1) Whenever you hold your girlfriend/boyfriend’s hands on a romantic date,you can’t help but check for clubbing,splinter haemorrhages,temperature,pulse rate,etc etc.Also,before you kiss,you check for central cyanosis,dentition and hydration status
2) You diagnose the Simpsons with familial jaundice
3) You have a ‘favourite spot’ in the library, and whenever someone else happens to sit in ‘your’ spot when you get to the library, you feel like politely impaling him with a nearby chair.
4) Picking up Kumar and Clark with one hand is easy business and your biceps are roughly the same size as that book
5) Incidentally, picking up books comprise of 50% of the physical exercise that you do. The other 50 % is putting them down.
6) When your girlfriend puts on a sexy new dress and asks you how she looks, you respond, “Upon general inspection, you look comfortable and gorgeous; and there are no signs of abnormal pigmentation or fats bulging out at inappropriate places. I would now like to proceed with palpation”.
7) Your social life consists of calling up your mother and telling her why you don’t have a girlfriend/boyfriend.
8) You look down on Arts students.
9) All the ward sisters are sick of you.
10) All the patients you auscultate have permanent indentations where you put your stethoscope for half an hour without moving because you “want to indentify the heart sound”, which your patient soon develops, regardless of whether he had cardiovascular problems or not.
11) When buying watermelons, you check the quality through percussion.
12) You have recently become very religious, and your daily ritual includes worship of the Son of (just leave out the son of and keep it to the one true God?) the one true God, Prof. Peter Lee.
13) You have cut down on unnecessary activities like bathing and toilet visits to have more time to study.
14) You get an allergic reaction which includes and are not limited to : - fits, shock, rashes and blackouts when at the end of a lecture, you forget to ask the lecturer questions.
15) You plan to stop reading halfway through this list to go study.
16) And never plan to come back and finish this list after you finish studying
17) Because you will never stop studying
18) You sleep with your lab coat on to save time changing into it for your hospital session the next morning.
19) You sleep for only 2 hours a day.
20) You sleep at the hospital.
21) When your car breaks down, instead of popping up the hood and staring at it aimlessly like most normal people, you write down a list of differentials on what may have caused the malfunction, examine the car to the best of your ability and present your findings in a condensed, precise 5 minute presentation complete with the investigations you deem appropriate and a brief discussion on management to the arriving mechanic.
22) You actually understand half the jokes on this list.
23) Your understanding of current affairs include the impending war on Iraq, the recent general elections where Barisan Nasional wrested the control of Terrenganu, the tsunami which devastated South East Asia and the sizzling new celebrity romance involving Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston.
24) You wonder how Wolverine’s body doesn’t develop an inflammatory process against his adamantium skeleton, which is obviously a foreign body.
25) While reading through this list, you cannot help but write down T for true or F for false in pencil beside each sentence. Subsequently,at the end of this list, you are disappointed that there are no answers for which you can compare with, and therefore unable to determine your marks.
Monday, April 28, 2008
A Period of War
Since the time before history,there has been a war waged upon our Earth,ravaging the very foundations of human life.Stricken with battle after battle,the people of today have long wondered why this war still goes on and important still,when will it end,if ever?This war is fought in a myriad of ways,the air of battle permeating every nook and cranny of life,from the mundane to the extravagant.Each and every individual has been doomed to from birth to death.This is the battle that you and I fight every single day : -
The battle of the sexes
That’s right.The battle between dudes and dudettes.Guys take on the gals.The studs against the chicks.Ladies challenging the gentlemen.Adam vs Eve and everything in between.This war started a long long time ago,and will not end until the ladies realize that IT IS TIME TO CHILL OUT AND GIVE US A BREAK MAN!!
Okay that may not have been the most mature approach,but you have to forgive the lamentations of a battle-hardened vet.Them females are hardy soldiers,you can bet your machismo on that.The thing is,God may have made us equal,yada yada yada and all that jazz,but till today,we have failed to really neutralize their strongest advantage known to mankind yet.
I am not talking about the self imposed chivalry we dudes have to deal with.That’s cos deep deep down inside,we all kinda like doing it.Like offering lifts to the ladies at night,helping them with their bags,opening doors for them,doing cute little favours like sharpening pencils,bringing tiny bits of food for their snacking pleasure,favours that if performed for other male friends will result in abandonment due to irreconcilable differences,with differences meaning that you are gay and your dude friends aren’t.So chivalry is kinda OKAY,like how an SPM student not getting all A1s is kinda OKAY,or how not having a date to the prom is kinda OKAY, or how French kissing in public is kinda OKAY.No no,their advantage is much more precise,merciless and cunning.
Their periods.Yes,I said it.That time of the month where the scales tip in favour of those without the Y chromosome.It is God given and it strikes down hard,fast and mercilessly ( on the men,I mean).Yes,I know by now the Bio students will be screaming the obvious : It affects women,not men.But that will probably be drowned out by all the men screaming : THIS DUDE IS A GENIUS!
Picture this,you are with a group of friends at the nearest mamak.Everyone is having a good time,especially the mamak operator.Suddenly,a friendly argument ensues,one which you are heatedly involved in,with topics ranging from the mundane“The Backstreet Boys are Gay” to the highly intellectual “It is okay to date your best friend’s ex” to the absurd “Women need to shop for more than 8000 hours for a pair of jeans”.I mean,what the hell?WOMEN DO NOT NEED TO SHOP IN A MALL LONGER THAN IT TOOK TO BUILD THE DAMN THING!
Whoa,unintentional sidetrack there.Anyway,so the group is having a fine time,with witty banter flowing back and forth.Suddenly,a girl says Something Really Really Offensive like “ ....you are only saying they are gay cos they have millions and are much better looking than you”.Then you begin to sulk and feel Very Very Hurt by this remark,and begin to rationalize that the retort was not a fair one and uncalled for.Using logic and charm,you painstakingly Build Your Arguments,and slowly,one by one,your other companions begin to See Your Point.Then,just as you thought you won the argument, she makes the Most Effective Comeback, “ I’m sorry,it’s just that I’m having/I had/ I will have my period.”.
All your arguments and logic come crumbling down like Arroyo’s approval ratings.No matter how suave you were up till that point,through No Fault On Your Part,you have been successfully demoted to the social attractiveness of a toilet bowl.You have become a Very Very Insensitive Jerk.How could you argue at such length and depth with a girl who is CLEARLY in pain and discomfort?Didn’t your parents teach you never to make a period-ing girl defend her opinions and statements?And OF COURSE you are only saying that because you are Poorer and Uglier than the Backstreet Boys,so why are you so prissy that you have to argue with that poor girl?
So that’s my opinion about the whole period thing.It sucks,but hey,we are chivalrous little dudes,so we clench our fists,grit our teeth,square our shoulders and go off bitching about it to our other dudes and write about them in our blogs.Of course,some of us may feel that its unfair we guys don’t have like a rock solid excuse to be moody,prissy or winning arguments with.We only have but a mere shadow of the power the period exudes,and that’s during the English Premiership League,when matches involving any permutation of Arsenal,Liverpool,Manchester United and Chelsea take place.So the ultimatum-slash-conclusion is,until we can find a cure for that damn thing,the war will go on in a lopsided kinda way every once a month,period.
But that's kinda OKAY for me.
The battle of the sexes
That’s right.The battle between dudes and dudettes.Guys take on the gals.The studs against the chicks.Ladies challenging the gentlemen.Adam vs Eve and everything in between.This war started a long long time ago,and will not end until the ladies realize that IT IS TIME TO CHILL OUT AND GIVE US A BREAK MAN!!
Okay that may not have been the most mature approach,but you have to forgive the lamentations of a battle-hardened vet.Them females are hardy soldiers,you can bet your machismo on that.The thing is,God may have made us equal,yada yada yada and all that jazz,but till today,we have failed to really neutralize their strongest advantage known to mankind yet.
I am not talking about the self imposed chivalry we dudes have to deal with.That’s cos deep deep down inside,we all kinda like doing it.Like offering lifts to the ladies at night,helping them with their bags,opening doors for them,doing cute little favours like sharpening pencils,bringing tiny bits of food for their snacking pleasure,favours that if performed for other male friends will result in abandonment due to irreconcilable differences,with differences meaning that you are gay and your dude friends aren’t.So chivalry is kinda OKAY,like how an SPM student not getting all A1s is kinda OKAY,or how not having a date to the prom is kinda OKAY, or how French kissing in public is kinda OKAY.No no,their advantage is much more precise,merciless and cunning.
Their periods.Yes,I said it.That time of the month where the scales tip in favour of those without the Y chromosome.It is God given and it strikes down hard,fast and mercilessly ( on the men,I mean).Yes,I know by now the Bio students will be screaming the obvious : It affects women,not men.But that will probably be drowned out by all the men screaming : THIS DUDE IS A GENIUS!
Picture this,you are with a group of friends at the nearest mamak.Everyone is having a good time,especially the mamak operator.Suddenly,a friendly argument ensues,one which you are heatedly involved in,with topics ranging from the mundane“The Backstreet Boys are Gay” to the highly intellectual “It is okay to date your best friend’s ex” to the absurd “Women need to shop for more than 8000 hours for a pair of jeans”.I mean,what the hell?WOMEN DO NOT NEED TO SHOP IN A MALL LONGER THAN IT TOOK TO BUILD THE DAMN THING!
Whoa,unintentional sidetrack there.Anyway,so the group is having a fine time,with witty banter flowing back and forth.Suddenly,a girl says Something Really Really Offensive like “ ....you are only saying they are gay cos they have millions and are much better looking than you”.Then you begin to sulk and feel Very Very Hurt by this remark,and begin to rationalize that the retort was not a fair one and uncalled for.Using logic and charm,you painstakingly Build Your Arguments,and slowly,one by one,your other companions begin to See Your Point.Then,just as you thought you won the argument, she makes the Most Effective Comeback, “ I’m sorry,it’s just that I’m having/I had/ I will have my period.”.
All your arguments and logic come crumbling down like Arroyo’s approval ratings.No matter how suave you were up till that point,through No Fault On Your Part,you have been successfully demoted to the social attractiveness of a toilet bowl.You have become a Very Very Insensitive Jerk.How could you argue at such length and depth with a girl who is CLEARLY in pain and discomfort?Didn’t your parents teach you never to make a period-ing girl defend her opinions and statements?And OF COURSE you are only saying that because you are Poorer and Uglier than the Backstreet Boys,so why are you so prissy that you have to argue with that poor girl?
So that’s my opinion about the whole period thing.It sucks,but hey,we are chivalrous little dudes,so we clench our fists,grit our teeth,square our shoulders and go off bitching about it to our other dudes and write about them in our blogs.Of course,some of us may feel that its unfair we guys don’t have like a rock solid excuse to be moody,prissy or winning arguments with.We only have but a mere shadow of the power the period exudes,and that’s during the English Premiership League,when matches involving any permutation of Arsenal,Liverpool,Manchester United and Chelsea take place.So the ultimatum-slash-conclusion is,until we can find a cure for that damn thing,the war will go on in a lopsided kinda way every once a month,period.
But that's kinda OKAY for me.
Let's talk about online profiles
Let’s talk about MSN Messenger for a bit. Everyone these days have MSN Messenger. It is one those wonderful new modern inventions which has given us, via the Internet, a whole new way of ignoring each other.
How MSN works really baffles me. You get on your computer, start it up, wait for it to finish loading Windows, double click on that MSN icon, then type in your password, wait for it to successfully connect, and once that happens, completely ignore or forget the fact that you are on MSN Messenger. Surf the Web? Sure, no problem. Check your email? Go for it. But do not, whatever you do, respond to any messages popping up on MSN Messenger.
What is the logic behind that? Do we go to parties, all dressed to the nines, with drink in hand, just wandering around the guests, and when people try to talk to you, you just say, “Oh please don’t talk to me, I am away.”
Why are we always AWAY on MSN?
What’s the point of even showing up online in MSN?
I know what some of you will say, “Oh I just leave myself online in case someone has to leave me a message.”
Okay now, whippersnapper, there are two flaws to that theory.
1) How important can the message be, when that person leaves you that message while you’re AWAY? For all that person knows, you ain’t even in the same room. How irresponsible is that?
If you know someone is not at home, will you still knock on his door to tell him that his girlfriend is cheating on him?
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“Hey uh, JIM? I know you’re not at home right now. I just uh.. wanna let you know that I’m having sex with your girlfriend.”
To me, a message left on MSN tells you a couple of things about the person passing on the message. He is not interested in: -
a) Your part of the conversation,
b) Looking at you or,
c) Hearing your voice.
Suddenly, that person has forgotten that he has a handphone. It is not acceptable for someone to pass along an important message via MSN while the recipient is AWAY, which will probably be read too late, unless of course the person giving the message is stranded in a desert, marooned on an island or trapped in the boot of a car, in which case he won’t have Internet access either, thus making it a moot point.
And, seeing as you are AWAY, how will you know an important message has come in? What are the ramifications of you not getting that message?
“Hey dude, you going to Allison’s All-Bikini party later?”
“What? I didn’t know about that! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did, I left you a message on MSN”
“Yeah, but I was AWAY wasn’t I?”
“But you were, technically online, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, but still, AWAY!”
“So you weren’t online?”
“No I was, but…”
“So you’re saying to me you were stuck in limbo between being online and not?”
“No, what I’m saying is, that while I was online, I was in a situation where it would have been just the same as not being online.”
“Then why were you online?”
“Look I don’t know how to answer th-”
“Alright, I gotta go now! My camera’s memory card is in for a longggg night.”
“You’re going without me?”
“It’s an ALL – BIKINI party! Don’t worry, I will let you know all about it later alright?”
“Yeah. Just leave me a message on MSN.”
Thus, we come to the conclusion that you can’t justifiably get pissed at not getting messages left on MSN for you while you are AWAY. It won’t hold up in court, your friend will just laugh in your face, and you will look like an idiot.
Now we come to the second flaw to the theory which of course, is --
2) Who will be sending you messages on MSN when we know that everyone else is AWAY, waiting for people to send them messages?
That’s all for today.
How MSN works really baffles me. You get on your computer, start it up, wait for it to finish loading Windows, double click on that MSN icon, then type in your password, wait for it to successfully connect, and once that happens, completely ignore or forget the fact that you are on MSN Messenger. Surf the Web? Sure, no problem. Check your email? Go for it. But do not, whatever you do, respond to any messages popping up on MSN Messenger.
What is the logic behind that? Do we go to parties, all dressed to the nines, with drink in hand, just wandering around the guests, and when people try to talk to you, you just say, “Oh please don’t talk to me, I am away.”
Why are we always AWAY on MSN?
What’s the point of even showing up online in MSN?
I know what some of you will say, “Oh I just leave myself online in case someone has to leave me a message.”
Okay now, whippersnapper, there are two flaws to that theory.
1) How important can the message be, when that person leaves you that message while you’re AWAY? For all that person knows, you ain’t even in the same room. How irresponsible is that?
If you know someone is not at home, will you still knock on his door to tell him that his girlfriend is cheating on him?
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“Hey uh, JIM? I know you’re not at home right now. I just uh.. wanna let you know that I’m having sex with your girlfriend.”
To me, a message left on MSN tells you a couple of things about the person passing on the message. He is not interested in: -
a) Your part of the conversation,
b) Looking at you or,
c) Hearing your voice.
Suddenly, that person has forgotten that he has a handphone. It is not acceptable for someone to pass along an important message via MSN while the recipient is AWAY, which will probably be read too late, unless of course the person giving the message is stranded in a desert, marooned on an island or trapped in the boot of a car, in which case he won’t have Internet access either, thus making it a moot point.
And, seeing as you are AWAY, how will you know an important message has come in? What are the ramifications of you not getting that message?
“Hey dude, you going to Allison’s All-Bikini party later?”
“What? I didn’t know about that! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did, I left you a message on MSN”
“Yeah, but I was AWAY wasn’t I?”
“But you were, technically online, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, but still, AWAY!”
“So you weren’t online?”
“No I was, but…”
“So you’re saying to me you were stuck in limbo between being online and not?”
“No, what I’m saying is, that while I was online, I was in a situation where it would have been just the same as not being online.”
“Then why were you online?”
“Look I don’t know how to answer th-”
“Alright, I gotta go now! My camera’s memory card is in for a longggg night.”
“You’re going without me?”
“It’s an ALL – BIKINI party! Don’t worry, I will let you know all about it later alright?”
“Yeah. Just leave me a message on MSN.”
Thus, we come to the conclusion that you can’t justifiably get pissed at not getting messages left on MSN for you while you are AWAY. It won’t hold up in court, your friend will just laugh in your face, and you will look like an idiot.
Now we come to the second flaw to the theory which of course, is --
2) Who will be sending you messages on MSN when we know that everyone else is AWAY, waiting for people to send them messages?
That’s all for today.
Monday, April 14, 2008
My Warped World
You stand alone, horrified at the scene of depravity that plays out before your eyes. Every breath you take you smells the scent of fear and sadness that permeates the air. You close your eyes but yet cannot block out the cries of those who weep and gnash their teeth. With fumbling steps, you try to make your way out of that wretched abyss, but alas, it’s too late, for a monster has locked you in its gaze, and now makes its way towards you, ready to ask you about differential diagnoses and critique your history-taking techniques.
Welcome to the hospital wards.
We are finally exposed to clinical medicine, the nitty-gritty, down and dirty stuff. An integral part of our real-life education are ward teaching sessions, which have opened up my eyes to the realistic setting of medicine, widened my horizons, lowered my self-esteem to the point of self-loathing and humbled me to such a degree that I don’t feel qualified to look down on beggars, criminals and Arts students anymore. This is all thanks to some of the wonderful teaching staff that through the years of torturing prisoners of war, have honed the unique Art Of Goreng.
The AOG is the ability to make anyone of average intelligence to feel as if they were denied half a brain during their embryological development and subsequently attempt suicide, which inevitably fails because all sense of awareness would have been lost after mutiple goreng sessions and students tend to fail at slashing the right part of the wrist or choosing the right type of song, like Avril Lavigne’s Girlfriend. An error punishable by goreng would be if a student was unable to, for example, distinguish an enlarged parotid gland from a scrotal swelling.
A particular specialist of the AOG is a lecturer who shall be named in this article as Mr. X, a tall, dark and fearsome looking man. His cold, lifeless eyes penetrate the thickest of walls and egos, his pupils reflecting the fiery glow from the flames that he has for a moustache. Where he walks, those brave enough to remain are reduced to whispers of terror, while those smart enough to run away, never to return.
My very first teaching session was with Mr. X on a gloomy Monday morning, a day when the sun refused to shine. Mr. X likes to start his day early and as a result we were there at 7. 30am, a time that I never knew existed. Somehow, we ended up on the subject of right iliac fossa pain.
“So, what’s the differential diagnoses for right iliac fossa?” asked Mr. X, as he slowly stroked his tie, the source of all his powers. The fear and the heat from his Fiery Moustache made us sweat.
Immediately remembering my hastily read paragraph in Talley and O’Connor, I blurted out, “Appendicitis!”
“Okay, and what are the causes of appendicitis?” asked Mr. X again, this time letting his tie hang loose, a sign that he is relaxed.
This was entering dangerous territory. I tried to stall for time. “Inflammation!” I cried.
“I KNOW it’s inflammation, don’t try and stall for time!” roared Mr. X, as he looked around my group members, stroking his tie with renewed vigour. My group members, showing deep loyalty as medical students, laughed at me. My good friend Chris, who is eternally superior in brainpower, shook his head sadly at me.
I began to panic. It can read my mind!” Uh… uh… is it due to a faecolith trapped in the appendix?” That was it, the tank was by now truly empty. I looked to my other groupmates in desperation. Chris knotted his eyebrows, estimating how much better he would fare if he were asked that question.
Mr. X looked at me as one would look at a dog with rabies, and stopped stroking his tie. He smelt blood. “Okay, but what is the MOST COMMON CAUSE OF APPENDICITIS?” The room shook.
Blank.
“C’MON NOW, DON”T…WASTE… MY…TIME!” he roared with the intensity of a ship’s foghorn. In the adjacent ward, seven people died. Half my group members defecated on the spot.
I looked at Chris. He did not return my gaze. He looked very sad and disappointed, like he was at a funeral.
“My goodness, your basic pathology is atrocious! Fine, let’s forget about the appendix. What are the other differentials for pain in the right iliac fossa?” By now he was tugging at his tie, which is probably the reason his face became purple-red.
Still blank.
“So right iliac fossa pain is ONLY indicative of appendicitis, is it? The one and only organ in the right iliac fossa is the appendix and nothing else, is it? No nearby intestines, stomach, fallopian tubes, nothing of that sort, yes?
At this stage, I myself began to develop acute appendicitis. For some strange reason, Chris began stroking his tie.
“You’re as useless as a psychiatrist. Okay, you!” Mr. X pointed to Chris, “Prove to me that you are all not idiots!”
Chris smiled in delight as if he was appointed the new owner of the Playboy Mansion, and began a long monologue lasting for almost 10 minutes on the wonderful pathology of appendicitis, the aetiology, clinical features, investigations and management and then continued with a comprehensive list of the causes of right iliac fossa pain. When he finished, the people who died in the adjacent ward came back to life, awed by the brilliance of his delivery and the whole room erupted into a standing ovation, with the exception of Mr. X, who remained seated and looked down at his tie and said, “Okay, fine.”
After a goreng session, students feel thoroughly drained, like being raped, but on an intellectual level You feel scarred, alone, worthless and contaminated. But yet, we must persevere and stand firm against the tyranny of humiliation and degradation! We must draw the line here, and no further! I call upon all my fellow students to unite for our dignity and pride!
Everyone that is, except Chris.
Welcome to the hospital wards.
We are finally exposed to clinical medicine, the nitty-gritty, down and dirty stuff. An integral part of our real-life education are ward teaching sessions, which have opened up my eyes to the realistic setting of medicine, widened my horizons, lowered my self-esteem to the point of self-loathing and humbled me to such a degree that I don’t feel qualified to look down on beggars, criminals and Arts students anymore. This is all thanks to some of the wonderful teaching staff that through the years of torturing prisoners of war, have honed the unique Art Of Goreng.
The AOG is the ability to make anyone of average intelligence to feel as if they were denied half a brain during their embryological development and subsequently attempt suicide, which inevitably fails because all sense of awareness would have been lost after mutiple goreng sessions and students tend to fail at slashing the right part of the wrist or choosing the right type of song, like Avril Lavigne’s Girlfriend. An error punishable by goreng would be if a student was unable to, for example, distinguish an enlarged parotid gland from a scrotal swelling.
A particular specialist of the AOG is a lecturer who shall be named in this article as Mr. X, a tall, dark and fearsome looking man. His cold, lifeless eyes penetrate the thickest of walls and egos, his pupils reflecting the fiery glow from the flames that he has for a moustache. Where he walks, those brave enough to remain are reduced to whispers of terror, while those smart enough to run away, never to return.
My very first teaching session was with Mr. X on a gloomy Monday morning, a day when the sun refused to shine. Mr. X likes to start his day early and as a result we were there at 7. 30am, a time that I never knew existed. Somehow, we ended up on the subject of right iliac fossa pain.
“So, what’s the differential diagnoses for right iliac fossa?” asked Mr. X, as he slowly stroked his tie, the source of all his powers. The fear and the heat from his Fiery Moustache made us sweat.
Immediately remembering my hastily read paragraph in Talley and O’Connor, I blurted out, “Appendicitis!”
“Okay, and what are the causes of appendicitis?” asked Mr. X again, this time letting his tie hang loose, a sign that he is relaxed.
This was entering dangerous territory. I tried to stall for time. “Inflammation!” I cried.
“I KNOW it’s inflammation, don’t try and stall for time!” roared Mr. X, as he looked around my group members, stroking his tie with renewed vigour. My group members, showing deep loyalty as medical students, laughed at me. My good friend Chris, who is eternally superior in brainpower, shook his head sadly at me.
I began to panic. It can read my mind!” Uh… uh… is it due to a faecolith trapped in the appendix?” That was it, the tank was by now truly empty. I looked to my other groupmates in desperation. Chris knotted his eyebrows, estimating how much better he would fare if he were asked that question.
Mr. X looked at me as one would look at a dog with rabies, and stopped stroking his tie. He smelt blood. “Okay, but what is the MOST COMMON CAUSE OF APPENDICITIS?” The room shook.
Blank.
“C’MON NOW, DON”T…WASTE… MY…TIME!” he roared with the intensity of a ship’s foghorn. In the adjacent ward, seven people died. Half my group members defecated on the spot.
I looked at Chris. He did not return my gaze. He looked very sad and disappointed, like he was at a funeral.
“My goodness, your basic pathology is atrocious! Fine, let’s forget about the appendix. What are the other differentials for pain in the right iliac fossa?” By now he was tugging at his tie, which is probably the reason his face became purple-red.
Still blank.
“So right iliac fossa pain is ONLY indicative of appendicitis, is it? The one and only organ in the right iliac fossa is the appendix and nothing else, is it? No nearby intestines, stomach, fallopian tubes, nothing of that sort, yes?
At this stage, I myself began to develop acute appendicitis. For some strange reason, Chris began stroking his tie.
“You’re as useless as a psychiatrist. Okay, you!” Mr. X pointed to Chris, “Prove to me that you are all not idiots!”
Chris smiled in delight as if he was appointed the new owner of the Playboy Mansion, and began a long monologue lasting for almost 10 minutes on the wonderful pathology of appendicitis, the aetiology, clinical features, investigations and management and then continued with a comprehensive list of the causes of right iliac fossa pain. When he finished, the people who died in the adjacent ward came back to life, awed by the brilliance of his delivery and the whole room erupted into a standing ovation, with the exception of Mr. X, who remained seated and looked down at his tie and said, “Okay, fine.”
After a goreng session, students feel thoroughly drained, like being raped, but on an intellectual level You feel scarred, alone, worthless and contaminated. But yet, we must persevere and stand firm against the tyranny of humiliation and degradation! We must draw the line here, and no further! I call upon all my fellow students to unite for our dignity and pride!
Everyone that is, except Chris.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
My Inspirations
Many people have asked me, “Jason, what are your influences in writing?” Of course, that is a lie. NO ONE has ever asked me that. I am not famous enough yet. But still, let us assume that I have commanded enough fame and fortune for the curious fan or two to ask me, “Jason, what are your influences in writing?”
Well, firstly I have to say that when I write something, it’s usually with a sense of humour. I am relatively new at writing funny stuff, and I think I have yet to find my comedic voice, as that takes time and practice, but a lot of it is based on humourous writers, stand-up comedians and sitcoms.
One of my all time favourites is Dave Barry. I have read almost all his columns online and read two of his books. He is a tremendously funny guy. His observational skill is top notch and he has won a few Pulitzer Prizes for journalism. He makes fun of everything, from toilet bowls to politicians. I would love to show you how funny he is by analyzing his work, but its best if you just go to his website.
Stand-up comedians are another source of inspiration. They made me realize that the funniest jokes come from the best truths, and vice versa. Good comedians are the ones that make you go, “Hey yeah, how come I never saw it that way?” the moment they deliver the punch line. Again, it’s all about observation, how they critique the trivialities of human life, how they satirize our nuances, how they try to rationalize the inexplicable. My favourites? In no particular order: Ricky Gervais, Russell Peters, Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Rock, Dara O’Brian and many more.
My goal is to one day reach the pinnacles of my idols’ success. Or get rich trying. Every dream has to start somewhere right? I mean, to make people laugh and get paid for it, I think that’s my ultimate dream. Don’t get me wrong, I am proud to be a Medical Student. I have worked hard to be a good medical student. But I sometimes wonder, if I had put in all the effort and time and resources into pursuing a career in comedy, where would I be now?
Well, firstly I have to say that when I write something, it’s usually with a sense of humour. I am relatively new at writing funny stuff, and I think I have yet to find my comedic voice, as that takes time and practice, but a lot of it is based on humourous writers, stand-up comedians and sitcoms.
One of my all time favourites is Dave Barry. I have read almost all his columns online and read two of his books. He is a tremendously funny guy. His observational skill is top notch and he has won a few Pulitzer Prizes for journalism. He makes fun of everything, from toilet bowls to politicians. I would love to show you how funny he is by analyzing his work, but its best if you just go to his website.
Stand-up comedians are another source of inspiration. They made me realize that the funniest jokes come from the best truths, and vice versa. Good comedians are the ones that make you go, “Hey yeah, how come I never saw it that way?” the moment they deliver the punch line. Again, it’s all about observation, how they critique the trivialities of human life, how they satirize our nuances, how they try to rationalize the inexplicable. My favourites? In no particular order: Ricky Gervais, Russell Peters, Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Rock, Dara O’Brian and many more.
My goal is to one day reach the pinnacles of my idols’ success. Or get rich trying. Every dream has to start somewhere right? I mean, to make people laugh and get paid for it, I think that’s my ultimate dream. Don’t get me wrong, I am proud to be a Medical Student. I have worked hard to be a good medical student. But I sometimes wonder, if I had put in all the effort and time and resources into pursuing a career in comedy, where would I be now?
OhmiGod!
My gosh, I’ve published a book! I am an author! Wow. What a rush the last 12 months has been. A lot of people have asked me, how did you get a publisher to publish your book? Well, that is an amazing story. You see, when I finished my manuscript in June 2007, my first task was complete. But now came the hardest challenge. Who would agree to take my manuscript, edit it, made sure it looked pretty, get a graphic designer to professionally do the front and back cover, print a few thousand copies of it, and distribute it all over Malaysia, and at the end of the day, pay me some money for it?
So I emailed my manuscript to almost every publisher imaginable in the Malaysia and Singapore region. I even over-ambitiously emailed it to Ireland and UK, thinking that since my book is about Ireland, it would be relevant there. After many weeks of waiting, only ONE publisher replied, and yes, it was Marshall Cavendish (Malaysia).
First, it was the head of the Malaysian branch, Christine Chong, who replied me, saying that the manuscript will be sent for ‘evaluation’. I felt so happy! At least she didn’t reject me!
Then after a few more weeks of fervent hoping and nail-biting, she sent another email, saying that the evaluation looked positive, but they needed more time to review it. This time, I felt rather confused. Oh no, I thought. Were they in doubt as to whether what I wrote was publishable? Christine gave me a one month. “Bug me in one month’s time,” she said. She sounded so professional. So casual. I, on the other hand, was screaming at the laptop, who undoubtedly must have been confused, since it did nothing to warrant me yelling, “PLEASE PUBLISH MY WORK! PLEASE! I WILL DO ANYTHING! I WILL SACRIFICE GOATS TO SATAN IF YOU WANT ME TO!”
Thankfully, Christine was not that sort of person, and neither was Marshall Cavendish that sort of organization. One day, she emailed me again, and this time, she said, “Sorry for the delay, but I hope it was worthwhile. Yes, we will publish your work. We will need you to confirm your address and IC number for payment and we will be sending you the contracts for you to sign shortly.” After reading the email for 100 times, this time with me leaning forward, my nose almost touching the screen with such a teary-eyed expression that my laptop really feared for the keyboard’s life.
I immediately called up my girlfriend, Komella. She is my best friend, so she deserved to know it first. “I AM GETTING PUBLISHED!” I yelled through my handphone. My electronic gadget deserves a better owner. “Yay, I am so happy for you!” Komella replied. I could hear the joy and elation in her voice. “Okay I have to go study now,” she said immediately, her span for joy and elation now ended. After I hung up, I RAN to my housemate Mike’s room, without even knocking on his door (like always).
He was lying in bed reading FHM. I just looked at him dead in his eyes. He looked back at me. “They are publishing my work, bro!” I said. He immediately dropped the FHM, pulled up his pants, cleaned his right hand with some tissue paper and shook my hand. “Congrats, bro!”
And that’s how it happened. Thank you, Christine Chong for not deleting my email! Thank you Manjula Aryaduray for reviewing and evaluating my manuscript! Thank you, Leowania Leow, for not only possessing a rather funky first-name second-name combo, but for soldiering on with the book! Lee Jin Jin, my super, super designer who drew all the cartoons for every chapter and the AWESOME cover!
And last but not least, thank you all of you who have supported me and bought my book!
I have many other plans for future books, but let’s just savour this one for now. Many years from now, if I do make it big in the publishing world, I will never forget the loyal few of you.
I love you guys and gals.
Keep in touch via this blog!
So I emailed my manuscript to almost every publisher imaginable in the Malaysia and Singapore region. I even over-ambitiously emailed it to Ireland and UK, thinking that since my book is about Ireland, it would be relevant there. After many weeks of waiting, only ONE publisher replied, and yes, it was Marshall Cavendish (Malaysia).
First, it was the head of the Malaysian branch, Christine Chong, who replied me, saying that the manuscript will be sent for ‘evaluation’. I felt so happy! At least she didn’t reject me!
Then after a few more weeks of fervent hoping and nail-biting, she sent another email, saying that the evaluation looked positive, but they needed more time to review it. This time, I felt rather confused. Oh no, I thought. Were they in doubt as to whether what I wrote was publishable? Christine gave me a one month. “Bug me in one month’s time,” she said. She sounded so professional. So casual. I, on the other hand, was screaming at the laptop, who undoubtedly must have been confused, since it did nothing to warrant me yelling, “PLEASE PUBLISH MY WORK! PLEASE! I WILL DO ANYTHING! I WILL SACRIFICE GOATS TO SATAN IF YOU WANT ME TO!”
Thankfully, Christine was not that sort of person, and neither was Marshall Cavendish that sort of organization. One day, she emailed me again, and this time, she said, “Sorry for the delay, but I hope it was worthwhile. Yes, we will publish your work. We will need you to confirm your address and IC number for payment and we will be sending you the contracts for you to sign shortly.” After reading the email for 100 times, this time with me leaning forward, my nose almost touching the screen with such a teary-eyed expression that my laptop really feared for the keyboard’s life.
I immediately called up my girlfriend, Komella. She is my best friend, so she deserved to know it first. “I AM GETTING PUBLISHED!” I yelled through my handphone. My electronic gadget deserves a better owner. “Yay, I am so happy for you!” Komella replied. I could hear the joy and elation in her voice. “Okay I have to go study now,” she said immediately, her span for joy and elation now ended. After I hung up, I RAN to my housemate Mike’s room, without even knocking on his door (like always).
He was lying in bed reading FHM. I just looked at him dead in his eyes. He looked back at me. “They are publishing my work, bro!” I said. He immediately dropped the FHM, pulled up his pants, cleaned his right hand with some tissue paper and shook my hand. “Congrats, bro!”
And that’s how it happened. Thank you, Christine Chong for not deleting my email! Thank you Manjula Aryaduray for reviewing and evaluating my manuscript! Thank you, Leowania Leow, for not only possessing a rather funky first-name second-name combo, but for soldiering on with the book! Lee Jin Jin, my super, super designer who drew all the cartoons for every chapter and the AWESOME cover!
And last but not least, thank you all of you who have supported me and bought my book!
I have many other plans for future books, but let’s just savour this one for now. Many years from now, if I do make it big in the publishing world, I will never forget the loyal few of you.
I love you guys and gals.
Keep in touch via this blog!
Holla, my friends!
This is getting easier. When Leowania, my editor, gave me the idea of starting a blog, I was at a loss on what to write about. Now that I have gotten the intro and talked about my inspiration, it’s getting easier to get the thoughts and memories flowing.
I suppose you can say that I have had a love affair with the English language. It’s so beautiful and powerful, the English language. With the right words set in the right tone, you can do wonders with it. You can evoke passion, tell stories ranging from epics to sagas, express love, tackle girls, provoke a fight, and incite a riot, ad infinitum
It all began for me at an early age when my mother would borrow books from some sort of rent-a-library place near her workplace. It was a lovely assortment of Enid Blyton's, and soon, I had read all the Famous Fives, knew all the secrets of Secret Seven, found out all about The Find-Outers and all about Mr. Meddle, Brer Rabbit and countless other characters.
Then as I grew older, I started reading The Bookworm Gang, truly an awesome series from Singapore. The stories were simple, intriguing and had many settings and lessons that were relevant to young children. After that came the Hardy Boys, written by Franklin W. Dixon. I read almost the entire series, and it took my understanding of English to a whole new level, because really, it was a linguistic leap from The Bookworm Gang. It had grittier plots, with more intense action and drama. Still, it paled in comparison to most of the adult novels today.
Nowadays, I do regret that I don’t read as much as I like to. Medical student life is tough. Yet, I have found time to read a few John Grisham’s, one or two Jeffrey Archer’s. But two other women have dominated my life. Agatha Christie, the Queen of Crime is one. She writes murder mysteries, classic whodunits that have clearly set her apart from her peers in the genre. She has innovated most of the plot devices we all read and know of today in books, television and cinema. Pick up one of her books, and you will be hooked.
I recommend The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Murder on the Orient Express and The ABC Murders. You will be pulled in by the wonderful character of Hercule Poirot, the elegant Belgian detective. You will not regret it.
Secondly, the other favourite female author is none other than JK Rowling. If you have not read Harry Potter, then it is my deep regret to inform you that there is no cure for early onset Alzheimer’s disease. JK Rowling is the absolute genius and master of the narrative. She has created a world so vivid, so realistic and yet so magical that she is truly one of the greats. It is my opinion she should be TIME magazine’s Person of the Year at least once. The way she describes a scene, a room, an incident is masterful that it really immerses you in the story, makes you feel as if you are right next to the characters. I don’t know about other fans, but through her books, I have like a set memory of Harry Potter’s world, almost like a photographic memory of my imagination. I know exactly how Hogwarts is laid out, what the common room is like, etc etc. And not just from the movies.
So that’s how it all began. And now, with the publication of my first ever book, perhaps I may wish silently that a new chapter would begin. Thank you all for being a part of it.
Keep in touch via this blog!
I suppose you can say that I have had a love affair with the English language. It’s so beautiful and powerful, the English language. With the right words set in the right tone, you can do wonders with it. You can evoke passion, tell stories ranging from epics to sagas, express love, tackle girls, provoke a fight, and incite a riot, ad infinitum
It all began for me at an early age when my mother would borrow books from some sort of rent-a-library place near her workplace. It was a lovely assortment of Enid Blyton's, and soon, I had read all the Famous Fives, knew all the secrets of Secret Seven, found out all about The Find-Outers and all about Mr. Meddle, Brer Rabbit and countless other characters.
Then as I grew older, I started reading The Bookworm Gang, truly an awesome series from Singapore. The stories were simple, intriguing and had many settings and lessons that were relevant to young children. After that came the Hardy Boys, written by Franklin W. Dixon. I read almost the entire series, and it took my understanding of English to a whole new level, because really, it was a linguistic leap from The Bookworm Gang. It had grittier plots, with more intense action and drama. Still, it paled in comparison to most of the adult novels today.
Nowadays, I do regret that I don’t read as much as I like to. Medical student life is tough. Yet, I have found time to read a few John Grisham’s, one or two Jeffrey Archer’s. But two other women have dominated my life. Agatha Christie, the Queen of Crime is one. She writes murder mysteries, classic whodunits that have clearly set her apart from her peers in the genre. She has innovated most of the plot devices we all read and know of today in books, television and cinema. Pick up one of her books, and you will be hooked.
I recommend The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Murder on the Orient Express and The ABC Murders. You will be pulled in by the wonderful character of Hercule Poirot, the elegant Belgian detective. You will not regret it.
Secondly, the other favourite female author is none other than JK Rowling. If you have not read Harry Potter, then it is my deep regret to inform you that there is no cure for early onset Alzheimer’s disease. JK Rowling is the absolute genius and master of the narrative. She has created a world so vivid, so realistic and yet so magical that she is truly one of the greats. It is my opinion she should be TIME magazine’s Person of the Year at least once. The way she describes a scene, a room, an incident is masterful that it really immerses you in the story, makes you feel as if you are right next to the characters. I don’t know about other fans, but through her books, I have like a set memory of Harry Potter’s world, almost like a photographic memory of my imagination. I know exactly how Hogwarts is laid out, what the common room is like, etc etc. And not just from the movies.
So that’s how it all began. And now, with the publication of my first ever book, perhaps I may wish silently that a new chapter would begin. Thank you all for being a part of it.
Keep in touch via this blog!
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