Bz B

Had a surprisingly productive day yesterday.

Started off by waking up at the relatively late time of 7am (these weekdays, it's usually 630am). After which I made myself a rather interesting sandwich that consisted of bread, some lettuce, salami and lots of dripping hot cheese. It's interesting 'cause I recently bought this particular type of cheese...no idea what it's called, but it tastes nice without being overly pungent.

Throughout the day, I was unusually attentive to the various on-goings. Sat in my first pscyhotherapy session, and also had the opportunity for a little voyeurism when I sat behind one of those one-way mirrors to observe a couple of the sessions. I quite enjoy my attachment with the Child Psychiatry unit, but I have to be careful not to spend too much time there 'cause even though I enjoy it, it's not exactly material that'll be assessed in the finals (with the possible exception of autism, eating disorders and enuresis i.e. bed-wetting), and my main priority is to gain as much from this attachment with the aim of passing my finals.

Got home, talked to my parents (who were worried that the recent floods in the UK might've affected Newcastle), and for some reason, I had the urge to actually cook something instead of relying on the stuff I usually get from Iceland. So I tried my hand at some chinese cooking, and the fact that I'm alive to type this entry today is proof enough that it went well.

After watching a documentary about how unsafe pensions are (at the moment, I'm wondering if it'll be a good idea to just opt out of the NHS pension scheme once I start work with the intention of getting the money invested elsewhere since I'll be going home to M'sia anyways - any thoughts on the matter, Kudo?), I sat down with a mug of Milo and read some paeds for a couple of hours.

Somehow, throughout the day, I also managed to finish Paulo Coelho's 'Eleven Minutes', which I started reading in the morning. I got the book off Shanti the day before (I think) and was quite keen on getting started on it, although the initial plan was to read a chapter of it a day (kononnya nak cut down on the time spent on novels). I've been curious about Coelho's work ever since it was recommended to me by JD last summer, and this was the first time I actually had a copy of his book in my hands.

The verdict? I was quite pleased with the book. Heck, there was no way in hell I'd finish a book in a day if it was crap. I was reading it in between sessions yesterday, and a little boy came up to me and started chatting with me. He was intrigued with the book I was reading, and asked if I could read the book to him. I smiled, and would've loved to have read another book to him but was looking for a way out in this case 'cause the first line of Eleven Minutes is 'Once upon a time, there was a prostitute called Maria.' Not exactly something you'd wanna read to a 5-year old.

The book revolves around Maria's journey of self-discovery and her search for both love, as well as the sacredness of sex (Eleven minutes refers to the length of time in which an average session of sex lasts). While the events and the plot aren't spectacular (in fact, it was probably a little too fast-paced), Coelho's attention to his characters, especially that of the protagonist, is a joy to read. One gets caught up in her desire for a better life, and her search for love can be quite inspirational, albeit a tad bit predictable at times.

Come to think of it, this is probably my first 'romance' novel. Now, I wouldn't dream of placing this book on the same shelf as Mills & Boon and family, but at the end of the day this book does revolve around love. And it is exciting - being able to comprehend and relate to a story that catches the essence and passion of what I'm going through. Probably explains me almost missing the bus 'cause I was too engrossed in it.






As silly and simplistic as some may find it, I do believe that love is the most important thing that you can have, whether it's love for a person or love for an idea or love of God. Life would be meaningless if you don't have someone to share your joys and despairs with, and life would cease to be an adventure if there is no goal in mind. I think the passion that's involved in discovering this spark is what drives us on; whether or not we achieve it at the end is not important. At least we try. As the saying goes, it's the journey that matters, not the destination. Ah heck, maybe I'm just being a hopeless romantic. (As my defence I'd like to think that my entries are not so diabetes-inducingly nauseating that you'd feel like bitchslapping me).

Anyways, finally went to bed shortly after midnight. If everyday was like yesterday, I think I'd lead a rather productive life, but I better not get my hopes up too high. The one main thing that was different about yesterday was the fact that except for 30 mins of the documentary mentioned above, and another 30 mins of my daily dose of The Simpsons, the tv was silent. A minor miracle that will not last long...

Am off to a clinic now. I've lost count the number of times I've yawned today, and chances are, I'll drop straight to bed once I get home.