Finding their own level

There is something which Tash Aw said in an interview with ST which struck me. He is a Malaysian author whose work was long listed for the coveted Man Booker prize and he was asked by ST why can't Singapore produce an internationally acclaimed author like him.

Basically he ascribed it to the pressure and anxiety to be the best that Singaporeans face. He thinks that state of mind and the " constant striving to reach a level imposed on them by society...  crushing" and impeding them to rise to their own level. The structural quest for straight As would have left little room for the development of creative instincts.

He says in Malaysia there is less expectation of success. "If you don't make it, you are basically measured to the mediocrity around you, so there is no pressure......" and then what really strikes me are these words that follow : "And when there's no pressure, exceptional people tend to find their own level".

I think most Malaysians in general enjoy the freedom to find their own level , their own space. In Singapore however too much well respected chartered paths have propelled parents and society to cheer youngsters to take such well trodden paths without the space to dream and discover where their real interest and calling lie. Most are fine and do not end in despair because people are propelled to reach various milestones in terms of starting a family, achieving certain status at work and possessing certain trappings of material success which signal their achievement in life. For many work is just a means to hit all these milestones. These milestones became the end and meaning in their lives irrespective  whether they hate their job or not. In a survey conducted in 2016 Singaporeans ranked the lowest in job happiness, giving reasons like lack of training and career development and poor leadership as causes for unhappiness. I am just wondering whether there is also an underlying unhappiness because they are not in the field of their true and unexplored desire.

Maybe things will be alright in Singapore because when people were not given the space to dream they lost the interest or don't know how to dream. Being in the Matrix is fine with them. I do not for once mean that living outside the Matrix is more noble or better off, only that people who discover themselves in a deeper way seem more alive to me.

Things that never cross your mind when well

The prescription of 2 antibiotics for 2 weeks renders me weak and tired. Having Diverticulitis with pain on one side of the abdomen meant I have to forgo the usual bone building exercise class and refrain from strenuous activities. The mind also becomes a little fuzzy.

Waking up from afternoon nap and wanting to linger in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the mind drifts and wanders. Thoughts about my brother who died of cancer kept coming back. Even at the radiology unit, as the CT scan machine slid my flatly laid body under the arch of steel and panels and then jerked me forward and backward before the robotic voice told me to hold my breath, I had wondered how my brother would have felt during the numerous times he underwent this procedure. Lying listless in bed at home, feeling drained of energy, I knew I was experiencing a slight fraction of how he lingered during his last days. Sadness crept in and my mind wondered how the final days would be like for me, would l I be able to manage a major illness?  Dark thoughts but having googled and discovered that mood changes is one of the side effects of the antibiotic I snapped out of it and got up to review the stock market. As mercenary as it sounds, reviewing my investments does pump me up. A friend who was a lecturer developed an interest in stock investment during his final days battling a cancer.  Perhaps it was something tangible he could relate to in a world that seemed dissolving before him.

Paul Kalalithi in his book When Breath Becomes Air lamented that his illness not only 'limits' his time on earth but also 'limits' his energy. Kalalithi's wife in the epilogue of his book described how mental acuity was his top concern during his final days, "the prospect of losing meaning and agency agonizing".

This is something to think about for people helping others in end of life care. This too is something for us to think about and prepare, things which will not cross our mind when we are well and busy with our routine..

Doctors

The urologist whom my "friendly" family doctor referred me to looks like a grizzly bear to me. I describe my family doctor as "friendly" because she worries about my health like a "friend" subjecting me to all kinds of medical investigations and then referring me to specialists for final opinion. She knows me as a hypochondria who will not take any health risk at the expense of cost (that's why her invoices always take me by surprise).

So a few days ago I began to have stomach crams which gradually shifted to the right upper abdomen accompanied by fever. Clinical examination and blood test point to kidney inflammation. Even though the fever has gone after a day's dosage of antibiotics she still recommended that I see a urologist to rule out stones which I readily agreed. If the urologist rings my door bell I would have thought he is my renovation contractor. Unlike most neat and clean shaven specialists, his shirt is not tucked in properly and hair ruffled like he had just gotten out of bed. After hearing my complaints he sent me for a CT scan. While waiting for the report to be back at his clinic I had ample time watching patients entering and leaving. Most of the patients are not locals. I can hear clearly the nurse explaining the content of the bill or the expected cost of medical procedures to be performed. I began to wonder about doctors. Could they be thinking if lawyers and investment bankers have it so easy earning big bucks why shouldn't they too for the good hard work they put in. My family doctor for example used to charge really reasonable fees and she draws a  crowd because she is detailed and patient. However over the years she started to include more types of medicine and supplement with each consultation. Of late she included an admin fee for referral. I began to wonder whether she gets a cut for every test, x'ray or scan she recommends. Her concerns begin to be costly.

Well the grizzly doctor turns out to be quite likable. The report ruled out kidney stones or inflammation. Instead it is diverticulitis, inflammation of pouches in the big intestines. He explained to me the problem as would a biology teacher drawing the anatomy on paper and talking like a contractor would about a structural building problem. He also wanted me to ask questions and clear whatever doubts I had. He looks like one who speaks his mind and waste no time on suave talk. Maybe because I was very shabbily dressed the bill turned out to be much less than I expected. Could it be this doctor does his own intuitive mean testing?

Maybe it's time for me to look for a grizzly family doctor as well.

Some we want to lock in time

The limestone cliffs echoed the evening prayer from a nearby mosque. After a morning visit to the heritage museum learning the history of Ipoh from colonial days,  the hills seemed to me to reverberate the soulful claim of  the natives of the land.

I paid a 3 night visit to Ipoh staying at a resort tugged away among limestone hills. At an impulse I had bought the hotel package at a Malaysia tourism fair held in Singapore not knowing what Ipoh had to offer. Other than a water theme park near the resort and the promise of good hawker food in town, I was cracking my head how to while away 3 solid days in this sleepy city. It turned out to be a trip filled with deja vu moments and flashbacks of my childhood in KL.

Ipoh looks so much like the KL of my childhood days. It takes around 15 minutes by car from the resort to town passing through quiet stretches of road lined with bungalows before approaching streets lined with old shop houses interspersed by vacant land with thick undergrowth. We then hit the town area with busy well lit crisscrossing streets lined with old shop houses. For two evenings sitting in a Grab car to town for dinner gave me flashbacks of my younger brother and me accompanying my father in a taxi to watch a movie in town. The passing scenes from the cab window looked so familiar.

The old shop houses in Ipoh and the interior of the coffee shops are like those I remember in KL in the 70s. Yet another flashback was when I passed by a shop house selling buttons, zips and other sewing accessories. As my father ran a men's tailoring, I often accompanied my mother to similar shops in KL to stock up such accessories. It was deja vu passing that shop in Ipoh.

The crowning nostalgic recall occurred when I visited the Han Chin Pet Soo (heritage house). I was waiting for a guided tour to begin when I overheard the chat among a group of ladies around my age who were also joining the tour. From their conversation I knew they were from KL. I suddenly felt the need to connect with people from KL and started to engage in small talk with them. It turned out that they were from my alma mater in KL. The room was filled with excitement and exchanges about the dreaded cookery classes and the annual choral speaking competition just to name a few hard to forgets of our school, BBGS. So thrilled were they in meeting a senior from Singapore they insisted on a photo so to post in the alumni website.

My last post in 2017 says " The present changes the past. Looking back you do not find what you left behind". Yes the past does not remain unchanged as they change with our "present". Yet certain memories we willed them to be locked in time.