|i could go on for 40 days and 40 nights about my blog title and bore you to bits and pieces with 10,000 different ideas i actually had for the name of this blog but because of the 500 characters limit that is imposed upon this mechanism which, by the way, is supposed to promote free speech, i shall shorten it to just two words basically describing what the hell this is all about and who this hell belongs to.|
Saturday, January 14, 2006
I've always had the impression that the dividing line between life and death was always very clear cut. If you die, it simply means you die and if you had plenty of regrets (eg. I'm still unmarried OR I've always wanted to support a good cause like anal intercourse) you would prolly come back to scare the shit out of us as a ghost. If you are alive, you can still take the time to go all out and pursue the wonders of having a two-way rectum for all I care.
I remember there used to be this movie about teenagers playing with the membrane-thin line between living and dying. FLATLINERS was the name of the teen flcik, I think. It features a group of nothing-better-to-do medical students wanting to play at this forbidden gray area. So they try to get their mates to have their heart rates go flatline before they resuscitate them again. Thus, making it seem as though as they've been wrestled out of the jaws of death. The whole idea is actually ludricious because:
1) Technically, you don't normally shock patients who are flat-lined. It's a medical thingamajig. You only shock people with Ventricular Tachycardia or Ventricular Fibrillation rhythms on the ECG readings. Some more they are medical students and they should know. Aiyoh. These movies never check their facts properly before screening.
2) But then again, who else could be so bo liao to do something like that other than young care-free teenager?
It's silly. But you won't really understand how fragile life really is until you've seen that all-too-cliched term of 'your life flashes past you'. Yes, I've got to see just that recently.
A camp mate of mine (NB: not a colleague and definitely not a friend), let's just call this crazy chap James (his real name). Now James decided to try a party trick he used seven times on his friend (NB: FRIEND not FRIENDS) at a chalet gathering. Basically it involves taking 20 deep breaths before having immense pressure forced upon the heart in an effort to stop the beating. James promised that within one minute or less, the victim would pass out and return within 10 seconds. To crown it off, he wanted to try it on me.
Of course, it was like asking 'hey, do you want me to put your life in danger so that we can be thoroughly entertained at this pathetically boring barbeque gathering?' and my first reaction was to say NO and run as far as possible. But you need to understand what James is like. He's extremely persuasive. He's extremely insistent. And he has enough dragon tattoos to form a mural on the entire Great Wall of China. It's not that he's intimidating or scary. He's just awfully irritating after a while. So you just give in to him in order to get some peace of mind. And that's just what I did.
It wasn't until I was taking deep breaths later that I started to regret what I was doing. What if I died and couldn't reap the full benefits of my insurance policy (not that one is meant to enjoy one’s own insurance policy)? What if I turned into a vegetable after my 20th deep breath because I have somehow built up an irreversible lung of oxygen intake? What about my policy on anal intercourse?
So many things crossed my mind in those tense 20 breaths. I was seriously contemplating what sort of part-time job I could take in heaven. Maybe i could be a road-sweeper or some bohemian artist painting pictures of God everyday. The thing was, I wasn't even given time to wuss out from the experiment. Before I could even look up after my 20th breath, James straightaway positioned his palms over my chest and compressed my sternum against the wall. From a nursing perspective, it was a seriously warped version of CPR, except the irony was that it was killing me rather than saving me.
In layman's terms, it was a manual attempt to stop my heart from beating and on a pain scale of 1-10, it was definitely not a single or double-digit number. Imagine having a car crash into your sternum and your sternum only. Now imagine one of those cars your see in Need For Speed: Underground with all those spray-painted dragon tattoos on it come crashing into your sternum. Oh, the humiliation!
The weird thing was this: I didn't even know I passed out.
It's as if one just transitioned into darkness without experiencing dimming. And before I know it, everything was black and I all I could see was like a mini-screen of sorts. I saw 10 random thoughts just flying past in my mind. I saw a car. And I recalled vivid scenes from my childhood. It's like watching one of those ol' skool projectors flashing photos of your entire life. It's was I was watching a really terrible B-grade movie in the old Empress cinema. Minus the ah peks that is.
And all this happened in what I estimated to be 10-15 seconds.
As sudden as the transition was into darkness, the same went for going back into the light. It's like waking up from sleep, except for first 2 seconds you wake up, you absolutely cannot move or respond. In fact, your brain feels like it was just given the power to wake up again. I found out later than I had only been unconscious for about 5 seconds only. But it seemed like eternity. I'm thinking that I actually went to heaven and I got rejected because I suck at household chores and I can't paint pictures of apples or oranges (what more God?) to save my life.
But all in all, it was a weird experience caught on a camera phone. Alas, not mine. It's weird seeing yourself lose consciousness and actually waking up again. The closest I can come to describing it is prolly your soul watching yourself die. Because when I became unconscious in the video, I just slumped to the floor and James was actually laughing like a mad bitch. It's as if his scientific experiments on transferring tattoos during cloning made a major breakthrough.
And thus, with a close shave with death ticked-off on my list of things to do in life, I'm on to my next goal. Anal intercourse anyone?
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
video killed the radio star
this is a wallpaper that i made out of frustration at work.
my immediate superior AKA Senior Medic is an absolute pro at arrowing and pushing work to others. in fact, he is so talented that he uses the perfect excuse of me being the only chinese chap in the medical centre to shoot a chinese new year project at me. note that this project is technically his sole responsibility. but he basically packages the whole thing in a beautiful hamper and makes it sounds and look oh-so-nice. but like all typical hampers, when you open it up, you realize it's nothing but a load of bullshit.
but what is this project i'm talking about?
basically it's a time-consuming presentation about chinese new year customs and traditions. they want a video for this. it's to be played during the reunion dinner at the end of the month, while people are eating no less. not like anyone will be bothered to watch it anyways, given the food.
that's the irritating thing about my workplace. for every single festive event organized, there's always something to be made or contributed by the various departments. and the worst would always be the need for a video presentation. in fact, the previous event (Christmas and End of Year party), the assignment was to produce a video about anything funny. and we had no funny ideas. so we did a ghost video named OPS: MENCARI HANTU (ALA Blair Witch project style). all i can say is that people thought the ghosts were real when they were no other than callefares.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
goodbye lor, my friend
life at my workplace is like a chingay parade.
people just come and go like a passing procession. sure, they are really interesting to see and observe. they may even make lasting impressions on you. ok so maybe you get to take a few photos here and there. they make good memories and make really quaint conversation topics that sit on your mantlepiece. but then again, what good are they unless you get to meet up with them again?
i'm kinda bitter about people leaving this camp now. tomorrow, a really good friend of mine whom i have this uber-big crush on is leaving for Singapore and never coming back to brunei again. it's not like i won't be able to see him in singapore. but i describe the friendship between this particular colleague and me as 'contextual friendship'.
meaning that this colleague and i are pretty good friends only in Brunei. the environment is conducive enough for us to help us click together and befriend each other. but i have this feeling that if you take away the medical context in which we work in, the canteen dinners, the staying together in bunks, the watching of late-night movies together, simply working together and reading the Straits Times together, take away all of that. and you're left with two really awkward young men who have nothing in common other than being medics and having acerbic tongues. we are like lab rats. only can survive if given the above-mentioned conditions.
come to think of it, the only language that both of us talk in are sarcasm and gossip. if there's anything juicy worth sharing, it's just between us. and there's nothing better to talk about between the two of us except to poke fun at how fat we're becoming in brunei with all the canteen dinners. i seriously think that sarcasm is how our friendship has survived this far.
we won't be as close as we are right now. and i won't say that we are particularly close or anything like that. close enough to let him know that i'm gay. but not close enough to tell him how i feel. which is really retarded. cos to me, it's easier to have hook up and have sex with someone. but to tell someone that you like him, you'll need much more courage than 10,000 post-wizard-of-oz lions have together. and that is something a pussycat like me wouldn't have.
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