Okay, the decision has been made. not entirely by me, though. Courtesy of the man-boob friend, I have a new blog. Visit me there, and don’t forget to leave comments. 
I’m here now!
1.Everytime I think of you, tears just appear. You were close even though you were never near.
2.For you, I pretended not to know Bernoulli’s Principle. Sheesh, who does that?! Was it really that important to stroke your ego, I’ll never know.
3.You do nothing, and yet you do everything. Your moves are right, but they can be so wrong. Just when your timing is horrid, you make it impeccable. What frustrates me is that I will never be able to make you feel the way I do.
4.Every time I see kids running about, I miss you. The countless arguments we had, mostly about the same things over and over again..those were fun.
5.Everytime I think about that winter, I loathe the person you turned me into. Remind me to slit my wrists if I ever turn into that again.
6. I dread the day you leave me here. I won’t be alone, but I’ll be lonely.
7. Even when you’re making me so mad, I secretly want to laugh, but then you’ll think you’re right, even when you’re not.
8. Sometimes I wonder, how does everyone like you? You’re not perfect, you can be tiring, and there are times your logic flies over my head. But, like Raymond, everybody loves you.
9. Everytime you walk away from me, I remember that I should not hold on too tight. It doesn’t leave room for yearning.
10. The thing about you that upsets me more than the fact that I mean so little to you is that you’re afraid of people. You’re afraid of what they think, what they say…or maybe it’s just what they think and say when it involves me. Either way, I’m upset and will always be upset by it.
11. You probably definitely don’t fancy me clinging on to you so much, but around you, I feel at home. I don’t miss anything or anyone. There’s no reason to.
12. I wonder how you can be so inconcsiderate to others. How dare you think your agenda is more important than someone else’s? And you complain when the same is done unto you? It’s called karma, baby.
13.I’m amazed by your ability to be so tactless. It’s not honesty, sometimes. It’s just plain rude. People have feelings, too. They don’t have to endure your opinions or your attitude.
14.I’m so grateful that you’re the holy one between the both of us. I’m glad we both had the balls to get reacquainted, and embrace our changes.
15. I never really thought much of you, but what I did think of you was never bad. You made the effort to change that. One sentence, one promise…and you breaking it turned me into the Queen Bitch of the seventh circle of Hell. Thanks a lot.
Four cycles into 4th year and I finally feel like boring a rusty ogre through my skull. It’s not that the clinicals are bad, it’s just the Neurology. Now, while I don’t know what torture methods the Russians used during wars and the like, I’m guessing that 4 lectures in a day with an 15 minute break between lectures was definitely on the list.
To make matters worse, there’s zero eye-candy and a really, really ancient relic of a teacher talking about the neural pathways of vision. I wonder whether she had seen or noticed the paltry 20 something students in the lecture hall, many of them paying more attention to their phones than to her.
Back to the eye-candy thing. I’ll admit, that is pretty much all I want to talk about. I genuinely began with Neurology in mind, but me writing about classes and my education is about as likely as my dog, Wishbone pulling a Lassie. So I figured I might as well write about what I know best: pointless, embarassing school crushes.
My current useless distraction from all that is sucky in the world just further proves that the part of my brain that decides on what I’m attracted to should be surgically removed. ADD moment, here’s an example of what I find appealing: fattening Italian food, the smell of Dettol, mild turbulence on a flight…oh, did I mention unattainable men?!! Well, unattainable boy in Seungri’s case.
The current optical lollipop is a younger than me, married with a child, possibly canine-consuming, non English speaking, Vietnamese dude. I’ve aptly dubbed him “Baby Owner”. He has an adorable baby and a sweet wife, which makes me feel unbelievably guilty for checking him out in the first place, but believe it or not, that isn’t the damper of this story.
My story is about how without even trying, I can make myself look like a hopeless case in front of any guy I find remotely comely.
Facultative Therapy lecture. Let me just ask you, what does the average, sane guy normally want in a girl? Someone sweet, gentle, pretty…perhaps even ladylike? My first display of my feminine charm was flipping the finger to a co-groupmate for his attempt at being funny. True to the course of all things twisted, this colourful gesture was made across the hall, in plain sight to anyone who was looking up. By anyone, I of course, mean Baby Owner. Strike One.
Unfortunately for me, the class I had prior to the lecture was far from pleasant, and a potent combination of insufficient sleep, a pending case history and the aforementioned class has turned me into the average post-office clerk on a Monday morning. By the time the lecture had reached its intermission, I was convinced that I deserved weekend inebriation as a reward. Me being me, I declared in a clear, resolute tone, ” I AM GETTING PISS DRUNK THIS WEEKEND. I DON’T CARE. I will get so wasted that I will have to drag myself to bed and pass out.” This was also the day that Baby Owner decided not to be his usual claustrophobic self and had parked himself in the seat next to the English-SPEAKING Vietnamese guy who happened, just HAPPENED to be sitting 2 rows behind me. Strike Two?
After that fabulous display of everything that every etiquette book tells me not to be, I made myself feel better by dismissing it as one of those things that will be forgotten by the next meal. I mean, people have lives, they’re nothing like me; they don’t remember stupid, random hand gestures when they’ve got a baby to burp and a class to study for. With that said, life went on and I resumed to my quiet lecture hall voyeurism.
Sunday night. My “preen and pamper myself whilst cleaning up” day (whenever I remember, anyway). This usually consists of me slapping on some Indian (i.e. Lebuh Ampang) hair oil for my alopecia, tackling the laundry that I normally avoid, and some trash throwing. On this particular night, I was especially generous with the hair oil (my life throughout my 2-week cycle was sustained by instant noodles, biscuits and Nescafe. Go figure) and I proceeded with my chores. I guess now would be a good time to mention that I had so much oil in my hair and it was so well slicked back that Pedro my guinea pig was checking his reflection when I carried him, and even our resident “typical Indian”, Hari Krishnan made fun of my abundant application of oil. I haven’t even gotten to the scent of this oil. Think a million roses jammed into a 100ml bottle of HERBAL hair oil. Still, it was the weekend, and practically everyone on my floor has experienced a whiff of the nasty stuff. Pretty tame situation, right? Heh.
Back to my chores. I walked out my front door to throw rubbish down the chute at the end of the 14th floor hallway, hair gleaming in the glow of the fluorescent lights. And that is when I noticed two figures at the doorway to the chute, talking and holding bottles. As I approached them, I realized that they were speaking in Vietnamese. No worries, I figured it was Tukang Flash*, since he lives on te 15th floor. However, as I got even closer, I noticed the Seungri-esque hair and the piercing eyes. FARK. It was Baby Owner. He who fears all who aren’t his wife and child, was chilling out with a FRIEND, accompanied by an alcoholic beverage on my friggin’ floor, no less. What are the odds?
And there I was, bearing enough oil to attract Texans, emanating the smell of a fertile botanical garden, and to complete the image, a bagful of garbage as my clutch purse.
Just the kind of finale one would expect from me.
* Tukang Flash is a Vietnamese guy in our lecture hall who insists on taking pictures of lecture slides with the flash function switched on. For those who don’t already know, the use of flash photography during lectures and stage performances are generally frowned upon due to its disruptive properties.
I really don’t know why I do this to myself. There seems to be no purpose to it, I always land with the same outcome, and then I wonder why I embarked on my repeated quest to begin with.
I’m thinking of starting a new blog. A place I will devote a sweet amount of time to. A place I can start all over again. “Start what?”, you ask? Golly gosh, even I have no idea. Not a clue, but the idea of hitting the “Reset” button seems comforting and somewhat hopeful.
A friend told me that if I start a new blog, it would probably get deleted after a year. As much as I wanted to punch him in the man-boobs, I couldn’t deny the fact that he was right.
So, what do I do?
I promised a post about 3rd year in a Russian med school. Since the exam stress isn’t as bad as I thought it would be (although the eczema spreading on my face proves otherwise), now would be a good time to write.
I’ve been thinking all year about how to approach this post. My best guess is to attack subject-by-subject.
Pathological Anatomy: Boon to some, bane to most. 556 questions, 25 microsamples, 38 macrosamples. That is ultimately what we study for the final exam. Normally, this shouldn’t be a reason for complain, not when one is med school anyway (by the way, a post about how overrated med school is will come about, too). However, the catch to the answering the exam is the part where we’re expected to MEMORIZE the answers word-for-effin-word. It’s like memorizing the Book of Psalms but with less enlightenment. I cannot say I’ve not learned anything from the classes, but our grade mainly depends on how good our memory is.
Pathophysiology: My sweet baby. The only subject that made complete sense to me. This is where we learn how processes that screw our bodies up come about. A lot of these are discussed at a cellular level. On the bright side, my imagination was put to good use. The downside of understanding all of this is the part where I’m petrified of sore throats and looking at pictures of food. Apparently, if I’m not lucky, I may DIE because of them.
Pharmacology: This one was interesting because I got to say, “Hey! I’m allergic to that one, too!” during many of our lectures. I generally sucked at Pharmaco because I knew how the drugs worked, but for the life of me, I couldn’t recall which drug belonged to which group. As soon as you think you’ve figured out a way to remember them, some bloody effective but different group of drug with a similar name pops up. This is why I am an advocate of home remedies.
General Surgery: The textbook was dull as a 3-hour documentary about The Hills. The journey to class was no better. My classes mostly consisted of watching my teacher clean up flesh-showcasing ulcers and hearing old women scream. In fact, it was in this class that I fainted for the first time in my life. Real charming. The driving force to attend my class? My teacher was kinda cute, with Michael Buble eyes and a smile that showcased a slight snaggletooth.
Okay, maybe this is like a 2-part thing. I seem to be too lazy to write, and 3rd year was so much easier to write about when it was actually going on.
P.S: Please do not actually expect a conclusion to this entry. It’s highly likely it will not materialize. Especially since I wanted this entry to be more epic than what it actually is.
Truthfully, a lot of things have happened. Birthdays, shopping trips, annual dinners (fine, just one DINNER), cam-whoring and all the other silly stuff that you would expect from a 23-year-old who allegedly has the mental age of a 17-year-old.
Unfortunately, amidst all the fun and laughter, there has also been a slew, an avalanche, a tidal wave even…of work. This has rendered me incapable of blogging, mainly because I feel more guilty procrastinating by blogging than when I do by washing the toilet.
In short, I’d just like to say that this sweet baby (the blog, not me) will be dormant till the end of June for the sake of grades, family honour, and eczema.
Things to do within the next ten days:
UGH.
(Excerpt from Wikipedia)
Patbingsu or patbingsoo is a very popular snack/dessert in South Korea, especially during the sweltering and humid summer season.[1]
This snack originally began as ice shavings and sweetened azuki beans (known as pat, 팥). [2] It was sold by street vendors. These days it has become a very elaborate summer dessert, often topped with ice cream or frozen yogurt, sweetened condensed milk, fruit syrups, various fruits such as strawberries, kiwifruit, and bananas, small pieces of tteok (rice cake), chewy jelly bits, and cereal flakes.[3]
What all of this means: South Korean version of ais kacang.
(Yet another excerpt from Wikipedia)
Conjunctivitis (commonly called “Pink Eye” in North America, and “Madras eye” in India[1]) is an inflammation of the conjunctiva (the outermost layer of the eye and the inner surface of the eyelids), most commonly due to an allergic reaction or an infection (usually viral, but sometimes bacterial[2]).
What all of this means: I should stop ogling cute guys
Trust me, everything is related.
Thanks to my dear blockmate, Tina and Perezhilton.com, I’ve succumbed to the oddest celebrity crush, ever. Hands down. Behold:
Before any of you gag yourselves with a spoon, let me just say that I’ve never had a history of liking “the guy everyone unanimously agrees is cute”. In fact, most of my choices result in my friends and family saying, ” Sasha. Really? Him?!!”
Yeah, really. Him. Korean, droopy-eyed, lean, ass-tapping Lee Seung Hyun (Stage name: Seungri). To make matters worse, he’s 5 years younger to me. I mean, I could READ when he was born. Not only that, we all know what type of stigma comes along with the average East Asian man ( can I even call him a man? He’s is in a freakin’ boyband and isn’t even old enough to drive in his country).
Anyway, the Korean virus has spread to my iPod and right to Tina’s laptop (and phone, if I’m not mistaken). People unfortunate enough to live with me are forced to watch me bust out the boyband dance moves and emotionally wail syllables neither they nor I understand.
Then came the conjunctivitis. The truth is, I got it from my mom. It just so happens that whatever colony in my eye right now has impeccable timing and decided to give me the gift of inflammation to begin my semester. Now, I’ve given my groupmates the gift of Korean pop to my friends about the same time I contracted this little misery, and because of this, many are convinced that I’ve been looking at Seungri so much that my eye couldn’t take it.
Now, this is where Youtube comes into the equation. Due to the infectious nature of bacterial conjunctivitis, I’m under house arrest. This has left me with a lot of time to Youtube Seungri and his boyband, Big Bang. Before I ramble on about how awesome it is to have a celebrity crush in this decade, as opposed to when I was in secondary school because of media availability and a broadband connection, let me proclaim my mad love to all the people out there who provide subtitles for non-English videos. Last year, a few friends and I were bestowed the task of writing subs for a Malaysian movie and dear Lord, it was NOT easy. It took us an hour to properly sub 10 minutes of film. So, needless to say, I have an insurmountable amount of respect for these amazing people who sub Big Bang videos. I’m not just talking music videos, there are radio interviews, commercials, variety shows.
So, yeah. I’ve been spending my days off watching Big Bang videos and looking at English sites dedicated to K-pop. Doing all of this reminds me of the days when I was crazy about Blink-182. A time when there was no Youtube, and all I could rely on was a 12-year-old PC, a dial-up connection, and my allowance to buy CDs and magazines. Must be awesome to be a giddy schoolgirl in this day and age.
Next post: Kimchi and Korean for Dummies ( and maybe important grown up stuff like the political ties between Russia and the United States of America. Snort)
Normally, at the end of the year I take some time to look back on the year. I heave a sigh for my close calls (there are plenty), chuckle at the amusing moments and try to squeeze out a tear for the sad times. Obviously, this was before I came across friends who play a game that involved cards and litres of beer/energy drink cocktails.
Because of this one night of debauchery (and speaking in proper Malay), I didn’t take stock of 2008. Chuckles were replaced with giddy laughter, and tears were forgotten.
Hoorah for me!
No, no…not quite insane yet. You see, normally what would ensue the recap of the year was The Resolution. In the midst of ushering the new year with “Bedtime Stories” and “Tip Drill” (its video has the MOST ridiculous display of the female anatomy), I completely forgot about The Resolution.
Here’s the thing about me. I don’t work well with lists, not unless it’s for groceries. For many years, i’ve tried various methods of making to-do lists and sticking to them. I usually end up doing 20% of what’s on the list and spend the rest of the day/week/month feeling bad about not accomplishing my tasks.
Apparently, I am most productive when I scramble about like a headless chicken on lithium. I actually get more done when I jump from task to task, normally leaving everything partially done and then somehow, by some crazy chance, remembering to complete everything in time.
With that said, I am pleased to announce that so far, 2009 has been the most productive year yet!
I must study, I must rewrite all my Internal Medicine notes before I lose the ability to decipher my handwriting (newsflash: it’s the bloody lectures that cause doctors to have awful handwriting). I must pull myself away from the keyboard, I must procrastinate later, not now.
I must write an entry about 3rd year sometime before it ends. It’s been a barrel of fun, anxiety, insomnia, and monkeys on a sugar rush so far. It would be sinful of me to not let you in on the fun.
I must….ugh. Get to work now.