Trying Too Hard To Be Smart

I had an ear infection about 5 years ago, and I went to the then Damai Specialist Hospital (now it's known as the KPJ Damai Specialist Hospital). According to the ENT Specialist, the infection was mainly due to my own doing. You see, I had the habit of cleaning my ears with cotton buds. The doctor said, actually there's no need to clean the ears because they're "self-cleansing". If entirely necessary, it's OK to clean, but perhaps just once a month; maybe no more than twice a month. Unfortunately, I was in the habit of doing the cotton buds thing almost on a daily basis!

Five years have since elapsed, and I'm still doing the cotton buds thing—daily. Old habits die hard, you see. I shall not attempt to offer any excuses—I readily admit that I'm an animal of habit, and this particular habit I just can't cure! Each time I had the cotton buds in my hand, I knew that it's just a matter of time before I'm forced to visit the ENT Specialist again, but I've been very lucky for the last five years.

Then my luck took a turn for the worse 2 days ago. While I was indulging in the cotton buds thingy, somehow the cotton was detached and got stuck inside my left ear. For a short moment, I panicked. But then I managed to compose myself and started thinking how I might get the damn thing out of my ear. That was the proper starting point of my 2-day adventure of trying too hard to be smart.

Let me just say that having a cotton bud in the ear isn't very amusing—you become partially deaf, and although there's no pain, it'd still bother you all the time. I've tried everything that came to my mind, and not all of my ideas were brilliant ones. But desperation is a curious thing—it can make you come up with all sorts of ideas, if you know what I mean. 

Well, they all ended up in failures, one after another. If anything, I only made it worse; with each ridiculous try, the only thing that I achieved was to push the cotton deeper into my ear. Then at the height of my desperation, I came up with the most ridiculous idea yet. I reckoned that it might be a good try to pour water into my ear; and then when the water's flowing out, it could drag along that forsaken cotton too. I mean, think about it; it's logical, isn't it?

Except that the moment the cotton got wet, it immediately expanded and the water got stuck in my ear. So I ended up becoming totally deaf in my left ear, and now I had the problem of the cotton piece as well as water stuck there! Way to go, Cornelius!

After 2 days trying to be smart, I finally came to the conclusion that I needed the ENT Specialist's help once again. Don't ask me why I took such a long time to arrive at that conclusion. Please just be happy for me for eventually arriving at that conclusion.

Well, you'd be glad to know that the doctor did not give me a hell of a scolding like what I thought I deserved. He listened to me while I spent about 2 minutes to tell him about my 2-day adventure trying to be smart, thus culminating to a visit to his clinic. He then spent something like 15 seconds to extract the cotton piece from inside my ear with the use of a pair of tiny forceps. It was quite a relief to be able to hear clearly once again. So it was a happy ending to a short adventure, except that I was RM109.20 poorer!

Veterinarians, Sick Bunnies & Clueless People

Me pet dog, Boomer, died of old age a few years ago. He lived up to about 12 years old, and a veterinarian friend said that's the equivalent of about 80 years old for a human. At the time of Boomer's death, I had just begun running regularly, and I reckoned that I wouldn't have had the time to have another pet. Having a pet is tough work, you know; it's a lot like looking after a child. Besides, we have since moved to another house, and there isn't much space for a dog to roam around. I'm not such a big fan of keeping dogs in a cage.

JJ, however, managed to convince Mia to buy her a pair of bunnies a few months ago, and named them Charlie and Emma. I was like, what kind of names are those, for heaven's sake? I mean, shouldn't it be something in the order of Toothy or Hopper, or even Big-Ears? Instead, it's Charlie and Emma—bah!

Anyway, this was after JJ's short stint with hamsters which had since died. I wasn't even aware of all this bunny business until I came home from work one day, and saw those baby bunnies. I think it was a reward for JJ's good grades in school. I'm OK with JJ keeping pets, but I made it clear to her that she would have to be responsible for them. Which means cleaning the cage, feeding etc. I told JJ that I wanted nothing to do with those bunnies, because I just don't have the time for that!

This afternoon, Mia and JJ brought Charlie to the vets. I asked JJ what's going on, but as usual, she just gave me a one-word answer—nothing!

It wasn't until later that I received a message through Whatsapp from Mia when she was about to leave the vets' clinic. Apparently, JJ was observing the bunnies when she noticed that Charlie had some sort of growth and she was worried that it might have been a disease that should be treated quickly. I'm not sure if she was thinking about a possible tumour? Mia saw it too, and both of them rushed Charlie to the vets. Check out the "tumour" in the photo below.

But other than that growth, Charlie appeared fine. He behaved very well as usual, even when he was at the vets. See for yourselves.

The vets spent perhaps 10 seconds to look at Charlie, and then told Mia that he's perfectly normal. RM25 for consultation fee please, thank you. I bet that must have been one of the easiest RM25s that the vets had made. Even from seeing the photos through Whatsapp—yes, Mia sent me several photos of the tumour from different angles—I almost died from laughing so hard, to the extent that I almost had no pause to take my breath! I'm guessing that the vets must have had a near-death experience from laughter too after Mia and JJ left their clinic. Too bad I wasn't there to join them in their laughter!

Anyway, I'm sharing this with you all because I suspect that some of you, perhaps especially the women, are as clueless as Mia and JJ too? Remember, people, male bunnies are born with testicles; they stick out from the body in between the hind legs.

Ironman Malaysia 2016

After I completed the Ironman Western Australia last December, I knew that that wasn't the last time I'd be racing an Ironman, even though I said that was the last. Still, I had planned to take a break from an Ironman race for 2016. I thought I'd rather focus on the half distance for this year. I had a special interest in the Putrajaya 70.3 in April because I was disappointed with my performance in the same race last year. Not long after it opened for registration, I signed up for the challenge. I was also eying for the Ironman Malaysia 2016 (IMMY) in Langkawi, although I would have preferred to give it a shot in 2017.

Then my plan changed because of two very powerful words—LAST EDITION. It was announced that the IMMY 2016 will be the last, and I had to reconsider my racing calendar. Some of my friends were also joining the race. In the end, I decided that I might as well join too. There was a "bundle discount" for athletes opting to join both the Putrajaya 70.3 and the IMMY, but I was disappointed to have been told that since I've registered for the Putrajaya 70.3 earlier, I was no longer eligible for that discount offer.

It was a windy morning at the start of the race, and having seen the bike route 2 days earlier, I knew that it was gonna be a big struggle for me. I trained on my bike over the last 2 months with a long ride during the weekends. But the maximum elevation gain that I had was about 700m; whereas the elevation gain of the race course in Langkawi was about double that. I told my friends that I'd expect to finish the bike leg in about 7 hours.

The Swim

Anyway, the swim consisted of 2 loops with a short break of beach run in between. It was a calm sea, although it was rather frustrating that there was a lot of kicking (from swimmers using the breaststrokes). I received a few blows all over my body, and one of them kicked my Garmin. I didn't realise that that had caused my Garmin to stop. I had no idea how I did during the swim, but I  have a feeling there must be something wrong with the timing system. It was recorded that I swam the 3.8km in about 1:40. My own estimate is that I must have swum at least 1:45, especially taking into account that I wasn't swimming straight! I took my time at the shower on my way to the changing tent. I managed to restart my Garmin once again just as I was about to embark on the bike leg.

The Bike

The start of the bike leg was a pleasant flat road of a few km. But then soon after that, we had to turn in to a junction, leading to the hilly terrain in the direction of Datai. As I said, I didn't have enough hill training, so I decided to play safe—each time I reached a foothill, I'd shift to the lightest gear and take my time spinning uphill. It was still tough work though. I spent perhaps around half an hour for that part of the bike leg, and I was glad to eventually emerge from that junction once again to a relatively flat course. It wasn't till much later when I arrive at 3 consecutive hills immediately after the traffic lights. Again, I adopted the same approach—lightest gear and very slow gradual climb. I passed the challenge without the need to push my bike uphill on foot. Looking at my Garmin, I was pleased to note that I was on target for the 7 hrs bike leg finish.

It was a very hot day, and my sweat was dripping from my chin like a leaking tap. I thought salts were provided at the aid stations, but there was none. In fact, there was an aid station that ran out of water, and I was very frustrated, because I had run out of mine on the bike too. Bear in mind that the aid stations were about 20km apart. I was thinking maybe I could do with whatever electrolytes from the energy gels. Because of my controlled speed, I had no problems of cramping muscles, but nausea was building up in my system. I knew that I was in deficit of electrolytes.

A few km during the tail end of the bike leg, suddenly it began to pour. I mean raining cats and dogs like somebody was doing the ice-bucket challenge onto me. I could hardly see the road ahead, and I had to slow down substantially to about 15kph. I noticed several other participants behind me.

When I finally reached the dismount line, there were many people cheering us. One of them shouted "Well done!... you're doing great!"; and as a volunteer took my bike from me, I yell back, "I'm afraid I'm NOT done yet!"

The Run

I would estimate that when I started on the run leg, it must have been about 9 hours since the time I started the race that morning. It was still raining heavily. I was jogging very slowly, but it was no good. I felt like puking. In the end, when I reached the second aid station, I decided to enter the toilet to try to puke. After spending a few moments in the toilet, it was still not happening. Accordingly, I started jogging again, but the nausea was too much to deal with. Shortly after that, my friend, Dr Shah came passing by, and I could only look at him drifting further and further ahead of me.

Soon, I was just walking more than running. I wasn't sure how much more time I had at that point of the race, but calculating in my head, I realised that walking for the rest of the race wouldn't get me to the finish line within the cut off time. I kept trying to jog, but I had trouble balancing on my feet. In the end, I had to accept defeat. Arriving at an aid station about 10km into the run, I went to the side of the road and again tried unsuccessfully to puke. It was then that I made up my mind to quit the race... 

Quitting is something that I very rarely do in my life. I didn't get to be where I am; and what I am today by quitting. But this was my limit; and I had to reluctantly accept that there is only so much my body can do—the mind is willing; the body is unwilling.

Then a miracle happened. A participant named Yap (I found out after the race that his full name was Yap Eng Hui), when seeing me stooping at the roadside, asked me if I was OK. I said I couldn't continue because of severe nausea. He said he had salts with him, and then gave me a capsule. I took it and decided to walk a little. At the next aid station, I was still feeling horrible, and another friend, Henry Wong, came trotting along. I told him I wanted to quit, but he encouraged me to continue.

So I laboured on, and by about half an hour later, perhaps after the salts were in my system, I felt much better; and I was able to jog once again! I was confident once again that I would be able to beat the cut off. But alas, that one salt capsule did not last very long. about 2 hours later, I was once again feeling nausea. My Garmin had gone totally dead by then. Reaching the final turn at MIEC, I lingered on at the aid station. As I was walking out of the building, I struck a conversation with a lady. It turned out that she had salts too, voila! After taking that salt capsule, and waiting for some minutes for it to take effects, I came upon a man named Riedel. After walking with him for a few minutes, we started running the remaining 4km or so to the finish line together, overtaking several people along the way. 

You can imagine my elation when I crossed the finish line. It wasn't what I had expected when I entered the race. The changing fortunes throughout the race is something that was worth it. Valuable lessons learnt; new friendships forged. 

In the end, my official finish time was 15:46:23. My friend, Teo, teased me for being among the last few to finish. But I'm proud of that achievement, really. On the other hand, though, I'm rather disappointed in myself. The disappointment isn't about being fast or slow; or winning or losing. I mean, people from all walks of life, in different shapes and sizes enter this race. I can beat some of them; and get beaten by some of them too. I have long ago accepted that I'm not good enough to be able to beat all of them.

No, the disappointment is for a different reason. In whatever I do in life, I will always want to do my best; to realise my full potential. In the same way, whatever race that I join, I'd like to achieve my highest potential. It doesn't really matter if I can finish the Ironman in 12 hours; if that's not my best, I'll still be disappointed in myself. But on the other hand, even if I can only finish in 16:59, but that's my best potential, I won't be disappointed. I just feel that I did not perform to the best of my potential in this race, and someday, god willing, I want to try again to prove to myself that I can do better, much the same way I redeemed myself in the Putrajaya 70.3 on my second attempt. If this was really the last edition of the IMMY, then that is OK too. For even if that was not my full potential, I've given my best shot anyway. I'm still happy that I finished a race which I've actually surrendered already!

So, Teo  (I know you're reading this) don't just tease this old man, let's do it together!

William Koh (08 January 1943 - 12 November 2016)

It's quite normal that most people look up to their parents as their role models. My dad was my role model too when I was still a little boy. But that changed through the years as I was growing up. I think it had a lot to do with the fact that he was hardly ever around during my early years. It must have been around my mid-teens when I had a big revelation—that the man I used to admire and look up to had a lot of limitations. My father was, in many ways, a stranger to me. On many occasions in my life, I've tried to no avail to understand him. He's unique—one of its kind in this world. But although I've failed to fathom what's going on in his head, I've nevertheless learned to accept him for what he's worth. He's after all my father.

There was a time when I thought there weren't many good things that I could say about my father. It seemed like I could go on and on about what's bad about him though. And this is where I throw in those famous 2 words—nobody's perfect. 

Shortly after his death last Saturday morning, I received a private message from my uncle, and apart from offering his condolences, he also advised me to "think of the goodness in him (dad)...and there's a lot to his credit". Even without my uncle's advice, though, that would have been what I'd do anyway; but it's good to know that a wise uncle would support how I react to my dad's demise.

But I feel compelled to give a little background of the man. The late William Koh lived his life to the fullest, and seemed reluctant to forego whatever littlest opportunity for pleasures in life. If he enjoyed, for example, a particular food or habit—like smoking up to four packs of cigarettes per day—nothing in the world would stop him from indulging in those. When in due course, he's overwhelmed by the curious optimism that he's known for, he'd sell whatever his worldly possessions to pursue his business ventures. Not that he had very many possessions to start with. The trail of destruction in his wake could be quite something to reckon with, and I've had my fair share of the chores of picking up the pieces. I dare say that in some ways, it's a lot like making babies—I have a shrewd suspicion that he enjoyed the process of trying much more than actually achieving his goals!

But side by side with his reckless attitude in life, he was also known for his generosity. He has helped countless people including close family members and friends; even total strangers. While he was never rich with money, he was at least rich with people who've been indebted to him in one way or another. He was also loved for his simple but sensible approach to solving problems. Many people went to him for advice in his day. Despite all his failures in life, many, many people looked up to him as a big brother. I guess in that sense, he was a rich man after all. Over the last couple of days since his death, I've heard "he was a good man" from several different people, and I'm inclined to think of that as among his biggest achievements in life.

I've mentioned dad's reckless attitude in life. That's not without consequences. He was diagnosed with diabetes shortly before he turned 50. About 2 years later, he had a heart attack. He went through the angioplasty, and although he stopped smoking for about half a year after that, the locomotive in him came back with a vengeance, quickly building speed up to four packs per day. Thus he had a second heart attack about 10 years later, and this time he had to go through a quadruple bypass surgery. He survived that too. But his heart was badly damaged from the two attacks, and in the years that followed, his heart went through a gradual process of dying.

After he was hospitalised on one occasion, we children were all summoned by the doctors—both the surgeons and from the Palliative Care unit. We made no pretense, we were never in denial; and we knew what to expect. The doctors summed it up prettily—that dad's heart was in its end stages of dying. There wasn't much that the doctors could do to improve his heart, although of course they could try to make him as comfortable as possible. We should expect dad to spend increasing amount of time at the hospital. We also discussed about other matters, including funeral options etc. It was in fact a very honest discussion. Dad was also present during the major portion of the meeting, and I could see that the doctors were fairly surprised with the way we handled the discussion.

But that was about 2 years ago. Dad, with his reckless attitude, was suddenly forced to stop doing all the things he enjoyed doing. He was restricted to drinking no more than 700-800ml of water per day, otherwise his body would become "flooded". He was constantly fighting thirst. He could hardly walk more than a few metres without feeling exhausted. He was essentially imprisoned in his own body. Last Saturday, he was finally "freed", and although it's sad to lose a loved one, we're inclined to treat his life story as something to be celebrated.

William Koh lived a life of adventure, in blazing excitement. As a doctor friend said to me, he has completed his race. I dare say it was a triumphant finish too. Rest in peace, dad; you're da man!

Bollywood

There was a time in my life, for a period of about a year, I was addicted to Hindi movies. It all started when I saw the excitement in my late niece, Erlinna, when the movie Kuch Kuch Hota Hai was showing on TV. I was playing mahjong at the time, and was wondering why she was so excited. I took note of the title of that movie, and when I returned to Brunei after the holidays, I went to the shop to buy the VCD. I surprised myself for the endurance to be able to survive the entire 3 hours of the movie. It was indeed a good movie.

Then the curiosity got the better of me, and I started exploring other Hindi movies. This movie, that movie, and it soon became an evening routine for me to be glued to my TV almost every evening. I have forgotten most of the titles, except for some such as Maan and Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham. But after a while, somehow my interest in Hindi movies began to fade. You see, after watching so many Hindi movies, I reached a point where I could almost predict the endings, perhaps up to 90% accuracy; and that was just a deal breaker. I sometimes would like to be surprised by the ending, if you know what I mean. 

A typical Hindi movie usually has everything in it—it has the funny parts, it has the sad parts, it has fightings too, and of course a ton of songs and dancing. Heck, they can take up to acres and acres to dance a single song! As far as I know, nobody has come up with an acceptable explanation where the music is from when they start to sing and dance.

But this post is not really about Hindi movies; and I'm guessing that you already know that, right? I raised the story about Hindi movies to make a point, which is this: a story may be very good when you hear or see it for the first time, except for some isolated cases, like the movie Top Gun which I've seen perhaps at least 50 times. But if you keep hearing and seeing the same movie over and over again, there is a kind of exhaustion, thus resulting in finding even the most exciting movie rather boring! If you have seen enough Hindi movies, I think it's just a matter of time when you will become tired of it. The stories are not exactly the same, of course, yet they are very similar.

Well, you know what, this post has a similar ring to the Hindi movies. About 4 years ago to the day,  I posted an article entitled Surviving A Heart Attack. I provided a link to that article in my facebook page, and apparently it almost killed my niece, Ramona Jane, because of uncontrollable laughter!

Today, I'm gonna do the Bollywood thing too; but this time the main character is not me. Instead, it's my daughter, Jamie. She had the shock of her life this evening when she was seated on the toilet. A baby monitor lizard (biawak) appeared in her toilet bowl. How it got there is still a mystery, although I did have a possible explanation in my earlier post. I'm not sure if JJ will have nightmares about the monitor lizard after this. But at least there is variety in her life now—she has baby monitor lizard to worry about apart from spiders.

But anyway, both JJ and I have survived a heart attack from our respective experience. And if the next visit by a monitor lizard is in any way based on a 4-year interval, the next visit will be in 2020. I wonder if next in line will be Mia? I guess I just have to ensure that she keeps up with regular exercise to make sure that her heart is up to the challenge.

I know I said Bollywood movies no longer excite me like before, but somehow this story about a possible return visit by the baby monitor lizard is something that I'm looking forward to!

Rolling The Dice

An interesting story in The Star about a man that stabbed his brother-in-law-to-be to death, because the latter had discovered that the former, despite claiming that he's a bachelor, was actually already married since 6 years ago.

The article says "about to get wed", but it's unclear if that meant about to get wed as in a couple of days, or was it on the wedding day itself? If it's the wedding day, I'm dying of curiosity—why would a groom-to-be bring a knife to his wedding? I mean, that knife is not really important as far as this post is concerned, but I'm just a curious animal, you see.

Anyway, I posted an article in this blog entitled "The Art of Proposal & The Dying Fire" some years ago. A long time ago, when I was still a bachelor, I used to have a bit of a phobia about being married. A friend had told me that the divorce rate in Malaysia was roughly about 30%. I'm not sure where he got that figure from, but I was, like, "Wow! 70% of marriages will last forever!...how scary!"

Now there are many reasons why a marriage would fail, of course; and one of them is what my brother had experienced in the article that I quoted in the preceding paragraph above. But I think the other common reason is that people don't really know the people that they want to marry. They are, like, seated in the grandstand at a horse race. They get to see the horses from afar when they're paraded to the audience, and then they place their bets on the horse that looks the most promising to them. They get a glimpse of those horses, but they don't really know very much about them. The horse that they pick eventually just seems like it's a winner, but that may turn out to be a wrong judgment!

Many people choose their life partners the same way that they'd bet on horses too. They know some things about their future spouses, and then they're convinced that whatever that they don't know yet will be something that they can sort out after the wedding. Well, let me just say that if a woman is unaware that the man she's gonna marry is already married, then she knows nothing about him!

When I first got to know my wife many years ago, there was a time when I wondered if she was a transvestite! It had something to do with her manly voice; and I used to cringe in pain whenever she tried to sing, because it's just too awful—she's always way out of tune! It's fast approaching 30 years since the very first time I got to know her, and I sometimes still cringe in pain whenever she sings! At times, she'd try too hard to be funny, and she'd sing P. Ramlee's song, "Tidurlah wahai permaisuri; Tidurlah...pejam mata..."; and I would imagine that P.Ramlee is turning in his grave!

People can fall in love with a total stranger, i.e. without knowing anything about him. And love is, of course, an important ingredient for a successful marriage. In the good old days, many people had their parents choosing their spouses for them. Their parents were the ones seated in the grandstand, observing the horses, so to speak, and then placing their bets on the best horse. The bride and groom, if they're lucky, would then hope to fall in love after the wedding. And if they're not lucky, then they will just endure the crappy deal for the rest of their lives. Those were the affairs of things in the good old days. These days, it doesn't really work that way anymore. Women, especially, are aware of their rights; they won't just suffer in silence. They are prepared to give their husbands the "24-hour notice" if that becomes necessary!

In the end, I think it's almost impossible to know everything there is to know about one's future spouse. Getting married is still in most cases a gamble—it's a lot like rolling the dice and hoping for the best outcome. Sometimes, you get pleasantly surprised with something good from your spouse that you didn't expect. But at other times, you get surprised by something that annoys you a great deal. Whether or not you will end up making it work depends on which is more. If there is more good than bad, then it's much easier to keep it going, and hope that at least some of the bad ones could be changed into good eventually. But if you get substantially more bad than good, it's usually a matter of time before the marriage would fail, and the parties start rolling the dice again.

Dealing With Pain

I write about a wide variety of stuff in this blog, and it's therefore not surprising that my readers come from all walks of life and very diverse in interests. I occasionally write humorous pieces; sometimes serious stuff, and each having its own attraction to different groups of people.

I have written funny essays in the past—for example, here and here—and I keep getting hits on these pieces. Some people would send me private messages to comment about my past posts. But on the other hand, I also write about some serious stuff—for example, here and here—and again, although these posts are old, yet from time to time, people would send me private messages to discuss about these so-called serious essays.

One of the more serious essays that I've written, and apparently caught the attention of many of my readers, is entitled Time & Its Healing Properties. Many of my readers said that although the post is based on a true story, they couldn't help but felt that there's a kind of theatrical flow in the paragraphs. I'm not sure if that's because of my writing style; or because the mind is convinced that some things can only happen in the movies, but not really in real life? Well, I can only say that despite popular belief to the contrary, some things in life are very much like what we see in the movies!

This lately, I've been seeing some real stories unfolding around me—of what people are going through in their lives, and how they're reacting to their respective stories—and I'm once again drawn to my own experience in the story that I've quoted in the preceding paragraph above; and I'm moved to write a bit on my thoughts on this issue.

All of us, at one time or another in our life, are apt to be hurt and betrayed by the very people whom we trust unconditionally. And because the hurt is inflicted by someone we trust with everything we're worth, the resulting pain can be quite unbearable. Being human, the natural reaction is that of anger and frustration, and while many of us are usually calm in handling troubles, we may sometimes lose our bearing when in pain and then anger or frustration would give itself rein. Anger and frustration are also ingredients that can eventually lead to hate.

All too often there is that tendency to strike back—it seems only right to inflict the same degree of pain on the perpetrator; he has it coming! In fact, if possible at all, the lust to inflict twice the pain! And so we set out to find ways to retaliate; to strike back with all our might. After that we shall be satisfied...

Except that quite often when the dust has settled, we come to a shocking revelation—despite striking back and causing what seems like epic pain on the perpetrator, we find that the pain we are suffering from still does not go away! It still hurts like hell inside!

It took me more than half of my life to realise that the best way to deal with the pain is to just let it go. The more we disturb the wound, the longer it takes to heal. Just leave it be and get on with life. There are so many other good things in life, and it's a big shame to let one or two bad experiences overshadow all those other good stuff. Let the wound heal and learn from the experience. Scars are sometimes good to remind us of the mistakes we've made in life. God willing, hopefully we won't ever repeat those same mistakes again. Don't choose to be vengeful because it will very rarely result in any good; choose to be happy instead.