When It Rains...

I seem to have lost Girl Power Claire somewhere along the way about six months ago, and I've been struggling to find her ever since.

To be fair, I have had quite a lot to deal with these past few months. You would think that after having pulled myself up by the roots to move to an entirely new country, everything else would be a piece of cake... NOT! I don't know, maybe the pressure of a new job just doesn't agree with me. Maybe I'm just not very good at dealing with change.

Or maybe, deep down inside, I am really just a Type B kind of person playing at being a Type A lunatic.

It doesn't help that at this point, I'm still so muddled about what it is that I really want. It's hard to motivate yourself to a course of action when you're not very clear on what your motives are.

What the heck am I doing here and what am I doing it for?

I feel bad about whining when in reality I am pretty lucky to be where I am... but sometimes, being lucky is relative. All I know is that these days, it seems that all there is is rain... and it's pouring pretty darn hard.

Okay, rant over.

*sigh*



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How the Heck Did I Get Back Here?

It's been more than two years since I decided to get off the medical training rat race for the sake of my own sanity. So what the hell have I done by hurtling myself back into the lunacy that I wisely left behind?

It's been three months since I took the plunge back into the world of acute tertiary hospital medicine. It only took two days into the job to realize that I was back in the same situation that I had flown thousands of miles across the ocean to escape. Only this time, I was starting from scratch in an unfamiliar environment, a completely different system, and completely and utterly alone.

Okay, okay... maybe all the stress has made me prone to exaggeration. After all, I have been working in the Australian health system for more than a year now - albeit in a small, laid-back, and friendly secondary hospital in the capacity of someone just one notch above internship. And I have been lucky enough to make my move up to registrar level in a tertiary hospital that is larger and busier but still small enough to be, in theory, less overwhelming.

But let's be honest here - there is no such thing as "less overwhelming." When you're overwhelmed, you're overwhelmed.

It's hard not to feel like you're drowning when you hear a Code Blue announced through the paging system and have no idea where the heck it is. Or when your page refuses to stop beeping while you're in the middle of figuring out what to do with the latest patient you've been asked to admit. Or when a nurse is reaming you out for not having "a proper plan" for a patient who you haven't even seen yet.

And that was just on my second day.

It's been tough going these past three months. And it's also been all too easy to morph back into the high-strung, maladjusted stress ball that I'd always been. The one whose start of the work day is heralded by palpitations and capped by tension headaches. The one who suddenly wakes up at 4 in the morning and is unable to go back to sleep because all of her patients and their problems are running through her head. That stress ball.

I'm coming to the conclusion that maybe I'm just not cut out for the responsibility of being in the driver's seat. Or maybe practicing medical training is bad for my mental health. Which leaves me in a huge dilemma: because medicine is the one profession where: a)one is absolutely not allowed to stop learning and growing, and b) you can't get any more full on in the responsibility department than dealing with life and death.

Is too late for me to try my hand at becoming a lounge singer instead? Click here to read the rest of this post.

One Third

I look back on the decade that is just about to pass and have found that my life these past ten years has been defined by one major thing: Medicine.

Considering that 10 years is roughly one third of my current lifetime, that's a heck of a long time.



Unlike other med people - probably more well adjusted than I was - entering medicine was like going into a state of suspended animation, a kind of extended adolescence. Life and the world marched inexorably on as I was immersed in an educational system that looked more like high school than it did university - same classmates in one huge lecture hall within a small campus, volumes of books to read, endless exams, day in and day out.

My world, not already incredibly big to begin with, grew ever smaller - maybe partly by necessity, but defintely because of circumstance.

It didn't change much with the transition to hospital life. 24 hour duties, 36 hour days being flat out with patient care on top of the academic load didn't really leave me much time or energy to spare. Add to that the fact that most of my friends were from this little world as well, and there really wasn't much impetus to see what else was beyond it.

For me, staying focused on the end-goal was also defending my sanity - something that kept me from questioning why the hell I was doing what I was doing. Which is probably why I railroaded myself straight into residency, 3 more years of same as the above.

It's no wonder that I was a certified basket case at the end of it. MD and Diplomate cerificates in hand, to be sure, but a basket case nonetheless, scratching her head in bewilderment at where all the years had gone and wondering if she even ever wanted what she got.

I decided two years ago to break the pattern, do the unexpected, and get the hell out. In a manner of speaking. Which has brought me here.

I've spent the last two years of the decade out in the real world, but with one foot still inside the door of medical life. Oddly enough, I must admit to feeling a little lost now that my work has stopped being the defining force in my life, but it has been a good time. I still haven't quite figured out if I want what I've gotten or if I really want to go where I'm going but I've found that I can ease up on the quest a little, enjoy the slower and meandering pace, and still keep my sanity.

All that being said, guess what? I'm going back to training next year. It will be, basically, starting from scratch. As if ten years weren't enough.

Crazy, I know. I guess there's a very real, very influential masochist living inside my head. I'm doing it partly because I don't see any real reason not to and partly because it's the only logical way I can actually stay here for the meantime. I'm still not sure what I real end goal is... but hopefully, it won't take me another ten years to figure things out.

Wish me luck. Click here to read the rest of this post.

Studying Out

I have recently discovered the joy of literally studying out.

I have the really bad habit of needing to be outside the house to be able to get some decent studying done. Which sounds like a paradox to people who need quiet and isolation to focus, but makes perfect sense to my kindred souls who need stimulation apart from our reading material to keep us awake. That and absolutely no access to the temptation of our beds. I learned to devour academic data in coffee shops through med school and residency, and Starbucks has my undying gratitude for helping me pass two major medical boards.

Unfortunately, there is no Starbucks in Perth - and no coffee shop that would be sympathetic and allow anyone to park at a table all day and night after ordering just 2 cups of coffee. Sure, we have libraries, but even quiet libraries can sometimes trigger a really bad case of claustrophobia.

Fortunately, a picnic blanket spread upon the lawn of any of Perth's beautiful parks is almost just as good, if not better.

I'm not going to lie, studying somewhere surrounded by beauty and activity can be quite distracting. But once you've gotten into the swing of things, it's just like being in a coffee shop - only you're sprawled on a picnic blanket instead of hogging a table.

The downside to this is that this study position is conducive to unscheduled naps - and the propensity towards sunburn. The upside is that it's free... and you can even bring your own coffee. And people-watching serves as a great sanity break.

I really can't wait for Spring.
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Wanderlust

My year here has gone by with astonishing speed. I've made no secret of the fact that the time I've spent here has been nothing short of idyllic. Despite working a steady job and finally getting a life, my time here has been something of a vacation.

In this meantime, I've been able to hold off making some major decisions. I've been able to settle into life without a plan, without a map, and no clear vision of what I will be doing, say, 5 years from now. It's all still an absolute blank.

Is it all the open-endedness that is making me suddenly feel very antsy? Or is it because I am more of a free spirit than I actually thought and that the possibilities are the driving force behind my vague restlessness?

It's crazy. It's radical. It may be the by-product of an insanity resulting from suddenly being lost after being stuck on a plan for most of my life. At an age when I should be thinking about settling down, acquiring assets, making a family... I'm having fantasies about leaving medicine and working as a barista as I move from one country to another, seeing the world one city at a time.

Okay, maybe that's a little bit extreme... but you guys sort of get the picture.

I'd been conditioned to have very definite views on where I would be at this particular point in my life... done with my schooling and on the way to being established in my career; married to a stable, reliable guy; getting started on the 2.5 kids - pretty much on the way to living a comfortable, if ordinary, happily ever after. I'd always fancied myself as a home-and-hearth type of person, and I know I'm the kind of person who will always need to put down roots. I won't lie that I don't want all of the above someday - because I do. But...

Maybe not just yet.

I recently had lunch with a younger but wiser friend of mine - who has lived a much more interesting life than I have even if I have almost a decade of living over him. This is one of the perks of living in a land where people are all raised to indulge their wanderlust. Ozzies, I've found, are born nomads. Maybe it's because they have so much space to roam in.

There I was, whinging about how lucky he was that he could just up and go wherever he wanted on a whim, when he cut me off with a very succint, "And who told you that you couldn't?"

I started to give him a list. Society, family, my own need for security, blah, blah, blah... to which he countered, "But all of that is in your mind. Can't you do what you want and still be living up to people's expectations?"

Tantalizing thoughts.

His last piece of advice to address my restlessness? "Maybe it's just time for you to move again."

The roads are open, the possibilities - while not endless - do exist.
This is not me. I hate change. I don't want to go to another city and start over... do I?
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Somewhere to Go on a Day Off

It's true, almost all malls here close at 5pm except on late night trading days and aren't even open on Sundays. If you don't like the scene at your local pub, you have to drive a good bit to get to where the real night life is (a bummer because it puts a crimp on your drinking). The central business district is literally a ghost town by 6 pm. I've been here almost a year, and some of my friends still can't fathom how I can survive in a place totally devoid of the buzz and bustle that is Manila without going out of my mind with boredom.

But what do I need all of the above for, when I can get to my own patch of paradise in less than an hour whenever I feel like it?



Due to the vastness of the WA coastline relative to the number of people living in it, you can pretty much drive anywhere along the coast, pick your patch of sand, and stake your claim on it for the day. It's almost as good as having your own private beach. And because Perth often gets picture-perfect, clear-blue-sky weather for most of the year, blowing a day off on the beach is just too hard to resist.

No wonder living here has totally fed my addiction.



This particular piece of paradise is on Safety Bay in the city of Rockingham, about a 60 minute drive from the Perth CBD but just a little under 40 minutes via freeway from where I live - and obviously one of my most frequent stops.

Creamy sand, clean blue-green waters, and a gently sloping shoreline with no dangerous undertow and no surf - yes, reminiscent of Boracay. It's perfect for forsworn water babies who aren't very strong swimmers like me. And because it's a fair distance from the Rockingham cafe strip, even on perfect summer day, I hardly have to share the beach with anyone.



Less than a ten minute drive up the road takes you to Shoalwater Marine Park, where scuba divers and snorklers can have a field day among shipwrecks and cavernous reefs surrounding the islands. I've never done it myself - but give me time, I'll get around to brushing up on my swimming skills and getting down there eventually.



In the meantime, I get my eye candy even on land as the scenic drive itself packs a wallop. The following shots (including the one above) were taken off the lookout on Cape Peron, which is also part of the Shoalwater Marine Park and a popular snorkeling spot. Even then, there aren't too many people - and it's so easy to get lost in the feeling that there's no one here but you and nature.



Back home, to get to somewhere similar to this, you'd have to travel at least as far out as Batangas - which means two to three hours of aggravation on the South Expressway.



And to think that this is just one of the stretches of coastline I frequent when I find myself staring a beautiful day in the face with no definite plans. I know, I know, I'm biased, being such a self-proclaimed beach freak living in a place where I can choose a beach to suit my mood. And once I've found my spot, it's mine, all mine!

Yes, I'm spoiled. Is it any wonder why I am absolutely in love?
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If Heaven Were a Beach

I've never made any quibbles about my love for the sea. I have a passion for discovering beautiful beaches, and I've been quite lucky to have been to quite a few. But I must say that if heaven were a beach (and to me, it most probably will be), it would definitely look like this.



This is Bunker Bay, just a few kilometers off Dunsborough, on the amazing Southwest region of Western Australia. It's white sand, turquoise waters, and calm, sloping shoreline make it as close to paradise a beach can get. Near enough to be worth the drive but far enough to remain undiscovered. I will most definitely back here someday. If I had a choice to stay here, you would have had to drag me away kicking and screaming.

I will, most definitely, be back.

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Disaster Queen Strikes Again

It's the last day of my long weekend, but, despite not having gone off somewhere far away as originally planned, I've had a fairly good one. Apart from the fact that I almost got hopelessly stuck in a beachside city of Rockingham last Friday with only twenty cents to my name after my car keys disappeared.

How could she be so stupid?, you must be asking yourself with a shake of your head. Believe me, I asked the same of myself several times the next few hours that followed.

The day started out pretty great - I'd managed to drive all the way to Freo to have lunch with a friend of mine who works there (her treat, which is always a good thing) and, as part of my resolution to use my long weekend right, I decided to go further afield to somewhere I'd never been before, let alone driven to. As I drove along Stock Road, veering towards the southern beaches, I even flirted with the idea of going as far as Mandurah - which is almost 80 kilometers out of Perth - but settled for Rockingham, which is just around 50 kilometers out.

As soon as I saw the almost swimming pool calmness of the turquoise waters and the golden sands from the foreshore, I was in love.

Much as I love the beautiful Aussie beaches, this was the first one I'd seen that had absolutely no surf. Which is a god-send for me because, while I know how to swim, I don't consider myself a strong enough swimmer to really spend too much time in the rough and ready waters of the beaches to the north. So, understandably, I completely abandoned my plans for sight-seeing and photo-ops for a chance to hit the beach instead.

I had a fun couple of hours just floundering alone around in the clear, calm water and doing a bit of baking in the sun (what's summer without a bathing suit tanline?). I had decided on a run along the foreshore to top off my idyllic summer day, having brought both my beach gear and running gear (one of the best things about having a car is that you can bring EVERYTHING with you), so I got out of the water with just enough time to spare for a shower, a run, and still be on my way home before dark. After walking in ignorant bliss to my car to get my running gear, I was completely shell-shocked to find that MY CAR KEY WAS NOT ON ME AT ALL.

So there I was, the solo traveler wannabe, staring helplessly at my locked car - where my handbag and wallet and all my money were - dripping with sea water from my afternoon frolic in the sun and close to tears. I could have sworn I had taken my car key with me when I changed into my bathing suit. But after having gone through each item inside my beach tote and laying them on the hood of my car one by one, I had to face the fact that IT WAS GONE.

In a stunned daze, I went to the shower rooms to change back into my street clothes to give myself time to regroup and figure out what to do. All my money was in the car, so I couldn't take public transport to the house (a two hour trip one way at least!) to get my spare key. There was only one way to get out of the scrape - call for help. Thankfully, I had the foresight to have my mobile phone with me, and promptly rang one of my co-residents the only person with a car who lives in my suburb.

Just my luck - he was on duty until 11 pm. Of course it was out of the question for me to wait for him until 11pm - this being Perth, all establishments close at 9pm at the latest. So we hatched a plan for me to get a cab back to Armadale, which he would pay for when I got there since I had no money on me, then drive back to Rockingham after his shift with my spare key so I could take my car home.

When my other Pinoy friends caught wind of the trouble I was in, they vetoed the plan and proposed an alternative - for them to pick me up instead. They would go to my house (at least 18 kilometers from where they lived) to get my spare key then drive the rest of the way to Rockingham (another 30 to 40 kms away). And they wouldn't take no for an answer.

It was so embarrassing to have to be rescued. Nonetheless, I was just so glad that I was near enough for them to be able to rescue me!

As a mortifying postscript to an already mortifying travel disaster, I found my car keys the next day under the piles of stuff inside my trunk. It must have fallen from my pocket or I must have tossed it in withe rest of my stuff when I was so excitedly preparing for my swim. OH MY GOD.

Er... Is this someone who thinks she can actually go on a solo holiday somewhere in the woop-woops? Go ahead, you can say it. Claire is a disaster area. I must be out of my fricking mind to even consider it!

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Like Starting from Scratch

After months of vacillating, I finally went out and bought myself a cheap little run-around car last Friday. The crazy thing is, while I have had it for two days, it's just been sitting in my driveway and I have been making one excuse after another not to take it out.

Okay, I admit it. I am terrified of taking it out. I live less than 2 kilometers from work, a distance which I walk every day, but I have yet to find the courage in my lily-livered heart to finally drive it by myself.

Having been a proficient commuter all my life, I'd never felt particularly motivated to learn how to drive - which is why I didn't really start driving back home until I was in my mid-twenties. Once I'd gotten the hang of it, though, I quickly fell in love with being behind the wheel - traffic mishaps, meandering journeys, and all. Driving was just such a great way to tune out and enjoy my own company in the comfort of my own car, going to where I wanted to go at my own pace. But, of course, getting to that comfort level was a long time in coming.

Unfortunately for me, I happened to choose a country where people drive on the other side of the road and where they have some pretty definite speed limits. For someone who has, under normal circumstances, always had a case of slight right-left confusion and is used to taking her sweet time in everything, this is something out of a nightmare.

It hasn't helped that my friends from back home and family all have such a huge level of confidence about my driving that they never fail to warn me in dire tones that driving here is very different and much more difficult - and to ask me if I was absolutely sure I could handle it.

No wonder I'm having tension headaches at the thought of having to take out my little hatch (with no power steering and manual transmission) anywhere on my own.

The last time I felt this twitchy about getting behind the wheel was at my first driving lesson back home. I've taken a few driving lessons here in a manual car, but I felt a lot more secure because there was someone beside me watching what I was doing and had his own set of pedals. The idea of driving alone to anywhere over here feels like I'm being shoved off the deep end of a pool, not knowing how to swim.

But if I don't start now, I'll end up putting it off and putting it off until it's time for me to go home.

Still all I've had the gumption to do by myself has been to park it into the driveway, back up into the road, and take it for a spin around the block - with my heart in my throat the whole time. And one of the first new lessons I've learned in my new car is that without power steering, I don't have to go to the gym to get a good upper body work up - all I have to do is maneuver into a parking spot.

I can do this. I've been driving for four years, for cripes' sake.

Now if I could only believe my own pep talk, I just might be able to take my car those two kilometers down to work tomorrow - even if I'll be driving on the other side of the road.

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Cheers!

Going into the sixth month since I took my flying leap into the unknown, it appears I am finally getting the semblance of a real life over here. A life that, despite my current state of limbo, I am very much enjoying.

What's not to enjoy? I'm making new connections, finding new interests, and discovering myself in this city that feels less like a stranger and now more like a friend each day I live in it. Sleepy Perth on the water may not have the cosmopolitan feel of Sydney or Melbourne, but I'm still quite surprised at how well we suit. I'm still surprised at how I love the laid-back, outdoorsy lifestyle and the absence of the maddening crowd I'd grown up with in busy Manila. I'm still surprised at how the simple beauty of the city still packs a punch even as the novelty of being here has begun to wear off.

I'm still surprised at how it's beginning to feel less like other and a little bit more like home.

Finding new friends has been a big factor in helping me ease into this life. While having had this time alone has taught me much about myself, being around new friends has taught me even more by giving me fresh perspectives. I've been blessed enough to have found people outside of work to intrude upon this forced solitude and alter the once solitary pattern of my days. And it's great knowing that there are now actually people who care for and worry about me within a hundred kilometer radius.

I still can't quite believe that the year I had originally planned to stay here is almost half done. I'm still flailing in the chasm of the unknown, but I'm having a great ride while I'm at it. While I still can't quite picture where I will be even just six months from now, I am savoring my uncomplicated state of simply living in the now.

Maybe, just maybe, I really am settling in. And that's definitely something to drink to.

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Different Perspectives

One of the most interesting things about living so far away from home is living and working with people from completely different cultures. And with Australia being one of the most multi-cultural countries in the world, it's not hard to imagine how even my relatively limited circle of acquaintances is like a casting call for a United Colors of Benetton ad.

It's been an interesting experience.

Even the small hospital I work with is a virtual melting pot of cultures - with patients and medical staff literally coming from all over the world. As a case in point, in just my current medical team, our big boss is originally from England, one of our rotating consultants is from the Middle East, one is from Scotland. On the junior medical staff, two are from Sri Lanka, one is from India, one from Eastern Europe, and then there's the dyed-in-the-wool conservative Pinay - me!

I don't even have to stray from home to have an intelligent multi-cultural exchange - because I currently share a house with someone from Holland and another who is a genuine Aussie. This diverse mix of people has made for many interesting conversations - and has been quite an education in itself.

I guess I've always known in theory how race and culture shape who we are; but it's still an eye-opener when ideas are exchanged and I see the differences between us in a more concrete way. The food we eat, the way we think about ourselves, our jobs, the world, literally the way we approach life is under the influence of where we come from and how we have been raised.

Living and working with such a diverse group of people, it's inevitable for some ideas to clash every now and then. Negotiating the multicultural minefield can be a bit tricky. As a shallow example, something as simple as what to bring to a potluck lunch becomes a challenge when you have to consider that in the group you're feeding, some can't eat beef and some can't eat pork or anything not halal. In the context of the hospital, it's not difficult to imagine how carefully one must tread when dealing with complex issues like patient care and end-of-life scenarios.

I'm fast coming to learn that to navigate this kind of environment one needs a good dose of sensitivity. It also helps to have a tolerant nature and a sense of humor about the misconceptions and misguided notions others may have about you, your culture, and your race. But for me, the most important lesson of all is cultivating my willingness to learn from what is other and realizing that I am all the richer from being around people who are so different from me and what I have been used to all my life.

But apart from literally having my world opened up by all these new perspectives, what I find even more amazing is how much all of us actually have in common - in what we all value, what we dream, and what we love. It serves to remind me of what I often forget - that all of us are all part of the big, wonderful family called the human race sharing this little island in the Universe called Planet Earth.

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Sun Worship

In a country where the vast majority of the population lives on the coast, the birth of a beach culture is inevitable. And in my city on the water, where beautiful beaches beckon a stone's throw away from the urban jungle, there's no better way to spend a fine spring day just hinting of the summer to come.

It's hard not to get sucked into the outdoorsy lifestyle of Perth. Apart from the fact that the odd commercial hours make it nearly impossible to hide in a shopping mall the whole day, the lure of the wide open spaces is pretty hard to resist. And with the advent of the warm weather, outside is the place to be.

I was vividly reminded of this when I gave into the impulse to visit one of the more popular beaches on the first warm weekend of the season. My once-almost-deserted recovery room was crawling with people, winter-pale and eager to start on their summer tan. It was probably the most number of people I've ever seen in one place since I got here. Peaceful giving way to festive, quiet filled by the raucous noises of beach lovers happy to see the last of winter.

I never used to pay much attention to the weather reports at home except when it was to hope on a storm signal high enough to get classes canceled (so you can imagine that this was eons ago!). These days I find myself tuning in to the news just to see what the weather is going to be like - specially if it's going to be on a day off - so I can make plans for it. To go for a run along the river. To spend time just chilling and people watching on my favorite beach. Basically, just to be out.

If the forecast says a fine sunny day, don't bother looking for me at home. Chances are, I'll be somewhere outside, happy on my own little spot of sand or grass, worshiping the sun.

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Taking It Outside

Clear blue skies. A cool spring breeze off the ocean. Pristine white sands. Turquoise water as far as the eye can see. A dedicated bike/pedestrian path along a low cliff overlooking it all.

For a dedicated beach lover and wanna-be-runner, there was probably no better setting for my very first outdoor run. At last.

Let me digress a bit just to give you a background about how I've finally gotten to this point - particularly because I almost didn't even allow myself to get this far.

If you guys remember, it was just a couple of weeks ago that I literally ran myself full tilt into knee trouble. Thankfully, one of the perks of working in a hospital is having physios on hand to evaluate me gratis, and after an impromptu consult, I was told what the problem was - I had almost-flat feet, with my left worse than my right. My nifty new shoes were probably not providing enough arch support for me, specially on the left. The fact that I was being TOO enthusiastic about things and escalating what I was doing almost every day without rest periods in between compounded the issue.

As a result, just a couple of weeks into my attempt at making my walking legs into running legs, I was getting symptoms of beginning runner's knee.

I was told in no uncertain terms to back off, at least until I was pain-free. I would have to go back to a lower degree of intensity in the program I was following and to take recovery days. I also had to get better arch support - or else.

Apparently, my spirit was willing, my heart and lungs were capable, but my ligaments and my feet were weak.

After being told off by the physios at work (you'd think I'd know these things being a doctor!), I had a good think about the whole running business. It was so frustrating to find out that I didn't seem to be biomechanically suited to the sport I'd chosen - after I'd already set goals for myself in it and convincing myself I could do it. Also there were, after all, a myriad other sports out there that were less impact on the knees and didn't require a person not to have flat feet - like biking and swimming - and I only had one pair of knees. I was seriously considering junking the idea altogether.

But after a few days of sulking and literally sleeping with an ice pack on my left knee, I figured I wouldn't be giving myself a fair chance if I gave up on it so quickly. So I went out and got a pair of off-the-shelf orthotics for my running shoes, (which initially felt like having golf balls under my arches but now feel great) and backed off on my treadmill work (which meant endless workouts on the mind-blowingly boring elliptical machine for several days in lieu) until I could squat without having my left knee scream at me.

In a week, I was doing the prescribed runs on my C25K program to the letter on the days I could run - and taking full recovery days in between. I worked my way up to a full 30 minute run on the treadmill a few days ago - a little more that what I should be doing in Week 6 - but pain-free during and after. So I am being cautiously optimistic that my shoe inserts and my easing up on myself are doing the trick - and that I just may be able to continue my pursuit of this running thing after all.

To celebrate my first ever 30 minute run, I felt ready to take things outside. Hence my impulse trip to Cottesloe Beach armed with only my jogging shoes, dorky belt-bag, and one application of sunblock. (And, while off-topic, can I say again how awesome it is that I can actually commute to a beautiful beach any time I feel the urge to?)

Okay, maybe all I could work up to today was about 30 minutes of run - and a whole lot of walk (at least 5K total, I promise). Give me some time, I'm going to work my way to a solid 5K run soon and take things from there.

Nothing can take away from the reality that I actually ran along the Sunset Coast jogging path, wind cool against my face, water on one side, and open road as far as the eye can see. And I really can't imagine a better setting to discover that I can actually do something that I'd never imagined I'd ever do than this.





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Pushing Beyond Creaky Knees

photo credit: unknown - if it was you, let me know :)

I've finally decided on my new outdoor sport for my first spring-summer season in Perth - running.

Okay, it's not a water sport. But it's fairly simple, no-frills, and it doesn't require the kinesthetic prowess of an Olympic athlete, just lots of discipline and persistence - things I sorely need to develop anyway. Plus, it complements my insatiable wanderlust and is a great way of burning calories and getting fit while going places.

So a couple of weeks ago, I bought my first pair of good running shoes as a part of my commitment to my initial goal of working up to a thirty minute run. Overwhelmed by enthusiasm and the novel experience of being able to even jog without experiencing excruciating shin pain - something that has always turned me off running in the past - I was literally up and running.

I've started with the Couch to 5K running program, an 8 week training program that builds you up gradually to doing solid 30 minute runs from being totally sedentary. I started on Week 3 using the health club treadmill, and I haven't looked back since. I'm currently on Week 5 Day 3, going on Week 6 - which means I've actually worked my way up to a solid 20 minute run with minimal walking breaks. All of this has been treadmill work because I haven't had time to research outdoor running routes and my current schedule doesn't allow me to do a lot of wandering at the moment, but once my schedule opens up, expect me to be out all the time.

On the downside of things, beginning such a high-impact sport has made my body go into serious protest. My knees, in particular, are on strike and officially hate me.

I now know what morning stiffness feels like. I can almost hear my knees screaming every time I stand up after sitting for so long. My ankles squeak occasionally in accompaniment. My shins organize episodic protests but not quite as frequently.

Okay, okay, I admit I've been a bit of a dunce and, due to my gym addiction problems, haven't really been taking enough recovery days in between increasing my running time. But I have been a good girl about the stretching post-runs and continuing my strength training. The moans-and-groans of my muscles could probably be just a normal reaction to finally being used after happily hibernating for so long.

My friends tell me I just have to be careful that I'm not overdoing things - which means taking more time to recover from my workouts, running or otherwise. (Which is why I am blogging instead of slaving away at the gym right now.) Going for recovery days is actually a challenge in itself, because just the thought, "Hey, I can do this!" actually spurs me on that much further, creaky joints be damned.

The experience has been awesome, and a fitting counterpoint to what this year and this move has been all about.

I can't wait for the day when I'm finally doing my thing along the Swan River foreshore or the Sunset Coast jogging path, wind cool against my face, water on one side, and open road as far as the eye can see.
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Channeling Sporty Spice

my battered 3 year old rubber shoes - whose soles have been recently glued back on as a stop-gap measure. I need new ones!

My relationship with fitness has always been erratic to say the least.

Maybe it was my debilitating self-consciousness and fear that I'd end up making my team lose the game (which happened enough times in my budding career as a PE dunce for my fear to have a basis), maybe it was just my general aversion to anything that would make me sweat, or maybe it was my resigned acceptance that I have always been and ever will be "nerd" with mental calisthenics as my forte. But having learned from my elementary physical education classes that I had the athletic ability of a plant, I've never been particularly enthusiastic about any sport I actually had to participate in.

Of course as I grew up, my teenage vanity and my parents' constant prodding made it imperative I get off my butt and get fit. Exercise became a means to an end - losing weight and looking great. Always existing in my life alongside the latest fad diet, exercising would get me results but I would feel absolutely miserable and tired all the time. I mean, who would be happy subsisting on only an apple for breakfast, an egg for lunch, and nothing for dinner for every day activities, not to mention adding an hour-long aerobic session daily on top of it?

Needless to say I wasn't able to sustain that particular diet and weight loss program for very long.

The funny thing about me is that when I am into the whole fitness thing, I am really into it. Seriously into it. I've been through a biking phase, walking phase, a tae-bo phase, a regular gym rat phase, even a very short yoga and swimming phase. (All nice, individual activities - I never got over the trauma of being the team goat.) But once I stopped, inertia would often hit - and it often took serious shake-ups to motivate me to get going again.

Apparently moving to another country falls under the category of a major shake-up - because for the nth time in my life, I am once more channeling Sporty Spice.

Getting back into the active swing of things began as something of a necessity. My lack of wheels initially forced me to walk anywhere and everywhere, and I rediscovered the benefits of having an endorphin high.

After a few weeks of maximizing my on-foot exploration, I realized I had enough time on my hands to make a serious bid for fitness once more - and signed up with a local health club. I do time on the elliptical, the treadmill, and the rowing machine, life weights, and attend the yoga classes. The endorphin high is amazing, and great antidote to on-the-job-stress and on-my-own loneliness. To mix it up, I've kept my fitness walking for weekends when I feel like wandering - and there are just so many beautiful spots here in Perth for walking or jogging that's just a train ride away.

I'm really buying into the sporty, outdoor lifestyle of Perth. I can't imagine feeling this enthusiastic about walking or running in Manila, that's for sure - I happen to have an aversion to inhaling gasoline fumes. I'm even thinking of getting my first grown up bike - never mind if I haven't gotten on one since college. And I am even flirting around with the possibility of training for a 10K run in April, something that I've never ever done before.

Every time I get started on a fitness craze, I always swear that I'm going to stick to it this time around. After all, being a doctor, you would think I'd know enough about the benefits of exercise to keep me motivated, specially given all my personal risk factors and the fact that I am not getting any younger. But I know from falling off the wagon so many times over the years just how hard it is to keep a fitness program up - often because life gets in the way and it just becomes less of a priority. But I am hoping that this is the time when the fitness crazy part of me really sticks for good.

I'm just glad that my schedule here allows me this great form of "me time" - and that Perth is just so conducive to a healthy, active lifestyle. I may have the athletic ability of a plant, but what I seriously lack in ability I make up for in enthusiasm. With the weather warming up, I am looking forward to more outdoor fitness activities in the spring sunshine.

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Managing Older

photo from flickr

It's a reflection of how good the Australian health system is that most of its people are now the second longest living people on Earth. A baby born in Australia is expected to live an average of 81 years old, an average currently bested only by the Japanese. It's no wonder then that most of the patients we see at work are elderly - the mark of an aging population. Here it's quite commonplace to see active and healthy octogenarians and even nonagenarians, some just a couple of years shy of the century mark and a dinner with the Queen.

This is something that, as a doctor, is quite new to me, coming from a country where the life expectancy at birth is easily a decade below Australia's and most of our patients are lucky to get any medical treatment at all. Dealing with such an elderly population has been a learning experience in itself, but it has its own share of difficulties and heartbreaks.

Aging inevitably takes its toll on the human body, no matter how well one lives, so it's not surprising that most of our elderly patients have multiple medical problems. While there are also a number of elderly patients who have reached their grand old age with few serious co-morbidities, arthritic pain and reduced mobility is a common problem many share. A good number of them have been living in late-stages or even end-stages of many chronic illnesses for a number of years, the natural course of their diseases staved off by the good health and community support they are given by the system.

I had never seen many patients with dementia - until I came here, where many of my very old patients have it one form or the other. It's profoundly sad seeing someone struggling to hold on to the bits of pieces of themselves and failing. In the span of my three months here, I have seen many people falling into the entire spectrum - from those who are just beginning to gradually slide into short-term memory loss to those who have to be placed in higher level care because they would be otherwise a danger unto themselves. As heartbreaking as it is to watch as an outsider, I can only imagine how it must be for the patients' families and caregivers.

Strange as it may sound coming from a doctor and someone in the general business of prolonging life, dealing with older patients has made me realize one thing: I do not want to live to grow that old. Friends and I often morbidly joke that the best way to go is by sudden cardiac death after you've been old enough to enjoy life and a bit of your retirement - you won't even know what hit you.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mean any disrespect. I do want to live a long and active life, and I hope to be healthy for the most of it. But I don't want to live long enough to feel my knees, hips, and back start to go even with the aid of modern surgery; don't want to live long enough to lose control over my bodily functions; don't want to live at all if living means losing myself mentally little by little. I admit that this mind-set and very personal preference sometimes makes me wonder if maybe some of the patients who we treat full-on feel the same way.

Having come from a system where financial constraints often dictated the extent of what could be done for our patients and the choices were often limited and thus more clear cut, working here has been different kind of challenge. In this health care system where in medical care the sky is the limit, doctors treating these kinds of patients are faced with many difficult questions.

Issues like pre-morbid quality of life and projected quality of life after admission are no longer trivial questions asked for mere completion of a patient's personal and social history but very important pieces of information that are core to the medical team's approach to management.

I've heard it said often that one of the hardest lessons a doctor must learn in his lifetime of practice is knowing when it is best to fight harder and when it is kinder to let go. In this environment of relative abundance in medical technology and resources, I think that maybe it becomes even more challenging lesson to learn. Click here to read the rest of this post.

Breathing Room

I just marked my third month completely on my own, in a city I came to without knowing anyone, on the biggest, bravest, most spontaneous leap I have ever made in my overly-cautious, over-planned life. I know it's an overused cliche, but time does go so incredibly fast - and the year I initially planned on staying here is a quarter done.

I can go on and on about the pros and cons of living abroad. There is so much from back home that I miss - not the least of which are the people I love, the familiarity of home, the lifestyle I am accustomed to. But there is also a lot about being here, independent for the first time in my life, that I am learning to love.

I'm settling into a routine, finding new friends, and slowly beginning to realize that this is not an extended vacation to an exotic place - this is my real life and this is where I live now. Some days I just want to hop on the first plane back home, but some days I also wish could stay here forever. It gets so confusing that I've given up pondering on that for the moment.

I'm living my life out here one day at a time, and I am slowly becoming more comfortable doing it. For the first time in my life, I have room to breathe. Living in the moment has given me space and time to get to know myself better in ways I have never really done before. I may not have done anything drastic or even remotely adventurous, but for the first time in a very long time, I am reveling in an air thick with possibility.

I still have no solid future plans and am still in a free-fall with no clue as to when I will hit the ground. But this early on, I can say that regardless of outcome, deciding to come here and do this was a good decision and one that I do not regret.

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Water

the vivid colors of the indian ocean

It's not always easy being essentially alone in a city full of strangers. Being away from your usual support group makes it necessary for you to find ways to cope with the stresses that shake your world and the sporadic loneliness that comes with knowing that you are very much on your own. Some people get their fix from some retail therapy, others from comfort food. Some escape reality by watching a movie or indulging in a good book for a few hours.

Since I've been here, I've done a little bit of all of the above. But when things go really, really wrong and my mood can't get any lower, what else can a forsworn beach addict like me do but seek the water?

I've always loved the water. There is something about it that has always drawn me. Just being near the water is, for me, a major pick me up. There are some pseudo-scientific theories that say that this may have something to do with negative ions generated by the water splashing on the ground - who knows how true that is? Bottom-line is that I simply love the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the brisk breeze coming over the water, the horizon that stretches out to forever and hints of possibility.

swan river foreshore in burswood park

One major upside of being in Perth is that it is so easy for me to tap into this unconventional, life-giving idiosyncrasy even if I don't actually live in a suburb anywhere close to the water.

I can hop on a train and be on the Swan River foreshore in a matter of minutes. In a little over an hour by public transport, I can be on any point of the magnificent Sunset Coast, a pristine, raw-sugar sand beach that stretches for miles and miles in either direction as far as the eye can see.

the sunset coast towards south to freo as seen from scarborough beach

When I am by the water, for that space of time, life's complications fall away. Loneliness gives way to a peaceful kind of solitude. It's hard to stay stirred up in the face of something so much larger than myself, ever-constant and ever-changing at the same time. After watching the rhythm of life played out on the water for endless hours, my beauty-loving soul is recharged - and the life in this city of strangers is just that more bearable.

Fate couldn't have chosen a better place for me to be while I am adjusting to life away from home than this beautiful Australian coastal city on the water.

(all photos are taken by me using a Lumix point-and-shoot camera.)
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Spring Promises

The mornings and nights are bloody cold, but numb toes are a small price to pay for the fine, sunny days and clear cloudless blue skies. Mild mid-day temperatures and a brisk fresh breeze accompanies winter as she gracefully exits stage left and gives the center stage to spring. The Western Australian landscape - which keeps its green through the cold winter - celebrates the coming of a new season by putting on a show of colors.

And I, addict of all things beautiful, am enjoying having a front row seat to the spectacle. It's hard to feel morose when the weather is warming up and the outdoors beckon.

Weekend wanderlust trumps need the to study any day, and, in true Perthite fashion, I decided to spend the day outside in the sun. In a city like Perth, you can never run out of parks to picnic in - but I couldn't resist the lure of King's Park just coming alive in the spring.

It was definitely worth the return visit. The wildflowers are just coming into bloom and the park is awash with color. King's Park is such a sprawl of space that begs you to just pick a spot for the day and dream.





With my bag of sushi take-away, I picked a shady area under one of the tuart trees and settled in. And wondered what the hell all the other picnicking locals were thinking when they picked a spot to picnic directly under the sun. I found out all too soon the answer to that particular question - despite the deceptively sunny weather, the wind in the park blew pretty damn cold.

It's hard to believe that a dyed-in-the-wool city girl like myself I would actually enjoy just sitting around on the grass with a book in hand and be content just watching the world go by. But I loved every minute of it. Who needs the mall when you could have all this beauty and atmosphere at your disposal for free?

Yes, I am definitely falling in love with spring - and Perth with it.

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Keep Left!

photo by Roger C.

Learning how to drive on the left side of the road with a right-hand drive car pretty much encapsulates the experience of adjusting to life abroad. It's all about having to concentrate hard on doing things that you used to do without thinking.

Being of a more cautious temperament, I opted for proper driving lessons before braving Aussie rules traffic, optimistically thinking I'd only need a couple of sessions since I've been driving back home for a few years. After my first experience on the driving on other side of the road, I am convinced that switching from right to left is much easier said than done.

The hour started out with my narrowly avoiding a disaster. The driving instructor picked me up at the hospital, which is located along a major highway. A mere five minutes into the lesson, I was blithely attempting to cross the highway to get to the other side of the road - and I would have succeeded if my instructor hadn't floored the brake pedal on his side of the car. That was just the beginning.

I quickly discovered that driving in Australia is a far cry from the chaotic, every-man-for-himself driving I was used to in Manila. The cars here go so much faster - 50 kph in built up areas, 60 in main roads, 70 on the highways, 110 on the freeway. And these speed limits are not mere suggestions - you are obliged to follow them to the letter. Speeding has never been one of my myriad bad habits, but driving fairly leisurely is - something that is also not allowed here.

I also fell victim to another peculiarity of vehicles here - the indicator light switch and the windshield wiper switch have been swapped around. Every time the instructor told me to start signaling for a turn, I'd flip the switch and see my wipers start up instead of my indicators flash. Short of time, I'd hit my indicator switch and turn into the next street - all the while with wipers going until I'd have enough time to switch them off.

And don't even get me started on the confusing rules governing roundabouts and intersections without traffic lights. I still haven't figured out when it's acceptable to go straight into your turn or when you should make a full stop and give way, even after I've read their road rules handbook cover to cover several times. There are so many nuances that it just gets too darn confusing.

I would love to take a full course of lessons before I finally get my own car, but each hour is so unbelievably expensive that I can only afford so many. My work situation is also making it more and more necessary for me to drive around as soon as possible. With shifts that start at 10 pm and others that end at 11 pm, even getting a cab could become quite difficult. Walking at that time of night alone would be, of course, completely out of the question.

I guess the only real choice would be to confront the driving issue with the same aplomb that I've approached everything else in this adventure so far. There's no other way to learn but by doing. And just hoping against hope that I won't end up crashing in one big splat.
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