raining since the passed last week made the land all wet and muddy. Of course, in a hurry with a vision of less than 1cm, Pak Jak would easily headbutted the slippery floor and ended up on top of Deraman's shoes. And to Senah, it was entirely Deraman's fault to wear those shoes to surau. Firstly, Deraman never went for any prayer in surau and secondly, who on earth would go to surau wearing leather shoes during raining season? Senah knew her husband very well. She knew the reason he went to surau that day was because no other than the shoes. Deraman will not satisfy if nobody complementing anything new about him. Of course one way to boast about the new leather shoes is to wear them to the surau even for Maghrib prayer in a pouring rain. Poor Pak Jak, since then  he was not only keeping his distance to Deraman but he also bought a thicker than life glasses to wear on everyday.

"Senah, you don't interfere with my lesson to Sedi. I try to teach him to respect me as a father. And what kind of make-up are you wearing? It seems as if you put a mud in your face!" chattered Deraman incessantly.

Senah knew too well that kind of sarcastic question shouldn't be answered. She had her lesson, in hard and excruciating way. She will let him stop by himself.

"Go home both of you!" Deraman continued not even looking to the old man.

Senah and Sedi went down making their way out. Sedi felt a huge gush of disappointment. He broke into tears. He didn't understand why his father hated Atok so much. Atok is a good man. He always tells stories to Sedi. There were times Sedi lied to Deraman to come over to the old man's house. And there were times Sedi felt the old man as if his father's. The tears accelerated down the cheek hill.

The old man at the corner of the house slowly lifted his grey-haired head. The fold and furrows decorated his pale face telling unfinished stories of despair. As he looked plaintively in the gloomy dark of the night a tear dropped wetting the dry cheek.

Reminder for me in trouble times..

While gobbling a stack of letters in the pigeon holes looking for mine in Hanif's room I was approached by one of the lecturer who happened to be my acquaintance. In a glimpse I could see she was a bit tense not as in her usual routine. Me being me I couldn't help myself from not to say hi and ask how's-your-day kind of questions to her. And there it goes, before I knew it I found myself in the middle of hot conversation about how hectic life as an academia is.

She went on uttering descriptively about how life was when she was in the ministry doing out-patient works and the likes. How the concentration then was only revolving around the well-being of the patients without having had to think the hustles and bustles of the students clinic supervision, lectures and the list goes on. At first, it seemed  as if I concurred with all her points of view. It was exactly the same as what I experienced during my time in the ministry. And then, it struck me when she suddenly asked for my opinion in regards to the comparison between academic life and ministry life.

As I was scribbling my head trying to get my points straight and clear without compromising my manners, I replied,

"I never think of my shifting from the ministry to the academic is a wrong choice. I'd rather to look at it as my adulthood leap towards maturity. Although, of course the post-graduate scholarship is not as much as in ministry's candidate and the promotion is not as time-based as in the ministry, that is not my option to go back to the ministry. I have made my mind then and either it was a bad or good call I have to work the best out of it".

Of course you can always go back to serve under the ministry which also means your grade will be minus one from your cohort colleagues. For instance, your grade will be U51 while the other fellow colleagues enjoy the U52 grade. What makes you then. A second class specialist?

So, I think these comparisons between this and that should not be something that bother us to the point of considering other alternatives. It is good to compare to find solution to the betterment. But, to compare and run away, to me that is ungrateful. Life is not always about money and materials, it revolves more than that which involving gratitude, gratefulness and passions. I believe most of us who left the ministry and become academias have had a concrete reasons why you did so. Unless if you did it just to get rid of the abundant works of fillings and extractions, well, I guess you started in a very wrong foot.

Busy Bee..

It's been almost 4 months I did not put any words into this blog. Many have asked of whether I have posted any new posts on the blog. Truthfully, at this moment of time my hands are pretty full. Time flies when I still long for more. It's a total capsize of what I had when I was in Sandakan. From whooshing to clinic to the application deadlines and back on the road for one hour, it is a tonic life. Not that I abhor it but as a matter of fact I love this kind of pace.

It is good when you wake up in the morning and you have a cogent reason to put aside the Monday blues. Yeah, I used to suffer from this condition. Only that mine was more chronic where the blues were not just confining on Mondays but it includes every other day as well. And it made worse when at the end of the term of my service in Sabah, the condition (or should I call the syndrome) had been metastasized and found its way to the weekends. So, if I was about to be in Medical Miracle for the syndrome that I had, perhaps, they should also had to rename it. I would suggest Modified Monday Blues Syndrome or Everyday's Blues Syndrome. More dramatic, don't you think?

As I am in the midst of adapting to the vibrant academia life (adapting fast!), I'm grateful to have such cool and friendly colleagues to accompany me/us every luncheon. Pardon me, not just every luncheon but every academic aspects as well. Discussing about the university applications are the all-time favourite, the topic that would never come out during any lunch time break of the ministry dental officer.

I attracted to write on my recent Facebook discussion with few colleagues of mine from various walk of background. The theme was nothing more about the engaging promulgation announced by the Prime Minister in the Budget 2011. So many issues popped out. Some were arrestingly expressed that made the doer stripped to his foolishness and some who had points that worth debating on. One fellow lady claimed that the 600 million Ringgit allocated to fund PhD candidates to further their study was nothing but a mere sweet talk. She made a remark that the government may had a miss on a good candidate and undermined the 'truly deserved one' in achieving the goal. Yes, that is true that government or the responsible body may have a miss in term of selection or anything but the question here is who is at fault?

Is it government's fault for not going to the rural and village asking everyone they bumped into on the road of whether they want to do PhD or is it the candidate's fault for not revealing themselves to be recognized?
As most Malaysian universities have taken steps to becoming the utter most premier and being the one who stands out from their peer, the question like this must not be left hanging. In my part, I always believe that in order to get the best model the mould has to be pristine. The students should strive for betterment. No more spoon feeding and more importantly the Malays and the Bumiputras should start to learn to not being timid when it comes to academic revelation. Don't just standing at the corner and hope somebody will notice you. For instance, in dentistry if one would ever desire to do postgraduate study in competitive fields namely Orthodontic and Oral Surgery he should endeavour to get an extra qualification such as M Orth and MJDF respectively (even though in many cases it is not necessary). And don't accuse anybody who had the opportunity by having a back pass entry or sensationally make known as 'cable'.

Of course the government cannot just simply give a leeway in term of candidate selection. Selection-wise, it has to be thorough and merit-based. PhD is not an easy task. I happened to have known many candidates and figures telling how pain it is to complete a PhD. It is surely not for a faint of heart!

So, the issue of the 'truly deserved one' to be left out is totally out of question. And another reinforcing point of why the government spends a major sum of money to the development of the PhD holders is that we need more people who are able to give opinions and researches towards national development. In fact, we still lack of PhD holders as relatively compared to our southern neighbour, Singapore. And yes, the idea of sending more of these candidates to do PhD abroad is such a welcoming verdict. Not just we can learn a new system of education but also to be able to mingle with international community, the latter which can be beneficial to establish a slap-up human capital.

Again, the national development is an obligation to every citizen of the nation. No matter which parties you voted to, you have the right to take part of this opportunity. The only mark that left is are you willing to work hard or just standing at the corner waiting for the prince charming to come and spoon feed you? 

                                                     

Cleaning out my closet

The packing is almost done now. The more we packed the more things popping out. Those three jumbo luggage seems as if they can't contain much further. The fillers are as good as the over-stuffed curry puff freshly tossed from the hot oil. Regurgitated and stout. Only the luggage are not as mouth-watering as the curry puff. Perhaps, you may wondering what's going on with me and the curry puff idiom. Yes, I'm missing and craving of my mother's curry puff badly. Enough to make me went out looking for it and realized how awful the taste was. Sigh.

Last Friday we have said goodbye to the Voltron aka our beloved Myvi car. So long but not too long. Voltron on its route to Port Klang. We won't be seeing him in a week as the shipping officer told us. He sounded promising until we had a tête-à-tête with a dental technician during luncheon telling her shipping container came after a month. Hmm.. What would I do without my car then as my mind boggled with creative ideas of how to get to the locum without a car. Thought for later, I guess.

So, as I finishing the allegedly last thing to pack thinking there would more to come, I lose my concentration in the middle. The Wimbledon Tennis and the World Cup are too good to be missed. And the presence of an eager crawler climbing every mountainous knapsacks and luggage makes the effort to pack a bit sluggish. In a good way of course. With that, I have to set my pen off as the battle between Tsonga and Murray is about to take place. There goes my packing again! Haih..

Checklists to Check-out Part II

Most of the time that I remember in vivid while in Sabah is the time when I spent with the Borneo squad. Oh, how I missed the good old days. I still recall the time when the founding member of the Borneo squad commencing their first baby step to the big land of Borneo. Before I forget, the founding member of the Borneo squad are the trio of Ilham, Azmi (Jimok) and me. The duo - Fairuz (Apai) and Ema was not in the picture then yet as their date of report duty was a month away from us, their journey which I'll tell later.

So, there we were, the trio at the LCCT all prepared for the departure. The family members and close related personnel were all there giving their last farewell to the trio. There were moments that I thought 'are we going for Hajj or Iraqi's war or something?'. Some were sinking into tears if not sobbing in silent. And for the first time the families of the trio were united under one roof. If only there were a family day contest at that particular time in LCCT, I think Jimok's family would easily took home the champs as he brought a battalion with him to the airport.

Being a wet-behind-the-ear traveler cum working adult, I couldn't help myself to bring a larger than life luggage. As much as I hate to admit it, the thing that brings out the worse in me is when it comes to pack stuffs. I just simply couldn't pick any clothes or trousers or under garments to pack and I would end up packing the whole things. It was kind of embarrassing when seeing people who travel so lightly as if they have nothing to pack and nothing to worry about. And with that thought I was all engulfed with the apprehension of winning the biggest luggage contest. But, surprisingly, bear in mind that I was totally relieved when seeing Ilham's and Jimok's luggage was nothing less than my luggage size. At last, I was not alone!

As we approached the most scornful local airlines in history of aviation, Air Asia counter, I prayed that our luggage won't be too over limit. Yes, I expected some over limit in my calculation, perhaps it would go around RM 50 or so. No, I was dead wrong thinking that Air Asia would be generous to us. Alas. There went my one week locum money as the curses to Tony Fernandez continued to mount up.

                                                     Kota Kinabalu

I was nearly blind upon disembarkation from the belly of the plane. The unusual brightness of the sun in this Borneo land was killing. The heat was so piercing I had to squint my eyes. But, the blinding process quickly reverted when I saw a magnificent view of the Tanjung Aru stretch beach. The blue green multi-tonous South China Sea seemed as if there was an enormous flat crystal spreading the entire view. And that was the moment I think I had a head over heels with Kota Kinabalu.

House hunting was another significant chapter for the Borneo squad sojourn. Every pages of Daily Express and Borneo Post would have at least a circle or a tick or a fancy bold with colourful highlighter. All for the sake of finding two decent houses and most importantly the cheapest in the market. One for Jimok and I, and one for Ilham. But, the luck was not on us and after spending some times running and chasing after house agents we could only found one decent apartment. And it was at the upper most floor of four tiers apartment. No lifts whatsoever. For the record, most apartments or condominiums in Sabah are not furbished with lifts and if one happen to have the eyes of observant one will see that there are not much of sky-scrapping apartments or condos in Kota Kinabalu let alone the entire Sabah. The policy I learned later in life proven to be very beneficial to keep in shape.

So, before finding a new house for Ilham, she had to be a squatter at one of senior's house and we had to bear commuted to work en-route to pick her up. Utilizing Mazharul as a supir in his car, we survived the first one week. But then, an expected event changed the whole plan. Mazharul was reassigned to Likas Hospital and every morning he had to leave his house early to get in time and not to get caught in the congested traffic. And we as regular  hitchhikers were forced to get up early in the morning as he routinely would dropped us at Luyang Clinic on his way to Likas. Thinking that the arrival of 45 minutes before 8 was not an option, we had to find solution. We had to find a car!

                                              A New Car

By unanimous decision of three, we went to Perodua retail center in Api-Api. And after a long deliberation of whether to buy a new model or a second hand car, we came into solution, we agreed to take home a brand new Myvi. But then, there was a glitch. Who is going to pay for the car down payment?

Everybody literally was broken. Jimok and I had already chipped in to pay for the 2 +1 advanced house rent. So, technically we both broke. Ilham as she relied solely on her not very much pocket money couldn't make it to the rescue. And suddenly as in possessed by ghost embodiment, Jimok and Ilham gave me a glance. A dazzling glance that denoted an evil thought.

"I thought you still have some saving from the locum?" Ilham uttered sheepishly, tongue in the cheek.
"Yes, I still have some of it" I retorted exhaling deeply.

The truth was, I also thought the same thing. All this while I always dreamed to have a car of my own. Since I had some saving and enough to pay for the down payment why didn't I do so. So, there it was, I took home a brand new Myvi for which had become an official transport for us three. The happiest purchasing I had ever done!

                                                 The Duo 

A month later came the duo, Apai and Ema and the rest of the UKM clan. I was hardly knew both of them as they hailed from the other side of the town. I first met them also at the sacred LCCT. Pushing the big fat luggage, made me smiling reflected my time a month back. Apai was a loquacious guy. Ema on the other hand managed to double it. She could talk like nobody business and still had more. But she seemed to talk around the people that she knew. Shy, perhaps. And knowing her now, she is totally the capsize of the 'shy'!

There were a lot to tell about this duo and the rest of the story but I find a drainage in my mind now. Perhaps, some other time will do me some good to write.

So long for now from Ilham and me ~

Checklists to Check-out Part I

i.   Climbing Mount Kinabalu and made it to the top......................... Checked

ii.  Water rafting in Kiulu and Padas river......................................... Checked

iii. Weekend pastime in Mamutik island............................................ Checked

iv. Wobbling on the infamous Tamparuli bridge................................ Checked

v.  Scrutinizing pygmy elephant in Sukau, Kinabatangan.................. Checked

vi.  Laughing over the gringos all mesmerized of the long-tail macaque in Sukau.............. Checked

vii. Weeping in remorse over the near death boring expedition to Sukau.............. Checked

viii. Dinner in revolving restaurant in Kota Kinabalu that costs an arm and a leg................... Checked

ix.  Medical camp in deserted island of Jambongan and jungly ghetto of Serudong Laut... Checked

x.  Barbecuing in the most modest manner in Jimok and Apai's nest in Semporna......... Checked

 

 

 

 

Hey people, I'm on air!

This morning I woke up with a massive stone on my head. To get up from the bed was like pulling a thousand chariots. Listlessness in the air. I had a Monday blues. Only this time it was not Monday but Friday, instead. As the mixed feeling of going to work or staying home took on the battle in my head, I heard my wife muttered about something. Sleepy headed, I started to grumble.

"Did you say something just now?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"Yes dear. I think, you've got a radio talk today!" she retorted making her way out of the room to make a breakfast toast.

Oh, how on earth I could forget this. I have prepared everything for the talk. The questions, the answers, the shirt and the necktie (yeah, as if there would be any audience to watch the talk. It's a radio talk for god's sake!) were all checked the night before. I just simply should have not forget about this but I did. Alas, lately my memory didn't served me very well.

In a flash I jumped out of the bed forcing myself to go to the bathroom. As I experiencing the quickest shower in my life, I couldn't stop thinking of how would the talk be like.Would the deejay understands me, or would I talk through the ear phone or microphone. I was lost!

Then, there it was. I was standing in front of the Sandakan FM office chaperoned by Sister Latifah (sister denotes a rank to act as a chief of nurses). I was invited to sit at the waiting lounge furbished by an old TV and a faded sofa set. Neither tea nor refreshments were served made me bored to death. So, me being genius, I went forth to switch TV channel as the TV displayed boring commercials of the TV 1. Hoping to get some updates on the FIFA world cup of ESPN or Star Sports turned bitter when all buttons displayed only RTM-related channels.
Suddenly, I realized that this was RTM office after all, therefore it owned by government. Of course, the TV would only showed the RTM channel. Silly me!
As I tapped my forehead in disappointment I could imagined how these people would laugh at me, a fool with TV, as I pretty sure my action has been caught by the surveillance camera somewhere hidden in the room.

The talk went surprisingly well. I talked about Halitosis and stuff to fulfill the radio's weekly health program slot. The deejay seemed fun but freaking bubbly. No blaming here, it's part of occupational hazard I guess. In the end of the day I think doing this talk is rather joyful and I kind of like it. I'm a talker in nature so the talking was not very much intimidating to me. So, there it was, a glamorous closure for my service in Sandakan and for Sabah generally.

What's next in my plan. TV talk, perhaps?

Family's Day Out

Bored stiff with the same ambience in another killing weekend, last Sunday we decided to try something less usual. The idea literally came while we were having our awful Sunday breakfast at Ajmeer (the local Mamak restaurant near the downtown). Ilham and I had roti canai and chappati respectively and ended up cursing in despair of the dreadfulness the curry dipping gravy possessed. For the record it's not the first time we were having breakfast there. And all this while the taste was not as agonizingly appalling as the last Sunday. So, as we finishing, we swore we won't coming back.

Left in displease and remaining hunger, a brilliant idea popped out from Ilham's mouth. 
"How about we go picnicking?"
That sounds wonderful as we were seldom to go out enjoying the nature. Plus it would put a smile on Chanchan face as he is a true blue nature's lover. Since the maid has taken her weekend off and Ilham was not really in the mood of cooking, we bought some fast foods to take away.

So, as the rest of the story goes, pictures below would tell better. Oh, by the way, the picnic spot was taking place at the Sandakan's hill within the large compound of Agnes Keith House and English Tea House.

P/s: You may notice how gleeful the little chappy at the most bottom picture having his day out!

Glee and Its 'Uglee' Side

Glee is undeniably a phenomenon in TV now. Everybody watches this musical series of colourful youngsters. From the beauty queen cheerleader to the bubbly gay chap to the delinquent Trojan hair-cut lad, all are the ingredients in this spicy, exaggerated high school drama.

If anybody asks me of whether I'm a fan of this series, I would say no. I'm not a fan but literally I would watch this series whenever possible. I won't put on reminder to remind me of when Glee will be aired or something. In fact, the reason why I watch this drama is primarily because I have to find another alternative to all medical-related series in TV. Literally, I've been sick to death watching these kind of series such as Grey's Anatomy, House, Trauma, Scrubs and the latest the bold and not too beautiful bunch of nurses in Mercy.
I seriously need a break. The last thing that I need to see on TV is another work and sick people. This may sound snobbish and uncouth but if anybody is in my shoes they probably understand of how my ground would feel like. Furthermore, the emerging of these handful series are nothing but to disseminate false dream within students and parents thinking that working as doctors can be as glamorous as Dr Derek Shepherd and Dr Gregory House as in Grey's Anatomy and House series respectively.

By telling this it doesn't mean that I have converted and become a number 1 fan of Glee. No! As I made myself clear of where I stand in the first paragraph, I like to give some opinion regarding how far Glee fanaticism has taken its toll on Malaysian viewer. Recently, I've seen a commercial in TV about a bunch of Glee's fan impersonating characters of the show to the extent of having a contest to pick the best Malaysian Glee's impersonator. Surprisingly, some of the contestants are coming from walk of girls in veils and a large number of young kids at the age of 5 to 6 years old.
What a shock!

Suddenly it raises several questions in my mind that firstly, is sense of shame has faded from our women makes them shamelessly dancing like crazy only to prove how precocious they are. And secondly, what on earth are those parents taught their kids in home. Are they seriously encouraged their kids to dance and sing to the point of it's okay of being fanatic to these kind of show. It shocks me to also see some public figures giving an all-out support to their children doing the lustful Beyonce's signature buttocks dance.
What are they thinking?!

To me it's not a fault to watch these light shows as long as one be able to draw a boundary between reality and fantasy. Parents should also monitor their children and discourage them to be such a fanatic on anything they see on TV. Such an unfortunate thing when at the end of the day you realize your children singing a flawless note of Glee's song but demoting in blank to recite Al-Quran!

It's Chanchan Way ~

It's such a magnificent morning in Sandakan. I couldn't recall when the last time I woke as early as this morning. Yesterday, after lunch, as I was preoccupied preparing myself back to work I noticed something out of ordinary. I couldn't hear my son, Chanchan @ Achan, exulting in jubilant or blubbering asking for someone to carry him around. Bear in mind, the sound of silence in my tiny house is no longer considered as normal!

Being an apprehensive dad, I couldn't help myself to go out and looking for my son. He was neither to be found in the living hall nor the maid's room. As I was searching I glanced something through the corner of my eyes. Oh, there he was sleeping like a dormant bear in winter in the balcony of the house. I was laughing to myself. Silly me, of course he was sleeping. It's his sleeping time after all.

But only this time he'd changed spot. No longer in silence, air-conditioned room with blanket all over. It's au naturale time. Even the deafening sounds of hole drilling down stairs didn't moved him. What a boy!
 So, as we stepped out, my wife 'shussh' me the the index finger on her mouth with all intention not to wake him. Yeah, as if our foot steps sound would wake him from his slumber land!
 

Gaza and Peace!

I watched local TV news yesterday and for the first time in my life I was outraged by the headlines. Hoping to get some updates regarding local and global news I turned out waiting for 20 minutes just to get to the other news that not related to the coming-home celebration of the 6 peace activists. All of the sudden, these previously unknown 6 fellows became the national hero. For the 20 minutes long there were interviews not only from the activists but almost all of the related family were being interviewed. The father proudly telling the press that he willingly encouraged his son to go on another peace expedition while the mother sinking in tears telling how his son survived the Israeli's detention. Not to mention, some other additional figures trying to say something that I'd already lost my interest and patience.

It's not a sin to do such an honour but it rather be realistic and not just another publicity to attract people to buy the newspaper. For instance, when the reporters and media addressing the peace activists as wira-wira negara (national heros), I was choked thinking that what achievement these activists had done to get such recognition. They didn't even landed on the Gaza strip and giving out the aid for which I believed the mission of this humanitarian convoy. So, basically they didn't achieve anything but to get hijacked and captured by the condemned Zionis soldiers at the Gaza's offshore. By saying this, it doesn't mean that I despised the peace activists, no, I truly respect them and love them as a brother. We have to see in the bigger picture where celebration of the coming-home activist only just doesn't cut it. What we have to see and tackle here is how Malaysia can play a role to stop Zionis terrorism. Well done to the Malaysian government when the Dewan Rakyat unanimously approved a motion strongly condemning the Israeli military attack on Gaza bound-aid ship Mavi Marmara on the 31st of May 2010, yesterday.

As we Malaysian stands strong on our policy of no diplomatic ties with Israel, we have to make sure this policy to be thoroughly done. I read on yesterday's news of the Sun mentioned that Malaysian ports still receiving Israeli cargo vessels since 1998 and named several ports such as Port Klang, Penang and Pasir Gudang as their major stops (read here). Even though the ships didn't carry the Israeli's flag and setting up the shipping line with a completely different name its still free as a bird to use our ports for trading. It would create an odd impression as if we are just condemning on the Israeli's hijack in offshore Gaza but we forget they are already hijacked our ports as a wolf in sheep's clothing.

I attracted by the speech given by the head of the Malaysian peace activists, Shamsul Akmar Musa Kamal quoted that the celebration was rather overwhelming for them as the mission was not accomplished.It was a very down to earth statement and they didn't even aware that such celebration would be thrown to them. Funny enough, the TV 3's cameraman also had to report on what he'd undergone while in capture. I seriously thought that would be a reporter's job!

So, as we see the second half of the Rachel Corrie journey cruises, the truth is the real journey of fighting Zionis is yet to be over. The Rachel Corrie and several other Gaza aid flotilla has helped us to open up the world's eye that has been engulfed in silence for so long to see the insolent act of the Zionis. At last we have got a shoulder to lean on even though I'm afraid to say this, that the shoulder could be to too fragile to lean on. But I'm optimistic!

'When you attack Black people, they call it racism. 
When you attack women, they call it sexism.
When you attack homosexuality, they call it intolerance. 
When you attack a Country, they call it treason.
When you attack a religious sect, they call it hate. 
When you attack Jewish people, they call it anti-semitism.'

 I would rather be an anti-semitic if that what it takes to stop Zionis!

Top 3 Blogs

Currently, I'm reading on blogs from these 3 extraordinary bloggers. They are Jauhar Kalam, Indexed and Maami's Weblog.

These blogs are independently written in such a beautiful way the words could possibly described. For instance, Indexed shows us how fun it is to play with indexes to describe satirical metaphors and coincident similarities. The topic in Mathematics that we once despised has been redefined its existence to the more lively one.
Genius! 

Maami's weblog on the other hand elaborates on the life observation from an Indian writer's point of view. This blog is enriched with powerful words and well-cooked story lines that moves every readers until the end of the line. Highly recommended for those who wishing to ensharpen their skills of the language. The major turn off is that the writer sometimes quotes some dialogue from the Indian language that makes you sort of have to guess the meaning of it as no translations are provided. But, hey, to me this blog is still the bomb!

Jauhar Kalam is a blog of inspiration. I have to admit the reason I started blogging is primarily because of this blog. Hailed as an English-educated elitist, the writer of this blog shows us how intricate it can be when dealing with the English words. Yes, the writer has the tendency to use words that sometimes are superior than ordinary. Full with humour and witty sarcasms, it's the blog of wisdom but be prepared to gobble for dictionary to look out for something out of ordinary!

Oh, ya, before I forget, check out my virtual pet at the extreme left of the blog. And don't forget to feed them by clicking at the tank.
Have fun!

Farewell and Be Well..

Last couple of weeks we had a farewell ceremony in KP Sandakan. The theme was especially to celebrate the departure of one of KP Sandakan's dental officer, Dr Elizabeth to Bintulu, Sarawak. She has been in Sandakan for quite some times, along the way she had helped us a lot during our commencement as district dental officer almost a year back.

Thinking that this ceremony would be the last for us to meet with Sandakan's dental personnel we decided to buy a pair of chocolates cakes from the only decent cake house in town, Secret Recipe. So, I assigned one of the DSA (dental surgery assistant) to slice the cakes according to the number of people attended. Satisfied with the reply and enthusiasm showed by the DSA, I went to front row allocated for the officers to proceed with the ceremony's itinerary.

After all the prayers, the anthems and the pledge carried out we were ready to listen to our boss, the Sandakan's in-charge dental officer to deliver his speech. As usual he begun his speech addressing the wrong person with the wrong name. Typical of him but it was fun and hilarious. He is a nice and approachable guy. Prior to the ceremony he asked us
"So, when you guys are leaving to UKM?"
"Not UKM boss, it's UiTM!" I retorted.
"Oh, really? I thought you are going to UKM" he nodded (for the record we were already told him about this for almost hundreds time).
So, I thought by this time he would get it right but only to discover how forgetful he was. Yes, he asked us again the exact same question during the feast. Since he was the boss I had to refrain myself from showing my annoyance and retorted the same answer as in broken record.
What a special guy he was!

After the speech I was approached by our second boss, the one who in-charge of the clinic. She revealed to us that the farewell ceremony was also to celebrate both of us. That didn't surprise me at all. For the record, somehow I knew all about this farewell thing. Thanks to my wife's assistant who also happened to be a gossip lover. Plus, the gifts at the front were too much to be given to only one person.

The highlight of the day was each of the celebrated had to plant plants as a symbol of remembrance. The agricultural activity took place at the small soil spot in front of the clinic under the hot flaming sun. The spot called Nostalgic Park blazingly officiated by the big boss.

So, after the eventful agriculture it was time to gobble up. The foods were rather a bit superficial to me. The noodles were slightly below the par and my eyes were looking for the cakes that we bought. Not that I wanted to take back what I gave but it was more like appetizer to eat something sweet before hand. Couldn't spot any, so I thought perhaps the cakes had an overwhelming fans out there, I tried the not so good-looking if not good-tasting of the small-sliced cakes. It took me by surprise that the taste of the cake was so darn good as if it came from the Secret Recipe. To reward my curiosity I asked one of my colleague of where was the taste-good cake came from.
"Yus, this is the cake that you bought. The Secret Recipe one!"
I was stunt. How a beautiful cake could be turn into something beyond recognizable. Yes, I was asking to cut the cakes according to the number of people attended but never occurred to me that they would ruin the texture and aestheticism of the cake. Too bad!  
Perhaps I should give more detail on how to handle such a beautiful entity.
Suddenly it reminded me to the story of my mother in-law which shared the same story line as mine.