No more chocolates for my birthday..

I was at the gym yesterday when I got a text from my Mother asking me to speak to her on Skype in an hour. Immediately a million things crossed my mind – did someone get into an accident, is my sister-in-law (who’s pregnant) alright, is my Dad ok, did my sister get into trouble. I quickly sent her a text asking her what’s the matter and she said – “Nothing much, your Grandma isn’t feeling too well.” And that’s possibly the only option I have not thought about.

So I hopped off the machine, quickly stretched and went home.

I turned on Skype and saw Dad sitting in front of the camera. The next 30 seconds was a blur and my parents were frantically trying to tell me it’s all ok and I don’t have to come home. It was 11.45am and the next flight home was 2pm that day. I had half a mind to pack, grab my passport and just get on that flight home.

She used to cook me my favourite meals when I was a little fat chubby girl – maybe that’s what made me as chubby as I was. Chicken with potato in dark sauce was my favourite and I try to cook it now but it’s never as good as hers. She has ALL the patience to let the potatoes boil till their melt-in-your-mouth consistency. Long beans with prawns is also another favourite. And who can forget her crispy fried fish? I remember my older brother hating it and my Grandma had to remove the bones for him before he would even go near it. Food was very important to her since she used to own a prawn noodle stall in Penang. Anyone who’s been to Penang knows how prawn noodles are a prized possession of Penang-ites. Apparently her business was really good and she was quite popular during her time.

She had a way with all our dogs. Every stranger that comes to the house would be terrified of my dogs but she just walks up to them, pats them firmly on the head and they’ll follow her obediently. None of my dogs have disliked her and they’ve always come to the gate to greet her when she visits.

Hazeline Snow – her favourite brand of face moisturiser. Ever since I was little I remember her putting that on her face with lots of care and she always told me the secret to her nice skin was Hazeline Snow. She swore by it and did not believe in any other facial creams. Well, not until recently when she discovered my new moisturiser and DEMANDED I got it for her. I remember her stepping out of the toilet with white spots on her face where she hasn’t spread the moisturiser properly and she’ll let me rub it out for her. Just before she launches into another lecture about how I have pimples and should put this magic cream of hers.

I remember when she got her AV fistula for her dialysis – she was so excited! This was after a massively complicated central dialysis (with infections and the lot) and 1 failed AV fistula. So I can see why she was so excited when she could feel the bruit and was almost parading her arm around. She would sit and moan about the nurses in the hospital who have been very rude to her. And she also complained about medical students poking her eyes and asking her to do this and that (oops!).

Everytime she eats she’ll need to take her insulin. So I’ll need to get it from the fridge and turn the dial to her magical number (she’ll just give me some random number) and she’ll inject it. And when I quiz her about her sugar control she would change the subject. Ooh that sly woman.. Her favourite foods include anything tasty that is presented before her. Even if it’s not meant for her, she would (unashamedly) ask for it or sometimes just help herself. And when I give her a long lecture about how she’s not meant to eat certain things, her excuse would be she’s going for her dialysis which would wash everything away anyway so why not enjoy it now? ARGH! You can never win with older people..

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On my brother’s wedding I saw the happiest woman in the world. Her oldest grandson was getting married and all her family was with her. She just sat at the main table and observered everyone. She said she was very tired and was happy with people-watching. I remember how she spent the night before going up to all my relatives with the £50 that I gave her. She used it to fan herself and passed it on to her relatives (with one firm hand pinching a corner of the note in case anyone tries to take it from her). She said she’ll frame it up and tell everyone her oldest grand-daughter gave it to her.

I, of all people, perhaps should have seen the signs that this was coming but being away from home meant that I don’t get told much about what’s going on. All I can remember from my brief conversation with my parents yesterday was that she did not suffer and it was all very peaceful. I am glad for that.

And now, I look down at my left arm and see my scar and I think about how I ran into her while she was carrying the pot of hot water. And how she frantically got a taxi and went to the doctor after that. She used to cut the aloe vera plant at the back of our house and apply the sticky stuff on my arm. When I look at a box of Ferrero Roche I’ll think about her. She buys me a box every year without fail.

I don’t want to end this post. There are so many things about her I want to remember but life has to go on. I’m only glad her family was with her at her last moments and she was at home, which was where she’d wanted to be. I only hope she’ll forgive me for not being with her and hope that she’s now in a better place.

Bake for Tommy’s!

10 weeks to the Edinburgh Marathon and training is still in progress. I haven’t given up yet and that’s a VERY good sign, considering I have the attention span of a 2 month old.

This year I will be running for Tommy’s which is a charity contributing to research for maternal-fetal health. So far I’ve contributed to Tommy’s in the form of research projects on high risk pregnancy and collecting placenta tissue for research. Since I missed the deadline for normal entry into the Edinburgh Marathon this year, I thought it would be a good opportunity to run for a charity and I’ve chosen to run for Tommy’s.

 

So what is Tommy’s and what do they do?

Tommy’s has 3 main research centres across the UK so far – London, Edinburgh and Manchester. This charity funds research into pregnancy problems, as well as provide information for the expecting parent. It was founded in London and was named after St Thomas’ Hospital, London. The primary aim of this charity is to help women achieve a successful pregnancy. 1 in 4 pregnant women in the UK will lose their baby as a result of miscarriage, and this can be due to a whole host of factors. The research projects funded by Tommy’s aim to identify the causes of miscarraige, stillbirth and premature birth, and prevent women (and their partners) from suffering this heartache.

 

I aim to raise £500 (perhaps a bit ambitious?!) for Tommy’s to contribute further to the amazing work that they do. As part of my fundraising project, I will be selling baked goodies. I will squeeze in time to bake a variety of cakes/muffins/brownies/cookies – some more familiar recipes and will also attempt some new recipes. In return, I hope you’ll contribute by buying the baked goods! I will take orders (for parties/gatherings/treating your colleagues/all for yourself on a Friday night) if given sufficient notice – I still need to attend to clinical commitments! Here’s a list of things that I can make to order:

1. Banana muffins – moist, dense and rich banana muffins with chocolate chips

2. Oreo cheesecake – seems to be a favourite amongst friends so far!

3. Brownies – dark, rich and gooey brownies. (especially for the dark chocolate lovers!)

4. Strawberry cheesecake – strawberry chunks embedded in a rich cheesecake, topped with strawberry coulis

5. Chocolate cupcakes – sweet and dense chocolate cupcakes made with yoghurt, topped with chocolate icing

6. Coffee and walnut cake – for the coffee lovers!

 

For those of you who prefer not to have cake (for some odd reason?!) but would like to donate, please go to my Just Giving page at www.justgiving.com/Kahyee. Training has been well, challenging so far. Finding time in between work is not very easy. Plus, struggling to recover from shin splints while persevering with training has made me question my decision several times. Nevertheless, I’ve pushed on thanks to those who have supported me so far (as well as regular painkillers!) and I hope that with your continuous support, whether in the form of a gentle cheer/a pat on the back/accompanying me at the gym or on long runs/buying cakes/donating online, I will fulfill my end of the deal and complete my first marathon!

Hello Brooks, meet Feet. Feet, meet Brooks. Be nice.

I decided to finally retire my Asics. They’ve served me for the last 2 1/2 years and saw me through my first half-marathon and many more long weekend runs. I think I’ve used them well beyond their lifespan and I’m paying the price now – limping around like an old granny when I get up to walk after sitting for a while and grabbing on to hand rails when walking down steps.

 

I’m always a bit sceptical about getting a new pair of shoes. Just like how you get a nice hair cut, you’re afraid of getting a new hair cut ‘cos the new cut may not be as good, or you may not be as comfortable with it. I’m afraid that any new pair of running shoes will not be as good as the old pair, and I do get a bit worried about dishing out £70 for a new pair of shoes and then finding out later that my feet don’t get along with them. My feet and ankles and legs (in general) are a very naughty bunch. They don’t get along with a lot of things and are extremely picky, so shoes are very important to me (as are food, clothes, haircuts, food, sleep….).

 

I did the right thing this time and brought my current (embarrassing) pair of Asics to a local running shop. Left my orthotics in there, thinking I was being clever. Was having a casual browse of the display when one of the sales person came up to ask me if he could help. I said I am looking for a new pair of shoes as my current pair are perhaps a bit old and I’m getting shin splints in spite of my orthotics. Showed him my Asics and said (very proudly) that I left my orthotics in. Then he gave me “the” look – the kind of look that reads “wtf?”.

Then he said to me – “Do you realise that you have a very solid pair of shoes which are doing the job of your orthotics and with your orthotics you’ve actually over-compensated?”

I just looked as innocent as I could (I probably looked like a deer in headlights at this point)

Then he asked me “Do you feel a strain in your inner calf?”

Me – yes?

Him – And do you feel a niggle in your outer knee?

Me – (do.not.admit.this!) er, no?

Him – “smiles”

Me – *shit, he knows I’m lying!*

 

Somewhere in the depth of my memory, I remember the Physiotherapist telling me to get a new pair of shoes because I don’t need so much support. But, me being my Mother’s daughter and listening to her when she tells me that I am only allowed to buy new shoes when my old pair have holes in them, I thought I’d save some money and not get a new pair just yet. So instead of over-pronating, now my feet are NOT allowed to pronate at all which is why my tibia (shin bone) is bearing the brunt of the impact and my knees are hurting.

 

So after telling me off, he picked me a pair of shoes. It’s probably NOT the first shoe I’d choose from a shelf. It’s solid blue and has bits of orange. But what completely amazed me was that it was SO light! It wrapped my feet like a well-fitting glove. And it felt amazing. Looked at the box and it said “Ghost 4″. Not so sure about the name of the shoe but it does feel good. I wasn’t sure about switching brands but the shoe felt right. My feet were happy and I was sold when the salesperson (the very one who scolded me) said “it will change your running experience and you will feel out of this world”. I wonder if the “ghost” bit has anything to do with it.

 

95 Pounds poorer, I walked out of the shop re-motivated to move on to week 7 (out of 20) of my training. Can’t wait to try them on tomorrow!

First sign of injury.. :(

5 weeks into training and I’m starting to feel the strain of running – physically and mentally.

 

I’ve read somewhere that while running long distance is physically demanding, it’s a massive mental challenge as well. Running is possibly the easiest sport in the world – if you can walk, you’re very likely able to jog and then run. I started running when I was in secondary school, and by run, I mean ONE miserable kilometre at a SNAIL’S pace. My parents were avid joggers (the typical Uncle and Aunty jogging in the park in the mornings) and my Mom once said to me – if I can jog for 4km, you should be able to do more than that. Challenge accepted (Barney-style)!

 

1km slowly turned into 2km and then slowly I was doing 4km at a reasonable pace. After a while I developed a clicky knee and with a history of sprained ankles I know my legs aren’t at it’s fittest state. I first encountered shin splints when running the Edinburgh 10k. In summer last year the shin splints were bad enough to make me see a physiotherapist, get orthotics and was not allowed to run for 6 weeks.

 

Anyone who’s experience shin splints before will know that it’s a major bitch. It’s not the worst pain in the world, I don’t think. But it’s bad enough such that you can scared to begin a run because you know the pain will come once you stop running. And then every step thereafter will hurt. So the plan for now will be to avoid allowing this shin splint to get any worse. *ugh*

New Year New Me (version 26.1)

Got a little depressed at my last birthday. Not only was I in the airport to catch a flight back to the UK, my family forgot my birthday (but very kindly pulled together a last minute dinner+cake), and I finally turned 25. Not sure what it is with the number 25, but it just reminds me that I’ve already one quarter a century old and hell, I’m getting old!

Don’t know if I can say I’ve achieved very much in the past 25 years. Well, I do have a job (thank God!) and a place to stay (albeit rented) and a degree I am proud of (after SO LONG!). They are all rather materialistic so this year I aim to achieve more.. UN-materialistic (is there such a word?!) things.. So I very quickly signed up for the Edinburgh Marathon. Don’t know why, don’t ask, but I did. Furthermore, just to add to the torture, I mean FUN, I’ve signed up for the charity place. This means not only do I have to train for the run, I have to raise funds as well! I see that I’ve got off to a very good start here!

Then I thought – why not start a blog this year to detail my journey through training for the marathon, as well as other (more) interesting things! I can only imagine how a running blog by me would read – day 1. run, day 2. run even more, day 3. hurting so bad but still running, day 4. struggling to run so crawled, day 5. could not move, day 6. rest, day 7. recovering from my rest.

I’m now on day 29 of my training programme. It’s a 20-week programme and I will countdown ever so painfully to the day I unleash the runner in me (jokes!). The training is 6 days/week with different things to do each day. I’ve survived so far, with slight difficulty when I got too enthusiastic with my run and ran too fast for too long while “Momma do the hump” was playing. Oops!

So it begins – 16 weeks to D-Day.. Let the torture begin! (I really should stop calling it a torture or I will end up believing myself!)

Map of Life

I wish someone clever would come up with that – map of life. One which tells you which direction to take when you’re at the crossroads and if you trace your finger along the path, you will know where you’d end up. If only things were so simple..

Since I was a little girl, I asked lots of questions and most of my questions began with “what if”. I asked those questions through my primary school years, my teenage years and now when I’m approaching the 26th year of my life, I’m still asking these questions. Another question I’m fond of asking is “how do you know”. I have all these questions but none of the answers – most of the time.

Now that I have finally graduated and am doing what I love, I ask myself how do I know what I finally want to end up doing? How do I know that in 30 years time I’d still enjoy delivering babies? How do I know if I’ll still enjoy Medicine the way that I do in 5 years? How do I know that Research is not just a short-term interest? What if I chose one and regretted it later? What if I’m not prepared to choose? What if I don’t want to choose?

These questions extend beyond my career but also affects other aspects of my life. I have left many people hurt with the decisions that I’ve made and I’m left feeling crushed many times. Why do we need to make such decisions? Why can’t we all be born with a map of life which guides us to where we want to get to?

But then, what use is a map of life if you don’t know where you want to get to?

A better place..

This is perhaps the least original title I’ve ever come up with since it’s my sister’s FB status at the moment.

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Anyone who’s been to my house before would have been greeted by a HUGE bark and a crazy dog jumping about behind the gate, ready to pounce on you. He jumps so high you’ll think he’s actually able to jump over the gate which is about 5 feet high! So far none of my friends have been fond of him and most fear him. Even when we put him to the back of the house and put on his leash, he’ll still stand up and look into the kitchen window, ready to bark at our unassuming guest who visits the kitchen for a glass of water.

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I remember when we first brought him back from the shop we had to put him at the front passenger seat and line the floor with newspapers. He was so scared and actually pee-d! He was the cutest thing ever – with tall pointed ears, a very playful character and loves running around (and sinking his teeth into anything and everything – we had to hide ALL our shoes from him and if you left your shoes outside even for a few minutes, it would have disappeared by the time you came back).

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Long Chai (Chinese for “Dragon Boy”) joined the family when he was barely a year old and has took care of the family all his life. His best friends are Kahmun (my sister) and Lucky (my female Rottweiler who is SUPER cute). Although most of my friends are terrified of him, all of us love him to bits and will always look out for toys/food/treats for him. He’s relatively well behaved and will sit when you tell him to and comes when you call him. He’s a rather strange dog at times and I do think he’s only half dog and maybe half human?  Every afternoon he’ll walk to the bit of the house near the piano area and will sit there to wait for one of us to go play the piano. We’d open the door and he knows not to come into the house, but will put his head in and lie down while appreciating our (horrible) tinkering on the keys. And if we have an unscheduled piano session he’ll come from wherever he is and return to his “piano listening” spot.

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Sometime towards the end of last year, Long Chai fell very ill. He lost a lot of weight although he was still eating, more than usual even! He started slowing down and could not entertain Lucky anymore. Slowly his paws started to grow in size and he was having difficulty breathing. The medic in me immediately thought – heart failure. True enough the vet who looks after him said that he had heart failure, possibly due to heart worm. We dewormed him every year without fail and we could not understand how he got a heart worm. He was given some diuretics to help get rid of the fluid he’s retaining (Kahmun found it amusing that he pee-d constantly). However, his condition just got progressively worse and we didn’t know if we should be doing more for him. At this point, he was already 8 years old.

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He loves his walks. I mean, L.O.V.E. Even when he was very ill, he’ll still hobble along and make us walk him although we didn’t feel comfortable bringing him out. Perhaps we should have done more for him, but we knew that even if we did try, there was no guarantee that he’d survive. When I was home for my Elective over Christmas and New Year, Long Chai picked up a little bit and you could see in his eyes that he still wanted to do so much and play but he could not. You could hear his breathing from a mile away and we knew that it won’t be long now.

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On the 4th of March, Long Chai left us. My parents said goodbye to him, but none of us were there to see him before he left. My Dad burnt some incense for him and said a prayer for him.

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Long Chai, you are dearly missed and we hope you’re at a better place now.

 

Am I missing something?

I get mildly uncomfortable when people talk about the silly things they did while they were growing up. This is because I can’t remember when was the last time I did something properly silly because I allowed myself to. Half the time I do something silly because I don’t look at where I’m walking or my cerebellar function completely fails me and I forget that after you step with your left foot, you’re meant to step with your right foot and not use your right foot to kick your left foot (ie, trip over myself)

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I blame this on my lack of ability to let go and go crazy in front of others. I am a firm believer of establishing myself as someone who has everything under control, to the point that I come of as boring and un-fun. An example of this is my inability to dance in front of a crowd. This is partially to do with my inability to co-ordinate my 4 limbs to the beat of the music, but it is also due to Rule 489. Thou shalt not act spastic in the presence of other human forms (one of my many silly made-up rules). I can perform in front of a crowd if I had a routine which I can practice a million times over (eg. good ol’ days of cheerleading) but if it were an impromptu dance-off, I’ll probably stand there and do the “freeze”.

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Yesterday I joined my flatmates on an X-Factor night in at Claire’s and on the drive there, Charlie and Savs were singing their hearts out while Becky was driving. I could hear the inner child in me screaming to be unleashed and allowed to sing “Don’t Stop Believing”. At the same time, the 90-year-old granny in me was trying to suppress this inner child (no doubt with a walking stick/zimmer frame) and stop me from singing and embarrasing myself. For the first time, in a long time, the inner child in me took over and there I was singing and laughing with the girls. A very strange thing happened – I actually enjoyed myself. I enjoyed myself so much that I actually did the air guitar. (I can almost hear the gasps of shock/surprise/horror) I cannot believe it myself, but yes, I did the air guitar.

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Why didn’t anyone tell me that it is ok to sing out loud and do the air guitar? Why didn’t anyone say that it’s ok to act silly in front of others? Yesterday’s episode has got me thinking – have I been missing out on something? Apparently I have been missing out on this thing called “fun”. At some point in my life, which is a blur to me most of the time, I grew up. I didn’t know when it happened, but it did. When I “grew up”, I behaved in a way I felt that “grown ups” should – ie. not be stupid.

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Anyone who knows me (and my family) will know that I still have a curfew although I’m already 24 years old, and when I was in IMU (med school in KL) I had to be home by 7pm. I did not attend parties, never been to a club, didn’t know what “dressing up” meant and the only reason why I know my way around the city centre well is not because I hang out in the city, but because I am a part-time driver to my parents when I’m home. I used to spend my free time with my family and did not know life outside of family-life. Hanging out with friends was a strange concept to me and even if I did hang out with friends, we will do the standard “hanging out programme” – movie and meal. (I just realised how pathetic my social life was! *sob*)

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Then “Edinburgh” happened. Here I met people who had social lives that were active beyond believe, by my standards. Reminder: my social life included weekends with family, evenings with family, the rest of the day at home/with family. I do enjoy my time with my family and I love hanging out with my siblings (although there is a 7 and 8 year gap between us). But I do wish I spent more time discovering what it feels like to be completely at ease in front of others and to do what I’ve always wanted to do – sedate that 90-year old granny in me and let that inner child in me go crazy.

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So if you notice me acting funny – just keep it at the back of your mind that I’ve been missing out on a fair amount of fun and I’m trying to discover the inner child in me (and just ignore and pretend whatever it is that I’ve done did NOT happen and NEVER bring it up. EVER.)

Nothing in particular..

I was stuck trying to figure out a suitable title for this blog post. It isn’t going to be about any one thing specifically. It’s about several topics but all of them do not have the same theme or outcome. It’s about nothing in particular..

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I declared that Thursday (ie. today) will be cheese cake day. I have all the ingredients I need – cheese (duh..), sour cream, biscuits, butter, flour, sugar, Oreo cookies (if you haven’t already guessed, I planned to make an Oreo Cheese Cake). I was all good to go and even planned to come back early today to make sure I have enough time to bake before dinner time. I got the butter out, melted it and crushed the digestive biscuits. Turned on the oven to 180C and let it slowly heat up. Then I went on to cut the greaseproof paper to line the cake tin. I suddenly remembered to check the oven in case there’s anything in there that I should have removed earlier. The minute I opened the oven door, smoke escaped and I was blinded for a while. I could not see into the oven and I can only smell something burning! Immediately “smoke alarm panic” kicked in and I turned on the exhaust fan and opened the window and prayed the smoke alarm won’t go off.. I was hoping to find the source of the smoke but found NOTHING! (at this point I was almost about to unleash a whole string of swear words..) I took out the trays and washed everything and even tried to wipe the bottom part of the oven. Then I turned the oven back on and went back to cutting the greaseproof paper.

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But I had the feeling that I didn’t get to the bottom of the mysterious smoke and decided to peek into the oven. It’s as though someone rubbed a genie lamp or something – the smoke just kept coming from I-don’t-know-where! I wasn’t about to attempt baking and having a my cake smelling of smoke so I abandoned the project. I don’t know what to do now.. *sigh* So much for “cheese cake day”..

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Last Saturday (I’m moving away from the oven incident and on to the next topic), while at volleyball training I landed on the lateral/outer part of my right knee while trying to save the ball. I don’t know how I landed that way but anyway, I came back with a distorted looking knee. The lateral/outer side was SO swollen I looked like I had a massively muscular knee. Prasad kept saying – it’s your muscle! It comes with cycling.. Look at mine! *points at his now very muscular legs..” But after hobbling about for an hour or so, I realise that this may not be a “newly developed muscle” but might be a haematoma (a sophisticated way of saying bruise). I could not bend my knee or fully straighten it – it was in a slightly flexed position. I could not weight-bear. I was in pain.

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So we tried to make ice (to ice my leg) to see if the swelling will go down. Obviously water does not turn to ice in 5 minutes so Prasad had a bright idea of taking the frozen chicken breast (which was in a plastic bag), wrapping it in cloth and putting it on my swollen knee. I was slightly disgusted by the thought of putting a chicken body part on my leg, but hey – it worked! The swelling went down and I regained some movement! That night I put some Chinese ointment on it and the next morning I woke up with a purple/brown knee. It’s still slightly discoloured now and hurts when I cycle. I’ve stopped cycling to the hospital after coming home yesterday with a bad hobble. Hrm.. Volleyball tournament this Saturday + training for half-marathon. Down the drain? I think this time it’s mind over body and I am too stubborn..

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If anyone is thinking of getting me a tee-shirt with words on the front, I’d much appreciate one which says “klutz”, “clum-z”, “trips on her own toes”, “haematoma central” or something along those lines..

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On to something more cheerful: I’ve sent in my paperwork for my Singapore Elective! Booyah! I checked the documents 8 times (I counted) before I sealed the envelope. Mentally went through the checklist again twice while on my way to the post office. This application caused me ANOTHER bout of drama, I tell you.

I needed a bank draft for my application fee. The system here (in UK) is more complicated when it comes to applying for bank drafts. You don’t get it on the spot. Instead, you go in there, apply for it and they post it out to you. This system would work very well IF the postal service here is SUPER efficient. I applied for the bank draft last Monday and was told that it should get to me by Thursday. Thursday came and went – no bank draft. I never found the time to go to the bank to check until today, which is 10 days since I applied for the bank draft. The lady had to cancel my first bank draft and reissue another one and the process is not simple because the bank is buying Singapore dollars and they have to cancel the transaction between them and the Singapore bank they’re working with.

Basically, I will be getting a new one and they will cancel the earlier bank draft. If only life was that simple eh? Ever heard of  Sod’s Law? I experienced the epitome of it when I came home in the afternoon to find that I’ve got mail. And guess what – it’s from Bank of Scotland. Hrm.. I wonder what are they sending me? It was the bloody bank draft that I applied for the first time!!! *string of profanities* I ran back out of the flat and prayed and hoped that I can still use this bank draft. Thank God it takes 48 hours for a cancellation of a transation and it’s only been 4 hours since I cancelled it. So the bank draft is still good to use! Sorted!

So peeps in Singapore – if all goes well, I will be invading your neighbourhood in December/January, yo! (Will keep you guys updated about this..)

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So there you go – my blog post about nothing in particular.. Hope you’re all having a better week than I am!

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Oh wait.. I was watching 8 out of 10 Cats recently (one of the older episodes) and one of the guys was talking about 100m races. He said that 100m races should be just that – 100 metres, no more no less. At the moment, the runners are all doing 100 and a bit. The real test is to see who can run an exactly-100m race the fastest. The best way to do this is to put a cliff after the 100m line. So that’s the real test now – 100 metres, bang on, or you’re dead.

For more random stuff like this – watch 8 out of 10 cats for a REALLY good laugh!!

Goodbye Storm..

My parents have traded in the Yellow Mitsubishi Storm for another car and I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. *sigh* The car had served me well and I think it deserves a blog post..

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The good ol’ Storm kept me company during my long drives to and from IMU, going through the endless traffic jams along Federal Highway, weaving through the mad traffic in KL and transporting people and things around safely.. Since it was such a HUGE car with a bright colour, it was often used as the “marker” car to guide people to various destinations.. The car and I shared many fond memories and I will miss it very much. It was the first car I used since I got my driving license and I gained confidence on the road with that car. (I am guilty of road-bullying to some extent with that car I think.. )

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The yellow Storm has gained many nicknames along the way – Gangster Girl Car, Monster Truck, Monster etc.. I never gave it a name and always called it Storm. It was originally my older brother’s car but he went to Australia and my Dad told me to use that car to drive to uni instead of spending money on a new car. Besides, that car will “protect” me because of it’s size. Little did he know, he created a mildly aggressive driver (ie. me) with that car. Oops!

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I think I’ve taken care of the Storm pretty well and I’ve only had one accident with that car.. I had to jam the brakes while driving near Bukit Bintang during lunch hour one day. The car in front of me suddenly stopped and it was a tiny Perodua and I am very sure good ol’ Storm was able to climb over that puny little car if it wanted to. I managed to stop in time but the taxi behind me (which was a Proton Saga) did not. He knocked the back of the Storm. I didn’t feel anything but just heard a sound. He drove up beside me when the traffice started moving again and was showing me various hand signals – all of which revolved around the idea of “f*cking b*tch”. I saw the front of his poor taxi and it was dented – as in DENTED. Hey, it wasn’t my fault! He chased me and I think he wanted me to pay him for the damage and I was so scared I just drove into the next available road and just went straight until I didn’t see him anymore. Then I stopped the car and cried and called my Dad. (I was such a loser then.. I didn’t meet the taxi driver again and the Storm was still in perfect condition without a single scratch)

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Things aren’t the same anymore when I go home to KL again. The Yellow Storm won’t be sitting on the corner waiting for me. I will miss you.. I hope your new owner will take good care of you!