I have been back for close to 4 weeks now - oh how quickly time has passed!

I am at a community hospital, too far away from home, much further from my GP’s. In these minutes, as I wait for my consultant to return from what I gather is an important meeting, as the air-con above me whirls in a soothing drone, as it dries the perspiration from the (unnecessary) mask wearing I have to endure in addition to the intense humidity, I wait. As that defines my position as a medical student: the wait.

I have things to say, but that moment shall have to - quite teasingly - wait.

I’ve not, for the record, been in the slightest mood to tell tall tales of my weeks so far back home. I cannot so easily blame it on my sloth-like nature, nor could my experiences be dramatic anecdotes that resist sharing. I am approaching the end; eyeing my packed bags on the floor, I know I ought to be used to this, but even routines need to fall needlessly into a comfortable pattern. Flying back always pulls me: I can never justify leaving my family, for that has always pulled me behind.

On a lighter note, I’ve found good reason to resurrect my reading habit. I pulled in a paltry 3 novels for my summer break thus far, but at least the Lit Count is steadily picking up. As I once used to be aware of, reading in the subway polishes off pages quite easily. I never found the need to use trains in Adelaide (and reading in buses makes me nauseous), but a healthy comparison between commuters here and in Japan easily tips the Japanese in favour of reading as opposed to the Singaporean past-time of, well, staring. A Japanese man was once doing Sudoku (in pen!) as he was standing in the crowded Chuo train; I can hardly think of any other journey-derived excitement that could surpass that. Yes folks, I love tackling Sudoku..in pen.

And now that I’ve finally finished Ian McEwan’s ‘Atonement’, I can be quite guilt free when picking the DVD off the shelves. One hates a film that butchers the book; though very few redeem the sins of its text (read: Lord of the Rings). Watching ‘Twilight’ with my tween cousins has forced me to keep a 5m radius off that minisculic plot of love, living death and pimples. No way will my cleansed fingers be touching that profit-driven written junk! As my cousin gave a Bella/Edward 101 lecture, I had to steady myself at strategic plot curves to prevent gagging on my own vomit. But that’s just me being vile…and terribly biased, for I have many examples of Love Stories that cut the mustard.

But back to the purpose of this ‘off the topic’ entry: I have now found (another) good reason to read more novels! Behold this quote:

‘ For this was the point, surely: he would be a better doctor for having read literature. What deep readings his modified sensibility might make of human suffering, of the self-destructive folly or sheer bad luck that drive men towards ill-health! Birth, death and frailty in between. Rise and fall - this was the doctor’s business, and it was literature’s too.
…. his kind of doctor would be alive to monstrous patterns of fate, and to the vain and comic denial of the inevitable; he would press the enfeebled pulse, hear the expiring breath, feel the fevered hand begin to cool and reflect, in the manner that only literature and religion teach, on the puniness and nobility of mankind…’
- Atonement, Ian McEwan

Too bad Robbie didn’t become a doctor. He would be one intriguing Cambridge doctor; like my Dr Darcy (mmph!).

It was too late for them to realise that the waters weren’t too deep after all.
(credits: www.traveljournals.net)

I know I still have those Japan entries to do, and if this dissolves the guilt any better, I think about it everyday. To be quite honest, I haven’t really started on it yet because we’re still sorting out and printing the photos for our own personal album (I have this grand scrapbooking vision - damn you Martha!). To compound things further, I have been busy with my clinical elective, catching up with family and friends and finding some time of my own before I return to Adelaide.

Yesterday, during a busy round at the hospital, I slipped out early (there wasn’t much teaching available) and travelled to nearby Clarke Quay for a late lunch (or early dinner, if it so pleases you). I know it has a vibrant night-life - I’ve barely witnessed it because it just isn’t part of my life - but to me it is an ingredient of this simple ritual of my own. I sit by the riverside and gaze, as the bars and restaurants prepare their tables and chairs for business, while the girls (and guys) scream as the nearby cable bungee ride catapults them into the sky. I’m not there for long, for I suppose the humidity plays such a big part in that. And yet, I feel oddly comforted to sit by the cradle of this country: it was there when the Malay fishermen led their simple lives, it was a channel for migration and commercialisation, it bears the distorted reflection of a claimed democracy that is said to exist in the moonlit skies. It saw what the country could be; now it fringes a nightly act that shakes off our stoical image. Yes, the waters cover well - one can hardly estimate its murky depth - but that is not what it is for. My high school teacher once said that ‘we have no natural beauty, because we change it and ruin it; we fill the swamps to make buildings and we build bricks to control rivers; we’re nothing but land and longkangs.’ It now drains the dreams and ideas that could have been.

I like to sit here and eat sushi; the steady Japan-isation of this area has always attracted me. There is an impressive Japanese supermarket that (and I can gladly confirm this) is the real deal, where I can find my heavenly Haagen-Dazs Green Tea ice-cream and other nostalgic items. Japan is such a beautiful country and I won’t hesitate to return one day should finances permit. I’m thinking of learning the language; not only would it make navigation easier next time, but I can also read Haruki Murakami in his native tongue! I don’t think I’ll ever be a bonafide Japanophile - for example: I still take two bites to eat my sushi, I sometimes prefer the easier route of dipping the rice edge into the soy sauce and (God forbid should a sushi chef ever catch me) I disassemble it at times to create a side portion of ’sashimi’.

Being there reminds me of my travels. Is it not ironic that I find its beauty when, in my mind, I am transported to places so far away; where the concrete confinements of the river edge can barely restrict my imagination. Where my freedom is my own.