MRCP-ed

It seems like just yesterday that it was July 2012 and I had just graduated from Med School, having earned the letters MBBS (London) behind my name after much effort slaving through the years. 

At that point, I had been ecstatic to take a whole year off sitting for exams in F1 and just slacking / being a glorified ward clerk (whatever rocks your boat) without having to use my brain much. 

But those slacker days appeared short-lived because before I knew it, June was here and I was signing my life away to sit for MRCP Part 1. So much for not giving a crap about post-graduate exams. In the end, the pressure from my Consultant Cardiologist trumped everything. 

I still recall passing Part 1 and jumping up and down while doing Surgical On Call, much to the amusement of my Cardiology Registrar who was completely unimpressed and said I had been over-dramatic for nothing when I said I had screwed it up after sitting it. And then Part 2 came and went. And before I knew it, I was signing my life away for PACES. 

The journey through PACES was horrendous. There were many days of people staring at me in disgust like I was the most stupid thing on earth for giving such an answer. Of reading my notes over and over again and reciting presentations in my room. Of staying back till 8 pm to practise examining patients in the hospital. Of wanting to pull my hair out because I never though I could imagine myself passing this exam. Ever. 

And the joy I felt when I received this letter was beyond description. 

Fair enough, as with most things, the euphoria faded pretty quickly and within 1 week my excitement at passing these membership exams had almost completely gone. I was one step closer to hopefully achieving that Cardiology dream, but there were still many many obstacles to go. 

But for now, I was grateful. Grateful for having flown all the way to London and passing these membership exams in my alma mater where I had passed my undergraduate exams. Grateful for everyone who helped me along the way. And grateful for the royal college for making my year such a memorable one! 

And I'm more than happy to be MBBS(London), MRCP(UK)

Now to be a Cardio God...

This trophy, his again

Wimbledon 2014: Djokovic d. Federer


And then there were two. Two Wimbledon titles, that is.

If anyone wanted to show an alien from outer space what an exquisite game tennis was, all they should do is play a tape of the first set that went down between Roger Federer and Novak Djokovic at the Wimbledon Finals 2014. At the end of the first set, although it was Federer's way that the tie break ended up going, I paused and shook my head in disbelief. What a game. What top quality tennis. How beautiful. 
I later told my friend that it must have bee quite amusing to witness the conversation that unfolded between me and my other friend (Federer fan). She, who lost hope in the  beginning after he was 2 sets and 2-5 down, with Djokovic serving for championship point. And then, all of a sudden, he wilted, just a teeny little bit, and it was me who was depressed all over again with an image of the old Djokovic flashing before my eyes - the weak mental game and inability to psych himself back. 
It was even more unbelievable when Djokovic had another chance at match point when Federer's serve was called out. He summoned Hawk's Eye. It wasn't. And he survived in the match long enough to take the 4th and force a 5th set. This was classic Federer. Impeccable tennis. The aces, the calm demeanour, the barely breaking a sweat.

The Novak circa 2008 - 2009 would have buckled under that pressure, having championship point slip through his bare hands. He would have just wilted after sitting at the sidelines and the Federer we knew would have finished him off like a junior. Heck, even I didn't believe in him. I had resorted to giving up all hope after having shouted at the TV screen for almost 4 hours.

But this is 2014, and Novak Djokovic sat quietly at the sidelines, gathered himself to defy it all and found his way back to win the trophy.

It was an emotional end to the day for many. Firstly, for Novak himself who, after eating another blade of grass to continue his tradition, dedicated this win to his future wife and child and his late coach who had told him he was going to be World No.1.

For Federer who wiped away a tear, standing gallantly at the side watching Novak receive the trophy.
"Thank you for letting me win today," he had told the legend. And indeed, it takes two to tango. Without Federer, there would never have been such great tennis at play.

And for many of my friends, die-hard Federer fans...without whom this experience would not be half as fun.

Lynn posted this screenshot of our Whatsapp conversation where we gave ourselves bouts of palpitations during the match. 4 whole of years of enthusing over tennis matches and grand slam results and watching tennis is still as enjoyable with this girl. Federer v Djokovic clashes and Wimbledon would have never been the same if our paths hadn't crossed. 

So as of today, Novak is World No.1 again. The best in the world, they say. And perhaps winning this Wimbledon was just what he needed to end this 18 month drought of not winning any Grand slam titles. But such is the world of tennis, which is why I love this game so much. It is unpredictable and full of surprises and yet when executed brilliantly, so beautiful to watch. And I believe Federer's last day has yet to come. I also believe that there is much more this World No.1 will bring to his game in the near future. 

May the best man win

It has been 2 whole years since my last visit to Centre Court in 2012 where I watched Rafa Nadal crash out in the first round in front of my very eyes, 4 whole years since our first venture into the grounds of Wimbledon where I very unpleasantly turned 5 shades darker and after that, where the exhilarating experience of the Quarterfinals on Centre Court made everything worth it. 

Wimbledon 2012 

Fast forward 2 years later to 2nd July 2014, where I had just emerged from an amazing 3 hour experience of Transformers on the big screen. 

My  Wimbledon app bleeps a notification and I flick it open. 

WHATTT!!?!? Andy Murray, the defending champion of Wimbledon 2012 - knocked out of the Quarterfinals by an 11th seeder whom I had hardly paid attention to before this?

This had got to be the best day ever. 

"OMG Andy Murray is OUT of the tournament!" 

"Haha, told you it was gonna be another 77 years before he wins it again" 

"#spankedbacktoscotland"

It's difficult to describe why I feel so strongly against the poor chap. Perhaps because he isn't the most charismatic of tennis players and although he has matured greatly in the game since those early days, his attitude still annoys me on the court. But most importantly, last year, when I had been watching him diligently on the TV screen - the only Wimbledon match I had managed to catch properly amidst work - I had watched my Djoker defeated right in front of my very eyes. It was a devastating experience, if any, and didn't do my distaste for the Scotsman any favours. 

But this year....things were getting real. After watching Novak battle his way inconsistently in and out of being in the lead against Grigor Dimitrov last night to reach his 3rd Wimbledon final in 4 years, I had come to a surprising conclusion - that in fact, Roger Federer was probably more deserving of this championship than Novak this tournament. And that it was obvious yesterday from his breaking Milos Raonic in the first game of the very first set that sometimes, all you need is the spirit of a champion, and in that department, Roger was the clear winner. 

So I have to admit that although I am a Novak fan through and through, a small part of me is contented with Roger winning the championships this year. Mainly because it has been so long since he has last won a Grand Slam and because he has been close to flawless this tournament. Milos never stood a chance and I gave up after a few minutes of watching the youngster wilt against the 32 year old.

But as they say, may the best man win. Either way I look forward to another highly entertaining tennis match to watch.

Good luck, guys.

Back for good

Back when I had first announced my decision to leave the UK for good in March, it had seemed so far away then. On top of studying for my MRCP Part 2 exam and tearing my hair out amidst consecutive on calls and questions, the one thing I proclaimed daily was that I just wanted to go home for good. I couldn't wait. Later on, when these exams had been passed and done with and there was no longer any real stress, I ranted about how I hated surgery and ENT daily. That I couldn't wait to leave this place forever. 

Truth be told, my departure from the UK was more uneventful than anything else I had ever experienced in life. It had been completely drama-free, perhaps aided greatly by the fact that we were in a mad rush to lug back my 28492 outfits and shoes that I had collected over half a lifetime in a country I had come to know so well over these years. There was no longing and bitterly missing my life in the UK after coming back here. In fact, I have almost forgotten what it was like back there - and this is what I'd like to think is what it is like to feel settled. That this decision to move back for good was none other than the right one all along. 

When I had first told my consultant of my decision to leave a few months ago, he pointed out that I had spent so many years in the UK that I was probably more 'anglicised' than I had thought over these years. Which I had to agree was slightly true and slightly not. I had come to find myself to be someone who was neither here nor there since I had left home at the age of 17. Amongst my English friends, I found myself to be 'more Chinese' than I had ever thought with my principles and yet back home, the tag 'UK Girl' never seemed to have left. Living abroad brought me the freedom and independence that made me grow into the person I was today, and this, amidst a myriad of both good and bad things that transpired - McD runs in the middle of the night, getting so wasted on 80% strength liquor, trudging 2 miles to the train station in ankle-deep snow clad only in ballet flats, coupled with short interludes of winter / easter / summer holidays gallivanting in Europe or being pampered back home....I would never have traded in for anything else ever. 

And then the one big party that was 'student life' ended, and the real world loomed ahead. Friends started to leave....one by one. For different parts of the UK, for Scotland, for the East. Boys came and went and sadly, none were here to stay. On call rotas started to shape our lives, followed closely by the pain of studying for post grad exams. There ceased to be a 'Club 168A' or a 'Daisy, Minnie and Coco' and meeting up for short European breaks  / weekend breaks seemed to be the only thing I lived for. And as much as I had professed that the past 2 years of my medical career had turned out with me having nothing to show for besides an amazing ability to multi-task and churn out discharge summaries at top speed, I had to admit that the only bit of meaning to my life was probably connecting with medicine and reinstating my faith in what I had already known - that I was a medic through and through. That it had been insane I had actually considered Colorectal Surgery and Ob Gyn for one brief point in medical school.

It feels strange to be leading the most unproductive life ever when I had hardly stopped to even breathe for the whole of May with my back to back on calls. Truth be told, there is alot of soul searching that I have been left with to do at the moment. Whether or not my incessant desire to live the Cardio dream and put up with a lifetime of stress and exams was what I would really want in the future, if life would really become as empty for me as being only about constantly struggling to keep abreast in this rat race that is medicine with no knight in shining armour riding along in a cloud of dust in the distance, if I was really cut out to be the best of both worlds in the future or if I could just handle one at a time.

But I reckon pondering never really did anyone any good, and I have come this far to achieve my fierce childhood dream of becoming a doctor. We only move forward from where we go, and hope for the best.

And for the moment, I'm optimistic that I can make it. 

Happy

And so by the goodness of God, I woke up one Friday in early May to an update on the MRCP website saying that the Part 2 results had been released and thankfully, I had passed again. Far from aced it, mind you, but hey, my aim was never to be a genius anyway.

I was riding on a cloud that night when I embarked on my second weekend in a row of surgical nights - something that mind you, I hate to the core. And then after a couple of days the euphoria passed and I started realising that even when you have passed both written parts of your membership exams, there is still so much that you don't know and there is still so much yet to come.

But for now, let's focus on happy things for the time being, i.e. that my last FOUR days of work are approaching. That this is the last time EVER I need to do bloody ENT Surgery or any kind of Orthopaedic / Urology / ENT / General Surgery on call EVER again. That my one month of freedom and holidays at home are coming up. That I might actually make it as a Cardiologist after all, now that I have leaped through yet another hoop along the way. That I drew my time at this hospital where I had built so many memories, gotten to know so many incredible people and grown so much as a doctor, to a proper close and had an amazing time at my party.

There is so much I have to say about leaving this country where I have spent such a significant number of years of my life, but I think that deserves another post in itself. At the moment, we have been so busy chucking stuff out and moving that I have not paused to take it all in.

But as this post says, happy things and happy thoughts only for now. 

One step at a time

A great deal has happened in the past week. 

From the top:

1) Met up with my favourite Kch girlies - one whom I had not seen for 5 years and the other whom I had not seen for 3. And yet our sporadic amounts of keeping in touch via text managed to make it seem as though nothing much had changed since our last encounter. 

2) Took a gamble at my ALS course on Thursday and Friday - note: read like three pages of the manual, winged my way through the MCQ in 20 minutes because I wanted to go out shopping in London and managed to make it through the real deal. 

3) Managed to not screw up my ALS practical session too badly after finding out that my MRCP Part 1 results had been released right before going in and that my friend had passed. 

4) PASSED MY MRCP PART 1!!!!! OMG it was unbelievable. I had to check three times and then almost deafened my mum on the phone. 

Bumped right into my Cardio Reg on the ward after screaming over the phone at my mum and after declaring to him that I had actually passed, he gave me a look and said "See, so all that drama and stress after the paper was for nothing!" 

To which I excitedly declared that now I want to be a Cardiologist again. 

My momentary act of drama after the exam was justified entirely, for the record. I had not been able to answer 60% of the Cardiology questions in the paper, and after bumping into my Cardio Reg on call, I had sworn off Cardio, telling him that I wanted to be a Dermatologist....oh wait, I would need MRCP for that too....no, I wanted to be an Orthopod now. Or maybe a chronic SHO. 

I was ecstatic for 12 whole hours and for a moment it seemed like maybe my Cardiology dream was attainable again. 

HELL YES. I will make it happen. Little by litle. One step at a time. 

For the time being, it is time to lose the MRCP pot belly and fat. And the breakouts. And cheer up because this could be the one good thing that is happening in my life for the moment. 

And start being serious about Part 2. 

2013: BOOM!

So 2012 came and went SO SO quickly that it took me the whole of today for it to sink in that I am now at Day 1 of a fresh new start.

This year's NYE celebration was as different from last year's as night from day. I spent the day time in a comatose state, completely exhausted, having finished on night shifts. The irony was that my night before had been a state of boredom beyond words. The Surgical F1 and I sat at the mess looking at each other, he having offered to do as many cannulas for me as he could (simply because he was bored as well!) before he finally decided to sleep, and me, having watched him and the Surgical SHO snore away for every single night before this, decided to cave and join them as well. The funny thing is when you DO sleep, compared to when you don't, you wake up even more exhausted than usual each time you are interrupted to do the most stupid jobs. 

I then decided to attend a costume party with my usual outfit - a pretty dress. Unfortunately I was the only other person in the whole place to not be dressed up as something, so my constantly repeating over and over again that I was there as a 'pretty girl' could only get me as far. 

Counting down to 2013 was a bit anti-climatic to say the least. We spent ages trying to find this person or the other and when we finally did, I was already sober beyond words. It didn't help that the bartender at the club rejected my debit card and I didn't have enough cash on me, and that we had to drag my drunk friend back home in a taxi at the start of the night because she was almost wasted beyond words. We did, however, manage to have quite a bit of fun at the end of the night, despite the series of events that prevailed, with me being utterly confused at 3 am in the morning amidst deafening music and having a flashback of an unfortunate scene that had happened a few years ago. 

At that time, having a whole week off post-nights AND having the directorate forget to take my request into account that I wanted to cancel it off the rota seemed like a good idea. But with my Microsoft Office not yet arrived in the post and my wandering mind unable to concentrate on reading any book for long, it makes me despair and wish that I was actually back to the manic conditions of the elderly care wards tomorrow. It doesn't help that I started the morning of my new year with the most intense conversation ever at 5.30 am in the morning and that I was so tired today that I fell asleep at 6 pm only to wake up with a start at 8 pm. Aye, messing up my own sleeping patterns indeed. 

It is possibly slightly sad that I am spending my first day off lamenting about the fact that I wish I was going back to work rather than be left with nothing to do and to fester with a zillion thoughts in my own head, and it reminds me of the dismal times in the midst of Final Year when I was going through emotional turmoil and had nothing to distract myself from apart from the fact that finals were looming and I had to pass them by hook or by crook. 

But this is why I like my job. I like the fact that I am constantly on the go and always called to do things left, right and centre. I like that nothing is predictable day to day. I like that I am so busy all the time and when I look up it is suddenly 5 pm already. And I love the fact that my life is routine as such, and at the moment there are only important things ahead to dwell on: successfully completely F1, focus on taking postgrad exams and make the most of this damn career. Because it is possibly the only thing in my life that I can control at the moment and the only thing I can make sure doesn't go pear-shaped.

My new year's resolution, apart from learning to be a better doctor, however is to be this girl:

My figure is no 5'6" (I am only 5'4") but I sure as hell can have that bag. I will be sure of it :) 

And as Kel says, it is only another 3 more months before I am on home soil and catching up with my beloved chums again! I absolutely can't wait!! 

For the moment, I need to reignite the positivity that I had when I embarked on the start of 2012 - that this will be one hell of a year and I will take down every single lemon that life hurls at me. Because I know that this will be an even better year than the last. And I will make sure that I become every inch of a kick-ass doctor to measure up to it. 

BOOM! 

The Downfall

I had to admit, it was a little hard to believe when this picture greeted me this morning. Never in a million years had I imagined that it would be Andy Murray of all people that Djoker would be crushed by. 

Andy Murray....with all his whininess and the eye-rolling worthy hype by the British press. 

Yet, perhaps it is that pride always comes before a fall. Or rather, in Djoker's case: his racquet-smashing tendencies ended up with him being completely smashed by the Scotsman. 

It was one of the most frustrating matches of my entire life to absorb. First things first, I had been all but bubbling with excitement at the thought that I could finally catch a US Open match because it was actually early enough for my BST night time (9 pm instead of the usual 12 am). 

When Djoker was broken in the first game, I knew something was amiss. 

The first set suddenly was over with Andy Murray in the driving seat and me venting my anger out to Coco on Gtalk. 

How different things were from the year before, where my US Open 2011 experience comprised of blurry snippets from another TV via a Skype conversation and me declaring that things were over for Djokovic when Federer led 2 sets up, only to be told later on that "NOOOOO where is the faith? A World No.1 is a World No.1 for a reason!" 

This year, my little bit of faith left in my Djoker was hanging on a rapidly fraying string when he again was trashed in the second set. Yet, I still persevered and told myself that things could turn around like it had against Federer. Like the commentator said eventually, it was a battle of the forehands, and the obvious winner who emerged was Murray. 

In the end, a few points shone clearly from this match. I went to bed annoyed for perhaps more than just the sole reason that Djoker was crossing the fine line between stubborn and dumb. I was also, perhaps, annoyed that everything had changed in the span of 12 months. 

Oh well. Next year, Nole. 

Till then, I hope you are happy now, Andy and Team GB. 

New Beginnings

The end of one chapter, and the beginning of another. I think I have to be grateful for the fact that I am stressing out with 2389 things to do before starting work rather than have to sit on my ass and ponder about whether or not I will be nervous about not having the excuse of 'just being a medical student' to fall back on any longer. 

So, graduation came and went. After much fussing for months and months on end about what colour of an outfit to wear under the robe, what shoes to match them with, how high they should be and etc, we are finally holders of an MBBS degree (Bachelor of Medicine and Surgery). 

Could not have done it without the finances and undying support from my parents who have listened to me sigh, tear and stress my way through Medical School. Each time they have done nothing but give me anything under the sun that I desired and believe in my meager abilities. Kudos to Mummy and Daddy Sim! 

Onwards and forwards to new lives... and with them of course, comes the inevitable farewells. The three years spent with 'The Neneks' and 'The Cartoons' have served us all well, and I am positive that we will remain fast friends for a long time coming. Some bonds are just meant to be as such - unbreakable. 

Also, the biggest new beginning would be the huge move out of London down south to the sunny coasts of Dorset in South West England. Possibly 'the middle of nowhere', as Lynn's Persk Friend describes, but I get to play wannabe Cardio God for my first job, so hey, if anything I suppose there's always that to look forward to. It has always seemed strange to me that after all these years in the UK, I have not developed any sort of affinity towards it at all. Each time I prepare for another 13 hour flight back to the UK, the reluctance to leave home is truly overwhelming. As with most things in life however, I do appreciate that the grass is always greener on the other side. But the one thing I have been sure about each time people have queried me about my future plans was that there was no freaking way I would live in the UK for another ten years on end.

Then again, I suppose anything the one thing could happen. Perhaps my Cardio God aspirations will soon evaporate and be replaced with being an Investment Banker (IB)'s wife whose main concern would be which Balenciaga bag to wear each day. 

Actually, that sounds like a much better plan already rather than straining to hear Mid Diastolic Murmurs and picking up all the signs of Mitral Stenosis.

So Here's a toast to New Beginnings. Of surviving my experience as a Foundation Doctor and of making the most of my medical degree :)  (And my life as an IB's wife in the near future)

Licensed to Heal

When I was a little girl, all I had in mind was one thing: to be a Doctor. 

Somehow, it was just one of those things that I was sure about right from the start. At the age of 13, when we completed some profiles of each of our friends as an English project, my profile on Momo's page read:

Aspirations: Neurosurgeon. 

Of course, that has changed vastly since. Firstly, because I actually realised while on work experience how difficult Neurosurgery actually was, and secondly, in Med School that I was no genius. In fact, I was soooo mediocre, it was a huge piece of humble pie to swallow, realising that I was, in fact, hardly a dent in the pool of geniuses that made up a graduating year of medical students. 

Yesterday I passed my Med School Finals. 

We laughed, we shouted, we teared, we chugged down the alcohol, we partied hard, and then that was it. This phase of our lives was over.

The last Undergraduate exams of my entire life. A whole lot to take in. I struggled with ups and downs while trying to juggle sanity between OSCE-ing, calculating drug doses, placating people and laughing manically with my chums. Eventually, it seemed, I did know some Medicine after all in the past 5 years.

There have been brief moments in my life where I was fed a dose of reality of how tough Medicine really was. How much effort it took, emotionally and physically to be a great Doctor. How much my hand shook each year waiting to find out if I had passed yet another year and edged closer to becoming a Doctor, each time wondering aloud WHY I had chosen to put myself through such emotional turmoil.

At the end of the day, I say this over and over again, and I attest to this still. There is nothing else in this world I could imagine myself doing. I know I have yet to start properly Doctoring, but I do have high hopes for myself. 

The day I became Dr. S.

Another step closer towards possibly becoming that Cardio God :)

Lost Without You

Hello, my name is Alyssa and I am a Smartphone addict.

It seems, if a stranger were to chance upon my blog, that I could be pictured as having an addictive personality of almost every possible kind! After having confessed a while ago that I was a sucker for buying accessories, I now have to grudgingly admit that it doesn't stop there.

Yes, I suppose admitting it publicly is the first key to acknowledging the problem.

There was a time not very long ago, that I was absolutely hooked. My battery life suffered terribly as a consequence, and I would freak out the very moment my 3G stopped working.

Here is some photographic evidence. Good times those were. Note: I have changed for the better. MUCH better.

Not particularly voluntarily though. Unfortunately. My sturdy HTC Desire S, which I had been enthusing about since I got last year, decided to die on me recently, and I was left in a bit of a state making multiple panic phone calls to the Orange helpline and to their store to source out a solution.

I must say, Orange is in dire need of some brushing up of their communication skills.

"Wow is it THAT dead? Sorry, we can't do anything for you."

"What?? You can't even find help me repair it even if I paid?" *lower lip trembles and tears almost start welling up in my eyes 'Puss-In-Boots style' at the thought of being phoneless....possibly forever"

The salesperson, not picking up on any of the cues at all: "Sorry, I can't do anything for you."

WHERE was the empathy?? I mean, seriously!!

Thank Goodness HTC sort of made up for its faulty device by offering good customer services. Currently my phone is off to some corner of the country to be looked at by the people who will hopefully repair it.

And in the meantime, I get to finally come to terms with my addiction by going cold turkey. No smart phone for at least 10 days.

*lip starts to tremble again* I have felt so different since. So.....empty. Meh. So....lost.

OMG someone give me a medal already!!!!

NB: All in good fun. But on a serious note, will not be on Whatsapp for a good amount of time. Text my UK number / Email / FB msg me if anything urgent beckons!

5 hours and 53 minutes

5 hours and 53 minutes.

That was how long these two men spent fighting the biggest battle of their lives, each not faltering or easing up on the power of their ground strokes even after we careened past midnight into 2 am Melbourne time.

It was one of the biggest tournament finals of my life. The night before, I was feeling restless...exasperated....I was doubting Djokovic's mental strength after watching him flail against Andy Murray in the Semis during the 3rd set where he just lost it completely. Rafa was at least twice the man Andy was, there was no doubt he could easily finish Djoker off if he wanted to.

I should have had more faith in him. Because as much as I like to lament, the truth remains as such: Nobody becomes the No.1 tennis player in the world through just pure luck.

It was exhilarating in so many ways. I was freaking out and hyperventilating, and simultaneously juggling all the insults hurled by the 'haters' at me, especially when Rafa lunged back out of no where to win the tie break and take the 4th set. And even when I couldn't finish watching the final set, I was pretty much in awe when I left....not at Djokovic or at Nadal per se, but at how amazing these two guys were. The level at which they pushed each other to and their determination to never stop fighting was jaw-dropping, at the very least. I was flabbergasted at how hard two people could still drive those power shots home to pin-point precision after 5 hours of such intense tennis. Even we were exhausted from just watching almost 5 hours of what would come down as the greatest opening show of 2012's tennis.

But sadly, there can only be one winner. And when Novak Djokovic collapsed on court with an insane cry of jubilance, the statistics later showed that he had spent almost 11 hours on court that day, of the 54 hours throughout this entire Australian Open tournament.

I almost felt sorry for Rafa. It surely could not have been easy to fight back as hard as he had done in possibly one of the hardest and, arguably, the greatest Grand Slam finals in history. The men's game had upped itself so much in the past 5 years, that only those with the best fitness and greatest mental strength and sufficient amount of aggression could break the Fantastic Four of Federer, Nadal, Djokovic and Murray.

But this.....this final was possibly the perfect match of unquenchable spirit and unbreakable strength, with the best outcome possible: demonstrating the edge that a true champion required to stun the world.

Standard protocol pretty much followed after Djoker raised the Norman Brookes championship cup yet again for the second consecutive year. I went around grinning from ear to ear, my flurry of congratulatory messages, with a few mixed grudging insults flooded my inbox, and as per tradition, we will be celebrating his victory this weekend. No fine dining this time, but no less momentous an occasion compared to the last.

5 hours and 53 minutes. That was all it took for Novak Djokovic to redefine the term 'Super-Human' and remind me all over again why I have become more and more in love with this game in the recent few years.

Congratulations, Djoker! See you at Centre Court this June!!

Birthday Buddies

The hype surrounding birthdays has never really been there for me. This year however, was the last time we (Daisy, Coco, Nenek and I) would get to celebrate a birthday together, hence I decided to at least settle for dinner over the weekend.

The morning started off horrendous. There was a massive 4 and a half hour surgical ward round that lasted from 8 am till way past lunchtime, and it didn't help that my nose was dripping like a leaky tap the entire morning as well due to unknown reasons, or the fact that they kept making me carry stacks of notes to scribe on at lightning speed as we rushed from one end of the hospital to another.

The rest of the weekend was pretty much standard protocol of replying messages and catching up with those whom I had lost touch with. It's funny because Zhin and I use the word 'Birthday Buddies' alot to describe people whom we speak to only on an annual basis, but this year the term managed to take on a much more hilarious turn.

These, however, are my birthday buddies, and definitely some of the greatest friends I have had the pleasure of meeting:

The 'Neneks', and definitely one of the best parts of Med School

Thanks Daisy for the awesome cake :)

And then the night took a turn from mild to insane. So...Enough said. Pictures speak a thousand times louder than words.

All pictures courtesy of Daisy and her fabulous camera! Much thanks!

Definitely one HUGE moment to remember, and totally blog entry-deserving. Much thanks to all the awesome people who made my day and to the many wishes and thoughts that came my way. I felt the love :)

On top of turning a year more worldly and wiser, I also learnt a lesson at the expense of an 'almost' 'thunderclap headache'.

Here's to sobriety for another few months at least, to my fabulous 'Neneks' whom I could not imagine life in London without, and to all the other important people in my life who have shown me much love and support every step of the way.

And to those who were never deserving of my time and effort, as I have been flippantly saying these days, "Throw them away lah!"

And finally, here's to an awesome Lunar New Year as well, roaring ahead dragon-style. Finish Line, I DO see you! :)

More Walking and More Remembering

As yet another year draws to a close, I feel pressured to write a customary year-end post reflecting on the good and bad times of the year gone by.

It's difficult to focus properly at this moment when my mind is not really on track considering how my holidays have come to an end and I pack up tomorrow to head to Chertsey for my next placement. But I will say that I am eternally grateful for all my friends and family for making 2011 one giant of a year, and I have never embarked on the beginning of another year as optimistic as I am now.

They say that with the grey moments, there is a silver lining folded inside every raining cloud.

And with the good moments, even if they pass on eventually, I am one who believes in actively savouring moments and MAKING things happen :) Hence my excitement to hit the ground running this year. I have a life list to pursue, and I will take on every downfall that tries to barrage my way.

Manda and I share inside jokes and fond memories of our 'infamous' (i.e. fun in characteristic ways) NYE celebrations in Kch. This year was a first for me spending it on Greenwich Meridian Time (GMT).

Coco and I 'co-hosted' (I use the term loosely, because it was at her place) a NYE Dinner Party / make-shift karaoke (SingStar) party / failed attempt at watching fireworks on TV, that turned out to be heaps of fun and a personal achievement (i.e. our meagre culinary skills produced quite good results in the end)

And all in all, this was definitely one celebration to remember. Although I miss the wishy washy plans usually made with the Kch people before each 31st December night arrives, mostly ending with an 'I dunno lah' or 'See how lah'. Well, hey....new year, new beginnings right??

So 2012, BRING IT!!

Five Girls, One Heart

As cliched as it seems, I cannot help but wonder aloud, over and over again.

Where has all the time gone???

It seemed like just yesterday that we were attending play dates, which progressed to Princess-themed birthday parties, slumber parties and then suddenly, we find ourselves at the next phase of life: Hen Do's.

This was the star of the day: Blushing Bride To Be and definitely the first close friend of mine to be walking down the aisle.

And this was the Bridal Party:

All decked out in the same theme of horizontal stripes (which was planned for) and the same COLOUR theme of black and white (which was completely coincidental, and brought about much laughter).

Possibly one of the most intimate and tame Hen Do's in the history of London, but as we always say, it is the company that matters most. And the day wasn't short of laughs, even if they started off as exasperated ones.

Our 'Do' kicked off in the late morning with an activity of designing and making our own 1920s Flapper-style Headbands, which did not fare too well considering none of us could sew competently, but triumph was to be ours in the end :)

After much stressing out and our stomachs threatening to digest themselves, we then headed off to Sloane Street for bubbly and afternoon tea.

What's a celebration without champagne? :)

Looking forward to the wedding reception (which we can hopefully all attend) where we can look back and reminisce these moments where we were all single, young and painting Londontown red (well, not really, but again it's the company that matters right?).

And as they say, the most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart.

(Credits to Lynn for the pictures)

LFW #2

London Fashion Weekend - 2011.

After this amazing stint last year, there was no thinking twice about going again this year!

No Hanna aka Shopping Buddy aka 'Best Friend who willingly gets dragged by me to watch everything / go everywhere' this year =(

But there was a suitably efficient replacement in the form of Amiri.

And compared to the 'Kiasu Shopping' experience last year, where we were scrambling for time because of juggling the fashion show and hunting for the gift bags alongside browsing the numerous stalls, this year we opted for focusing. Important matters first. Time management skills - excellent.

Hence, no fashion show and no gift bags this year. Just browsing and shopping. And we were done and home by 9.30 pm. Yes, efficient much.

Managed very good steals this year again, perhaps more so than last year's frantic grabbing of clothes for the sake of making the trip my money's worth.

1) My pair of polka-dotted flats from French Sole by Jane Winkworth. Ballerina flats at their best :) Amazing steal from Original Retail Price and sooooo comfortable they possibly rival my loafers. And that's saying something!

2) Yellow chiffon blouse from Twenty 8 Twelve by Sienna Miller. Pretty much addicted to chiffon tops from LFW. I got a similar beige one last year from LFW as well. Hahahah. Oh well, perhaps my style is not as versatile as I thought after all.

3) Green Waist Belt from an independent designer which I love to bits. Although I have to say that their sizes are possibly skewed towards the graph of skinny people. Hmmm. Then again, aren't most clothes these days? *sigh*

Okay, this definitely concludes my shopping for this term. I think my overflowing wardrobe is saying alot for itself, and I have officially exhausted every single trend I have thought of trying out this season.

*And this is the sound of me SEALING my wallet shut*

Blessed...

.....because I have pretty damn awesome friends!

From my absolute FAVOURITE cake (Chocolate + Cherry) from my favourite baker in the entire world : YL Hoo, to the love and effort put into the gigantic photo frame of our amazing friendship by Pei Hua, to the Oscar-worthy acting efforts of LX Wong to pull of the one surprise in my many birthdays of the past that went without a hitch, to the many antics with my Neneks in my kitchen.

This birthday was perhaps alot more different than the last. Simply because this year, I had been whining and whining for days prior to it about having to trek to the middle of nowhere (Tunbridge Wells) to see 'dying ppl', i.e. Hospice Visit. Ironically, it did not turn out so bad, and my partner dropped me off at the end which made trekking back a lot more bearable.

I was also alot calmer this year, mentally, and I had come to realise that the best things come in small packages

(Translation: I am not for massive parties with about 10 other people whom you don't particularly know very well. It is heart-warming enough having a simple gathering with friends that DO matter).

Perhaps it's true what they say, A Year Older, A Year Wiser.

At least I hope that is the case for me :)

Ballet Shoes

When I was a little girl, I had great dreams of becoming a Prima Ballerina. I would pore over ballet books, read about any fictional ballet dancers in novels and imagine myself gliding across the stage one day in those pointe shoes and a white flowing tutu.

I would try and convince myself that I was poised, and graceful, and possibly had the ability to execute those long, flowing lines that I was so in awe of. I would try and make sure I sat up properly, back straight, and tried hard in ballet class to impress.

Unfortunately all that did not last very long. I discovered ballet was an art that appeared a lot more difficult than in had in my mind, and I had no patience nor the talent to become a shadow of a ballerina.

I grew up and I became more and more of a clumsy tomboy each year, with no etiquette or grace whatsoever. I slouched, I hunched, I suddenly found myself more immersed in the Hip Hop culture, forgetting my much enriched initial knowledge of Coppelia and Odette in Swan Lake and The Nutcracker Ballet....and most of all: my childhood dream to dance Giselle.

The 9-year-old me never realised how dark and twisty Giselle was back then. All I was interested in was the costume that the lead ballerina wore.

More than a decade later, I am soon achieving my Giselle dream - not to dance the role but to watch the Royal Ballet Company's interpretation of this romantic ballet.

Perhaps a part of my 9-year-old self had predicted that I would become fairly dark and twisty with my dapple with guys, all these years on. Lol.

But no, just so you know, I am not enough of a Drama Queen to kill myself over men who have deceived me. And similary I would never haunt them in that way. I am nice like that, you see :)

My Novak-Djokovic-Experience

Super delayed post.

But definitely something that needs to be noted down to remember, nonetheless.

On the 24th of November, me, LX, Woogui and friends flocked to the O2 Centre to watch a potentially great showdown between two of the most talked-about names in the tennis world:

Rafa Nadal vs Novak Djokovic

(credits to Woogui and her amazing DSLR)

NB: On a side note, Rafa's outfit DEFINITELY deserves a mention of credit here. The colour combination is soooo amazing!

To be fair, it was just the first round of the Barclays ATP Finals 2010, but a showdown between these two was something I had been anticipating for a realllyyyy long time. Simply because I had already seen Federer and Murray play last Wimbledon, and by watching these two, my Tennis accomplishments were now complete, having watched the Top 4 in the world play within this year.

Okay, looking back retrospectively, I am able to put this in words calmly and enthuse about how lucky I was to be able to watch Djoker play the World No. 1 Nadal. But on the night before when I found out the Order of Play, I was absolutely bubbling with excitement. Elated, was probably an understatement in itself.

To FINALLY watch my Djoker play!!! (gasps)

Yes, he fails to bring his performance level THAT much higher every time and would be lucky to have a tenth the determination that Rafa possesses, but still.....perhaps I just like people who are Second Best. (Or tenth, in Liverpool's case)

After very entertaining and lengthy bus rides, we arrived at The O2 and managed to flock to the Fan Zone to check it out before the Doubles matches started:

We got our picture taken by a Professional Photographer with the Barclays ATP Finals Trophy that Roger 'FedEx' Federer got to hold in his arms as the Champion after. On the other side was the Premier League Championship Trophy and IRONICALLY, a picture of Torres, which I refused to take a picture with because obviously Liverpool will not be lifting it any time soon =P

There were a row of posters that the Top 8 (i.e. the participants of this Barclays ATP Finals) had artistically created. This is Djoker's. All of them were painted from tennis balls being hit (on target obviously) at a cut-out paper silhouette of themselves.

And this was the racquet he used. Not Babolat, unfortunately, but it is still Djoker's masterpiece after all ;)

Lynn and I then proceeded into the court, where we were greeted by a nice surprise! Djoker was practising with some unknown friend or tennis player.

After multiple attempts to take a picture of me with Djoker in the background, we came up with this:

Ahhhh, he is oh-so-gooodddd lookiinnnnnggg!! :) And brings much sentimental value as well, because it was him winning the Australian Open in '08 which sparked my exponentially increasing interest in Tennis.

Despite Rafa Nadal trashing my Djoker in straight sets, (Corneal Abrasion much? AHEM Inside Joke) my money was well-spent, the freezing journey into and out from the O2 Centre worth EVERY moment. No regrets, whatsoever. This year has been an awesome one in terms of my dapple with Professional Men's Tennis, and I am grateful for having all these incredible opportunities - being in this amazing city where all the happening stuff occurs - to be able to watch these guys play.

Also, much thanks and love to my Tennis buddies LX and Woogui for being so willing to come along with me every time I drag you to an event ;)

For the moment, I am glad that Rafa was FINALLY defeated by Federer, but this 24-year-old Spaniard definitely has a LONG way to go in terms of his career as yet.