Navigating sickness in Bangkok

The second week in Bangkok was truly the worse for me. I was sick (I can’t disclose what the sickness is on social media, however) and I only had fellow backpackers and hostel owners to discreetly ask for advices. The sickness interfered with my ability to walk around and I was getting constant fever for days. Over-the-counter medicine proved to not giving much help as my body was not recovering at all.

I had dreaded the thought of going to private hospitals as I haven’t acquired any health insurance and I could not simply afford the international fees. At the same time, I had moved to a hostel further away from central Bangkok where English is barely spoken there. I had no other choice than to visit the general hospital nearby.

On Monday, my hostel owner advised me to go to the Taksin Hospital located at Somdet Chao Phraya Road.  So, I took the bus, told the bus conductor that I needed to go to Taksin Hospital and turned Google Maps on. Taking the bus in Bangkok was a quite challenging affair but I had gotten the hang of it by then. After going on a 40-minutes ride from Bangkok to Salaya the week before, getting dropped off at a wrong stop, trying to catch another bus again, getting involved in a minor accident between the bus and a car and being asked to change to another bus, I knew then how to manage my expectation.

It was raining when I arrived in Taksin Hospital and I had a strange feeling when I entered the hospital as there were not many people. As far as I know, a government hospital like this would be full by 8 in the morning. True enough, I was turned away by the nurse in charge of registration saying that the doctors were not available even though it was opened for 24 hours. I (and my hostel owner) had forgotten that the Songkran festival was still going on and people were still on holiday. All of these information were communicated to me with only a pen, a paper and Google Translate. Khorb Khun Ka, I said to her, determined to come back tomorrow.

The next day, I felt like I have achieved something when I got my medicine for only 165 THB. I was there for more than three hours, trying to navigate myself from registration, blood pressure test, getting checked by a medical assistant and a doctor to collecting my medicine. At Taksin Hospital, I particularly stuck out like a sore thumb because I was the only foreigner there, standing with a red passport in hand. I used whatever means to communicate my sickness from the very beginning: Google Translate, Google Search, Google Pictures, you name it. The nurse in charge taught me how to say number 19 in Thai because I had to remain alert when my number is called. Fortunately, the doctor who did a check-up on me at the final stage spoke sufficient English for us to communicate.

I may look like Thai (or so I’ve been told) but when I stood amidst the pregnant ladies of Thonburi, the old people in wheelchairs, the little kids who cried and cried because of their pain, I’m reminded that our beautiful differences are what makes us a person. It was still raining when I hopped on bus number 48 to return to my hostel but I’m forever thankful to everyone in Taksin Hospital for being so helpful and patient with me.

Not the same

Bangkok 12th April. My first few days in Bangkok were eventful, heartbreaking and hectic. My Dad kept asking me for my travel photos but what he didn't know is that I've long taken off the tudung that has covered my head for the past 11 years or so.

There I was, walking to my hostel under the unforgiving Bangkok heat, tearing up looking at the Whatsapp pictures I'd just shared to my dad. A few pictures of me with some friends, my hair apparent to the world and his naked eyes. I arrived at my hostel, Dad sent a short 'enjoy your trip' message, and Mom messaged me two minutes later.

From 'don't you believe in God's rules anymore' to 'I worry that you'd go astray in that foreign land', I straightened things up to her, that I need time to think about myself and I've always thought about God's rules ever since I was a kid. My answers were enough for the conversation to end in a good term.

I'm known to be the diplomatic one in the family, the quiet one and I've never once raised my voice to my parents. But above all, I am the most curious child. I started early when it comes to questioning God, religion, and taboo issues. Mom, why did you say my Chinese friends will all go to Hell even though they are the nicest? I was 9. At 6, I started masturbated but porn or sex ed weren't available to me so I wondered how the heck did I know what to do. Never mind that. So, this religion haunted me since I was 6 because evidently masturbation is prohibited in Islam. Then, I proudly told my parents that I have many close, queer friends in my university at the age of 19. That conversation did not turn out well. At the same time, back in Johor, I went to the afternoon religious school for seven consecutive years. At the age of 13, I was a first class holder of Darjah Khas Agama Johor (Johor Islamic Special Grade). Pretty okay for someone who masturbates a lot, ay?

So, no. I don't treat this religion in a wishy-washy manner. I had a lot to ponder at different stages and ages of my life. I had a lot to read, learn, research and exchange dialogues. Emotional breakdown was a repeated affair and constant guilt to my parents (yes, not even God) is an ever present issue. 

Dad hasn't talked to me ever since I sent the pictures and I'm trying to stay positive that I haven't lost a friend in him. Mom has been so loving and understanding that I'm pretty sure she's going to Heaven if it does exist. While I'm guilty for my selfishness, I finally felt a massive burden lifted off my shoulder on that Thursday in Bangkok, letting my beloved, most important couple in the world know the becoming of me.

This should be love

I turned on my rusty, 8-year-old Toshiba netbook with a heavy heart. I routinely uninstalled and reinstalled the audio driver, a thing I do every single time I log in. I discovered quite some time ago that that is the only way for the audio to work.

I know I wanted to listen to 'One Last Time' by Ariana Grande. 

Some days are better and some days you hear that your ex is coming to town again.

How long has it been, I couldn't keep track of it anymore. How many times I've cried, I couldn't keep track of it anymore. But I know this has been a brutal process.

I want to talk to him like the night I saw him before he left. I want to tell him what I have in mind for my future. I want him to hold my hands while he shares his advice and encouragement. 

So it goes, my longing for him.

Except he wrote to me a few days ago, 'I've never moved on and never will. No day goes by without thinking of you'.

Maybe the stars will align again one night.

Taking a symbol off my head

2017 was the year I am truly happy. I decided to take off my tudung on many occasions, a symbol that I have been dragging to wear since I hit puberty. Muslim women wear tudung for so many reasons, mine was to cover up the imperfection I deem not beautiful.

As stated in my Malaysian identification card, I am decidedly Muslim. The photo is of my head covered in a black tudung and underneath it says Islam. But a lot of things work in reverse, I found out one day as I learnt and unlearnt things about myself and my relation to the world. I finally have agency on myself to dictate what I should do and what am I. I am, in essence, active.

But a human is a complete opposite of a robot and I cannot run far from humane emotions. I have been raised with all the hard work one can possibly gather to be a practicing Muslim. My mom is a daughter of a Koran teacher and my dad comes from a respected, well-educated Muslim family. Wouldn’t they feel a teeny bit wasted, if not disappointed if I showed up in front of their house sans tudung on my head?

That is where living a double life comes in. I am a practicing Muslim when I visit my family and an agnostic when I return to my bachelorette life. Try a third life for a change where I dress up as a Muslim but never once stepped into the prayer room at my workplace. I went into my first job as a covered colleague and I have not had the courage to show up tudungless. That is the thing about tudung: taking it off is a dangerous sign of apostate which could invite a considerable amount of bad talks and putting it on is an angel-sent deed.

I have well gotten over the fact that I will not be able to live as a full-time agnostic in this round of life, without hiding from the people I love the most. I also learnt that life is forever in a state of fluctuation, reverse, contradiction, doing and undoing, learning and unlearning, happiness and unhappiness. Like taking the tudung off and putting it on again, life is unfinished for me and the thirst for purposes remains.

15 years of unforgettable love.

I turned 24 exactly ten days ago and I am nowhere near to leaving Malaysia (yes, this is a long-term goal).

I spent more than half of my life with my nanny, Kak Ita and another remaining portion adulting. Kak Ita was a loving, memorable woman who took care of me ever since I was born. I refused to sleep with my siblings and opted to sleep in my nanny's room instead for a good few years. 

There was no air-cond and the room was a typical nanny room: small and close to the kitchen and the washing machine. I would spend each night sleeping beside her and we would share her earphones, listening to old Malay songs on her Walkman. 

Kak Ita, through the eyes of a 3 year-old me who turned 6, 10, 12  and then 15, was perfect. She finally left my family to get married to a man from Negeri Sembilan and I cried in silence as we drove back from her wedding. 

Cameron Highland, 2005. We woke up super early, just the two of us and we decided not to take shower as the water was freezing cold. We walked to the morning market hand-in-hand and tried really hard not to drool at the colourful fruits as I was 11 and she was just a poor nanny. She nevertheless got both of us two packs of Nasi Lemak with Sambal Sotong and we had it right there and then. It was a family holiday but her presence is the most vivid thing that I can recollect until now.

If heaven does exist, then that is what heaven to me feels like: just me and Kak Ita, holding each other's hands, as she did once to save me from an accident that nearly killed me when I was too young to remember.

If you don't have to

If you don't have to jot down every single thing you ate and bought, then be grateful. If you still receive love and assistance from your family, then be grateful. If you don't have to worry if your family is doing okay and whether they are eating well or not, then be grateful. Be grateful, be humble, and keep being humble.

What I would do to be in that unthinkable state of gratitude. To find myself in the opposite position over and over again is nothing short of melancholy. So if I ever lose to this world, to you and to myself, I ask nothing but empathy in return.

Heart is a mysterious thing.

The day we were supposed to meet, he broke my heart saying that he was too busy. I took a hint and ended the conversation (or lack thereof) with a thanks. He didn't answer.

Two days later, he replied me and started to open up. I was angry and happy and now we are talking again. He said he doesn't talk about himself in general but he involuntarily does it, almost childlike. I smile every time it happens.

Once, he said 'Maybe I'm catching a break'.

Understanding him thus is a process I would cherish time and time again.