Rose

I had the amazing opportunity to meet a wonderful and dedicated lady today. She is soft yet unshakable, down-to-earth and resilient. To me, she is the epitome of strength.

Earlier today, my family and I had planned to visit by Rose's Old Folk's Home for Women today, just for a while. We thought we'd just stay put in the car while our parents settled what needs to be done. But as always, after my father got out of the car, he stuck his head in and gestured to the building, "Let's show some mark of respect," he said- hinting that we all go in.

And we did.

Upon entering, we saw about 6 beds filled in the living room, each occupied by elderly women. Some glanced at us, some were unable to move and some just smiled. We shook hands with the women, all old enough to be my grandmother and we stood to one side. Taped on the door next to me was a list of all the inhabitants and their cases. There were cases of attempted suicide, their families trying to rob them of their own money, abandoning and even their own husbands harming them.

The saddest story I read was of a lady whose son punched her and hit her with a wooden chair. She asked for money to go to the dentist and he refused. Long story short, instead, he demanded RM700 from her for looking after her and paying her bills.

When you hear such things, it makes you wonder, "How can these people even exist?!" It makes me so angry and so broken-hearted to hear these harsh realities.

We then followed the lady in-charge; Victoria. Her hair tied back, medium height, and carrying a heavy burden on her shoulders, she led us into her small office. Her table was laden with files and boxes of medications. There were shelves on one side, each having a name labelled with tablets, pills and medical aid. She told us the story of how, because of some selfish people, the house would be taken away unless it's settled and bought back. Monthly expenses need to be paid to continue operations. Workers quitting and not enough helping hands to look after the women. She is over-worked but she is still going strong.

And the most amazing part was how, despite all these, she still says she wants to go on because at the end of the day, it brings her satisfaction.

This is first and foremost a reminder to myself, and to others:

Children, please look after your parents when they become old. They have sacrificed and looked after you without asking for anything back.

Parents, please raise your kids right and treat them kindly. So that when you become old, they will do the same to you.

It's a cycle.

After having a depressing day over my own personal problems, listening to these acts of courage immediately lift my spirits high and remind me that: There are problems bigger than yours. Don't let small things bring you down; continuously be involved with the BIG things so that it will keep you going farther.


"Pleasing Allah first and foremost is the most important thing. That way, when humans are displeased with you, it doesn't matter because you already have Allah's pleasure."

The Macbook Battery

So I finally got the RM 300 to replace my nonfunctioning macbook battery. I was so excited! I thought to myself (and being quite proud of myself); I did it! All by myself! I didn't have to ask Ayah for the money and I didn't have to borrow anyone's money!

I accompanied Ayah to Low Yat today to run a few errands. When we dropped by the MacStore, I asked for the battery. The guy at the counter went away for a while and returned after a few minutes with a small box in hand.

"We don't have the white battery for you but we only have the black one left." He continued, "But it's the same price." So I agreed and just went on with it.

As they placed it on the counter, I saw the pricetag: RM 599.

I was stunned. "It's RM 599?" I asked. 

"Yes, this is the original." He answered. And apparently, it did cost RM 600 instead of RM 300.

I looked at my dad and told him softly, "Ayah, I only have RM 300."

He paid the rest and said to me, "Alia, you can pay for it when you're richer than me."

:')

The assumed price of a macbook battery= RM 300.

The real price of a macbook battery= RM 599.

The lesson from buying a macbook battery at that time= Invaluable.

Lessons from Not Eating

Bismillah.

I've met, seen and heard about so many amazing people who seem to have never-ending energy to do everything. I greatly admire these people and I wish to emulate them in every way. In the course of this pursuit, I learnt a very important lesson; which took place yesterday.

It's my mid-sem break and I had planned so many things so that I can accomplish as much as I can. I've been continuously reminded that we have so little time left and there's still so much we have to do. What that principle in mind, I wanted to push myself to the limit and do everything I can. In normal circumstances, I think I could have handled them. But yesterday, Allah wanted to teach me a lesson.

Before that, on Wednesday, after having tightened my braces, of course my teeth were throbbing- consequently causing me to eat, talk and smile less. Each muscle contraction inflicts pain and this continued for a few days. I had no mood to eat because I could hardly munch anything.

On Friday, I had a long list of meetings and sessions that followed with a program which ended the next day followed by another program the next night. Throughout Friday, my head was spinning and I felt like crashing to the ground every few minutes. I don't know why I didn't figure out it was because I didn't eat. I didn't FEEL hungry (maybe I was too hypoglycemic to realize that I was hungry?). It should have been obvious but I figured out that maybe I was in distress because of other things on my mind. By Maghrib, after the meetings, I ended up feeling very irritable and highly stressed.

Still not figuring out my palatal problem, I finally called a friend up and asked her advice on whether I should just go home or still go to the next program. I argued that going home would just mean I do nothing but sleep, and going to the program would feed my soul. She said the one thing which struck me:

"Alia, sleeping is an ibadah too. If you need the rest, don't push yourself to do other things. Whatever you do, whether its sleeping or eating, those are ibadah too."

It took me a few minutes to register that. I thanked her and decided to go home.

And Alhamdulillah, after reaching home, eating dinner, chatting with my brother and my sister-in-law, laughing and finally sleeping; I woke up the next day refreshed and revitalized.

I honestly revere the great people and sometimes wonder how is it that they're able to do it. Maybe they've learnt their lessons too. Maybe they've learnt to manage their time and their energy. InsyaAllah maybe I can do that one day.

This is what I concluded:

1. It's okay to feel tired and take a break. It's part of being a human. We're not invincible and we have limits. Rest when you need to and pick things back up. But never let go of everything all at once.
   
2. From a tafseer class at CUCMS, Ust Hasanuddin said (translated to English and as understood by me) that "Everyone has their own capacity of how much they can do. Maybe to you, what that person did was small but that is according to his capacity and the best that he can do."
   
3. Resting too is an ibadah.

The Price of a Brick: Part 2

(Link: Price of a Brick: Part 1)

He pointed out his finger to one of our teammate’s hand. “That watch.”

We all stood there motionless. Without hesitating, she unfastened her watch slowly and handed it over.

No way... I thought. But it wasn’t over yet.

“Bracelets,” he said. One of the sisters silently took off her bracelet and gave it to him.

“Remember,” he said. “You’re never going to see these again.”

My heart started racing. A sudden realization hit me. I prayed hard he wouldn’t say it- but he did. 

“Necklaces. Everyone who’s wearing them.” And my heart sank. Plummeted into my stomach and I gripped my hands hard.

I had forgotten that I was wearing my necklace. There were about 5-6 of us who were wearing them. A number of us started getting teary. So did I. I can understand why. What mattered the most was the sentimental value that I’m sure each necklace holds. 

I couldn’t give mine away. It meant so much to me and... This is really the cost for a brick? We had to sacrifice all of our valuables to just finish of this checkpoint? Just for a few building blocks and we’ll never see it again? 

Honesty stood strong and I quietly unfastened it. I took one last look and dropped it in the facilitator's outstretched hands.

That gained us two bricks. We continued the obstacle dejectedly and completed the objective. There was an air of disbelief and dissatisfaction.

Before we walked off to the next checkpoint, he concluded the objective of the game: “Remember you have so much. While the orphans have so little. Imagine if you have children, and you passed away. You would be praying endlessly for someone to be kind-hearted enough to provide for them.” I saw the logic and nodded silently.

That night all participants sat in the hall. The facilitator stood up. He started reflecting about the checkpoints and he pointed out the most important checkpoint: Pengorbanan.

It was incredible. Some of the male participants had promised and sacrificed their phones, camera, money (in the hundreds) and watches among other things. Female participants mostly gave valuables, accessories, necklaces, bracelets and wedding rings. We had two female participants stand up and talked about their sacrifice: A necklace which belonged to their mother.

It was an emotional session. A lesson hard to swallow. But I learnt well. We learnt about what it means to sacrifice. That what we have is from Allah and He can take it back whenever He wants to. That this world is a sojourn and all materialistic things will not last. That sacrificing is such a depressing feeling but it’s what one must do for a better outcome. That this is only the start of more sacrifices to come. That the rewards are not in this world, but in the Hereafter.

For me, I couldn’t look that well without my spectacles. But not to the point that I couldn’t see anything infront of me. I was short-sighted but I was not too affected by it. My grievance was for my necklace. I wasn’t too emotionally pressured- but it did have a lot of personal value. But I accepted it because of the lessons that we learnt.

When I think about it clearly now, I mulled over the facilitator’s words. It struck me that I’ve repeatedly heard the story of how Ibrahim was ordered to sacrifice his own son. I had always heard but never deeply reflected on it. Only after having had to sacrifice just a few materials, did I realize just a bit of what it meant to sacrifice.

A lot of us were still affected by it that night. Even until the next morning.

We had a session in the morning at the hall. Before we started our next program, the faciltator made an announcement. 

“I see that people are still affected by the sacrifices that they had to make and are still unable to accept it. I’m satisfied that you all feel that sadness and loss. Listen well: Allah does not want your valuables- He wants your intentions.

Earlier this morning, a female participant came up to me and handed me her wedding ring that she had promised to sacrifice. Even until now, people are still sacrificing what they had promised. Incredible.

So, I have decided: That we will return all that you have sacrificed.”

I could feel the tension lift. Some were still in disbelief and some had weak smiles on. 

Our valuables all were returned back to us. After having had to squint for less than 24 hours and having had to plan on how to deal without glasses for the next few days, I finally received my glasses back. And I got my necklace back.

Whether he planned to return the valuables in the beginning or not, a part of me also believed he wouldn’t- because he had sounded so convincing. But a part of me believed he would. Because where our things returned, they were in envelopes and labelled by group.

The price of that brick costed hundreds of ringgits, streaming tears and our heavy hearts. But it came with an invaluable life lesson I would never forget.

The Price of a Brick

Brick: a small rectangular block typically made of fired or sun-dried clay, used in building.

I just came back from training camp. It was overall okay- not too tiring but not too relaxing either. I’ve one incredible story I’d like to share.

On the second day of camp, we had to go through 5 checkpoints. Each checkpoint had an objective we had to complete. They had their own instructions, obstacles and solutions. Some needed a lot of thinking, some a lot of physical power and one of them- a strong heart.

At around 3pm, after our lunch and prayers, we trudged towards our second checkpoint. It was called “Ambassador”. 

He introduced the topic to us: Being an ambassador means being a representative, a model, the person who will be in the front line. But to reach this point meant one thing- it means we have to sacrifice.

Before we began, our facilitator gave instructions on what we had to do, the rules and the objective of the ‘game’. We had to walk through a pathway of planks and hoops, with its conditions, while holding hands. After discussing, we started on the pathway and easily overcame the first obstacle. On the second obstacle however, we reached a hoop where we had to jump from the plank we were on towards it without stepping on the grass anywhere else. The feat was (purposely) impossible to do. After a number of failed attempts, the facilitator intervened.

Said the facilitator, “You’ve been unable to pass this obstacle. Try to think and use the things from your surroundings.”

We saw some bricks lying around.

“May we use the bricks?” I asked.

“No.” He continued, “Those bricks belong to me.”

“What if we borrowed them?”

“You can’t borrow them.” He answered.

“What if we paid for them?” piped a teammate.

“How much money do you have?” I don’t think any of us brought any money along. 

“What if we exchanged something for the brick?” someone suggested.

“What are you willing to give?”

We all were speechless.

“At the start, I’ve already explained to you. This checkpoint is about ‘pengorbanan’ (sacrifice). You have it in you. But you just don’t know yet what you want to sacrifice. Ibrahim (a.s.) was ordered by Allah to sacrifice his own son.”

We all stayed silent, still unsure of where he was heading with this.

“Can we sacrifice ourselves? Like we sit there and the people step over us.” But how could we? All our hands were joined and it was impossible.

After a few minutes of silence, the facilitator spoke: “I am involved with an orphanage,” he started. 

“Whatever you give, in exchange for a brick, I will use it to give it to the orphanage. Whatever you give to me, it will be the last time you see it. You won’t be getting it back.” It was a very serious order and we took note of it. Little did we realize at that time how heavy it would mean.

At first one would think “Would he really use it for an orphanage? Will he give it, whatever we had to sacrifice, back to us?” My rationale was this: I’ve met this trainer before and I trusted him. He is a well-known trainer and facilitator. And although there was a small part in my heart that felt that he’d return it, I told myself probably we’d never see our ‘sacrifices’ again.

A teammate voiced out: “I have a pen.”

“What kind of pen is it?” He inquired.

“Pilot brand,” she said.

“Let me see it.” He inspected it and said, “I will accept this. But it still is not enough for the brick.”

“I have my Qur’an,” said another sister.

“Show me.” he said.

Quietly, she took out her Qur’an. It was tattered and had a lot of sticky notes sticking out, picturing a Qur’an so often used. With tears streaming down her face, she passed the Qur’an to him.

We all looked at each other. Someone else said, “We have brooches.”

“How many of you?”

A few hands shot up and he gestured it to be passed over.

I searched my own pockets. Nothing. I wasn’t even wearing my watch at that time. I didn’t know what I could give. And realizing at that moment the only thing I could sacrifice, I took off my spectacles and gave it to the facilitator.

He nodded and went to get a brick. He placed it in between the obstacle and we managed to pass it. Everything went fine until we reached the third obstacle. This time, it was further and we needed two bricks.

“There are two kinds of sacrifices.” The facilitator said. “One is where you volunteer it from your own heart. The second one is when it is an order.”

We all looked at him.

“I am going to ask for you to sacrifice something. And whatever it is, you must give it to me. Are you ready for this?”

None of us moved.

(To be continued... The Price of a Brick: Part 2)

Drawer's Block.

Today I got stuck while designing. I'd have to say the most difficult thing to design is a logo. You want to make it look as eye-catching as possible in the most smartest way and make people do a double-take when they look at it and say, "Wow, that's something."

The process of designing goes something like this for me:

1. A client orders something. They give all the details and I ask further questions and that settles it.
2. The ideation process begins. I go on art sites, google images and creative websites to search for ideas. This process normally take a few days. I start doodling on paper but never fully because I get tired and straight away start on Illustrator (this is where my mistake is. You're supposed to finish drafting on paper; else you'd be wasting a lot of time on Illustrator. But I get too impatient).
3. I draw something once. Then I re-draw it a bit differently. Then look at it from another angle. Change a few fonts here and there. Revamp the whole thing. Ditch it to the side. Start on a new paper. It goes on and on until the work gets something relatively to how I imagined it.

This is what my Illustrator workspace look like when designing something:

When I look at an artwork, I look at it once and say "Wow." A few seconds... and then move on to something else. I forget that someone could have spent hours and hours on something that might have looked simple. This alone took me 5-6 hours.

Well, it makes me appreciate artworks more:)

Felt like ranting because I couldn't find inspiration to make it look better than how it turned out:P

A lesson from Manjung.

On the last day at Hospital Manjung, I learnt an extremely important lesson about taking time to listen.

In 3rd year, clerking in OnG ward works like this: 

1. You clerk the bed you’re assigned to, meaning basically history taking and physical examination. Find out their complaint, describe it in detail, and take down other histories such as antenatal, previous pregnancies, gynaecological, menstrual, past medical, past surgical, family, drug, social history. It’s basically a long list and can take up to an hour sometimes to clerk in detail. Do it together with examining the patient based on their complaint, to confirm your diagnosis and exclude differentials.
   
2. It doesn’t matter when you clerk your case. Whether it’s the night before or just the morning (in case there were new patients who just came in), you MUST have your bed clerked before you have class. and this cycle happens everyday.
   
3. Then, we’d present our case to our professor. This one particular morning, he decided to go for rounds. So he would choose any bed at random and ask us to summarize the history and present relevant information. If you didn’t clerk your patient, in short, you’d be dead.

830pm, I went to the antenatal ward and saw a patient at my assigned bed. She looked tired and very stressed and another lady, who I presumed to be her mother, was sitting beside her. They were talking quite heatedly in Tamil. I approached the patient immediately and asked if I can clerk her (the idea is if you don’t clerk, you’re dead). She gave a quick nod and I started my clerking immediately. Things like, “Why did you come to the hospital?” and the details that follow. As I continued my clerking, I noticed that she gave me very short answers and was very much distracted. Her mother suddenly stood up, walked to the counter and gestured for a medical officer (MO). An MO came to her bed and the patient said to the MO (in malay of course), “My mum wants to confirm what the specialist said.” And the MO explained. I didn’t catch much because I didn’t know the case beforehand but what I did find out was that she had to choose between a normal delivery or a C-Section, both of which had risks. I can see that even if I clerked her that night, she wouldn’t be able to answer since she was very much stressed with the decision that she had to make. I thanked the patient and walked away.

Sometimes we have ‘difficult’ patients who, when we clerk, refuse to talk to us or reject us immediately. Sometimes we have ‘easy’ patients who, even without us having to ask so many questions, they volunteer the answers and even tell more than what we ask for. This particular patient, she wasn’t a ‘difficult’ patient. She was just in a huge dilemma.

Next morning, 730am I arrived in the ward, as we all normally should. At 830am, we would have to present the case to our professor if he randomly chooses our bed. I only had less than an hour to clerk the full history plus come up with differentials, rearrange it and present it properly. All this, together will building rapport, and I wasn’t even sure she still wanted to be clerked, after being under a lot of stress.

Normally when approaching a patient, I ask general questions like, “Have you eaten? How’s your pain? Is it still there?”. But this time, somehow, eventhough I had only one hour (which would probably have been just right to clerk a full history), somehow my heart told me otherwise. I was once told that doctors nowadays don’t have time to look at patients, don’t have time to be humane, and I don’t blame them sometimes because they’re super busy. But this time I decided to drop being a student doctor for a while. 

I approached her bed. She was lying on her side, staring at the curtains, but thoughts very distant. I closed my clerking notebook, crouched next to her bed and said quietly, “You must be very stressed right now.”

She glanced in my direction, then stared at the curtain again. She kept silent for a minute, then nodded, “Yes, I am. If I deliver normally, it would carry a lot of risks. Even if I do it through operation, there would still be a lot of risks.”

I nodded. After a while, I asked, “Where’s your mum? Is she coming today?”

She smiled. “My mum is at home. Yesterday it was her birthday. We were supposed to have a big family dinner. But since I got sick and was sent to the emergency, she came with me and she didn’t celebrate the dinner. All my siblings were there. She loves me. I’m her only daughter.”

It was like... I had found the right key and unlocked the tightly bolted door. She opened up and talked to me. She talked about her work, about how her sleepless nights and extra work was what was possibly causing her headaches. She talked about how she was worried that no one would be looking after her 5 children. About how her eldest, at 9 years old, still depends on her eventhough she tried making them independent. She wondered how they were going to school. 


She told the story of how she had to give away one of her children to one of her siblings because they couldn’t conceive, and how that child of hers calls her “Auntie”. But most of all she said about how she was so worried about the outcome of this pregnancy. And she said to me, while pointing upwards, “Right now, there’s only God who can do anything.” Most of the time I only nodded, smiled and gestured her to go on.

Time was ticking away and I still had 80% of the history not clerked. Sometimes I feel they’re very mechanical questions since we’re still training and have to refer to the questions. But I decided this time, if my bed was randomly chosen, then I’ll just present what little I had. Right now, what she needed the most, was not my questions. She needed someone to listen.

At 830am on the dot, I still hadn’t passed the first history; history of presenting illness. Of course, with palpitations, we waited for our professor to come.

Alhamdulillah, my bed did not get chosen.

But this was the lesson I had learnt today. Sometimes what people really need is for you to listen.

And what I had learnt so well from our specialists here is that... if you don’t take a good history, you wouldn’t know how to manage. And taking good history means listening. This patient for example had headache. You might want to prescribe her painkillers, but that wouldn’t be the correct management because actually, her headache is caused by excess work and what she needed more was probably an MC for rest. “The management will be different.”

I learnt, sometimes, it’s not that patients are difficult. They’re ill and they have a lot of worries on their mind. And when we just start bombarding them with questions one after the other, they don’t get heard. Yes, I do admit, sometimes we want to get to the heart of the matter as soon as possible for the patient to lead us to the diagnosis. But sometimes, just listening is what they need the most.