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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On Flying Solo

Breakwaters at Cottesloe Beach

I hit my 2 month mark abroad this week, and it's beginning to sink in that this is not a mere vacation ending in a few more weeks but my "real life." As I settle into the routine, sometimes I wonder if by coming here in a bid for change and real independence, I got more "on my own" time than I've actually bargained for.

So far, I've been quite happy to explore my new territory alone, inspired by the beautiful locale and being somewhere completely foreign. I've always been used to doing things on my own and am capable of being quite happy with my own company. Still, I think that I may have reached the limits of my solitude. I am now yearning for the company of the motley crew that populated my life back home more, and it's also sinking in that they are, in geographic terms, completely out of reach - at least for the time being.

Don't get me wrong, it's been a great experience so far. Some people will say it's too early to tell, but I can say with conviction that the decision to come has been a good one. It's shoved me out of my comfort zone and has forced me to come out of my shell by necessity. It's teaching me a lot - about being self-sufficient, not taking myself too seriously, being open to and making the most of new experiences, reaching out and letting new people into my life.

Yes, I have already begun meeting people here and sowing seeds of friendships that will hopefully grow with time. To be honest, I am still quite amazed at how kind people can be to someone struggling to get her bearings in this unfamiliar place full of strangers. I've been pretty lucky in the people I've met here so far.

But I guess I just miss being around people with whom I have a shared history. Being able to hang around with people who know the inside joke without my having to say a word. Even if we all had our busy lives at home, I always know with conviction I could drag any of them out for coffee and a heart-to-heart if I sounded desperate enough.

Part of realizing that this is now where I live rather than somewhere I am just visiting is also realizing that I don't really have anyone here like that. At all.

And sometimes I'm afraid that in my bid for a drastic change in my life and some real independence, I've just traded one kind of loneliness for another.
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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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The More Things Change...

In the few weeks I have been here, one question that's often asked of me is, "What made you come here?"

I find that it's easier to tell them about the dismal working conditions, the laughable salary, and the feeling that I am getting nowhere fast on my career track and let them draw their own conclusions about me (i.e. "what kind of mercenary so-and-so is she?"). It would be more complicated to explain to them about my compulsive need to turn my life upside down in an effort to get unstuck and maybe get my life going. Which, to be honest, it has done.

Still, one thing I am quickly beginning to realize is that one brave thing does not necessarily lead to another. And the overused cliche, "The more things change, the more they stay the same," is obviously a cliche for a reason.

My friends have all sung to me about the benefits of living abroad - even temporarily. It's supposed to be my fresh start, my chance to get out of my shell, to learn to be confident in my own skin, maybe to even reinvent myself into the person I've always wanted people to see me as but was too entrenched in my own pattern to do so.

The truth is, reinventing myself may be a good idea in theory, but apparently I am simply incapable of doing so. I would love to be able to channel the vibe of my friend, Y, who is sassy and mysterious and uber-confident, or, E, who is sweet, adorable, and exudes a "let's-take-care-of-her" air. Instead I can only be me, equal parts ditzy and capable, gung ho, no-nonsense, snarky and easy to get a rise from, chicken and self-conscious, and very what-you-see-is-what-you-get.

Still, maybe it's only early days yet. Then again, that's part of what worries me. Just a few weeks into my big move, I'm already sliding (kicking and screaming on the inside, believe me) into the same role and persona I have tried in vain to shed every time I have moved from one stage of my life (and one group of friends) to the next. And all I can think is, "WTF am I doing wrong?"

Obviously, they can take the girl out of the Philippines, but they can't take the Philippines out of the girl.

So, does anyone want to give me tips on how to claw myself out of this potential rut before I'm actually stuck in it again?

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Comfort Food

my miracle rice!

Thanks to one of my co-residents, I've finally found the one thing that has cured me of my aversion to cooking rice for one... a microwaveable rice cooker. Just measure the grains, add water, pop into the microwave for 12-14 minutes, and voila! Real. honest-to-goodness fluffy rice! Almost as good as what we have back home.

And just in the nick of time, too. Being here has apparently altered my definition of comfort food. Thus encouraged by my new culinary discovery and prodded by a sudden onset case of the blues, I finally overcame my reluctance to cook for one - resulting in my first real home-cooked Pinoy dinner since I got here. And what dish is closer to home than the all-time favorite adobo?

Adobo is a great Pinoy comfort food because you can get the ingredients for it from practically anywhere. (I couldn't find pork cut the way we have it back home, but I did get some pork rashers that worked as a substitute.) Add vinegar, soy sauce, and garlic, and everything is all set!

Unfortunately, I had decided on cooking adobo without considering the logistics of not having a car and getting everything I needed from the grocery. In typical impulsive me-fashion, I just put everything I needed into my shopping cart (in big bottles) on top of my regular grocery shopping. This resulted in my eco-friendly reusable shopping bag containing a cumulative weight of about 6 kilos at least - not taking into account the rest of my groceries. I had to lug this heavy bag plus a lot of other semi-heavy bags from the grocery to the bus station, then, once I got off the bus, from the bus stop to the house.

By the time I reached the house, my back and arms were killing me and I could no longer feel my feet - because I also happened to be wearing heeled boots coming from work. I was so exhausted by just bringing the ingredients home that I wanted to scrap the entire project, but after all the trouble I'd been through, I was absolutely committed to going through with it - and it was a good thing that I did.

As I ate my pork adobo and rice last night, I realized that the effort was well-worth it. It's simply amazing what simple adobo and rice can do to raise one's spirits - just that was enough to make an absolutely dreary day end on an up note. Definitely the taste of home away from home.

No, this definitely does not mean I plan to cook hot rice meals for myself regularly - frankly, I don't have the energy to do that on a regular basis. But I'm glad that my new miracle rice cooker gives me that option in a hassle-free way. And I have enough adobo now to last me for at least a couple of weeks - so my comfort food is all ready for any return bout of the blues.

my adobo on the simmer

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Car Dunce Seeks Car

one of the models i'm considering: a mitsubishi mirage

I admit it - I am the quintessential lady driver. You know, the kind that most (chauvinistic) males drivers roll their eyes about and in whose presence they wonder (aloud) why women were ever allowed to get behind the wheel.

I have a fairly stuffed sense of direction complemented by an occasional tendency to be indecisive about what route to take. I do know (in theory) how to change a flat, but I know absolutely nothing about the mechanics of a car. Frankly, I don't really mind that I don't, as long as it runs when I put the key into the ignition - awful, I know.

It's quite easy to understand why, as I am beginning my foray into the world of second-hand car hunting on a budget, I feel like I am jumping off the deep end into water teeming with sharks.

Sometimes I wonder if I really do need a car, specially since I am thinking of staying only a year (for the moment). To be fair, I've been getting on okay with walking and public transport.

On the other hand, weekly grocery shopping has become a bit of an Olympic sport for me - a hybrid of long-distance walking and weight-lifting every time. I've also been drenched fairly regularly by motorists cruising down the highway, as I, the lone pedestrian, plod to work in the rain. And, since walking along the fairly deserted highway late at night is hardly a wise idea under any circumstances, I've had to endure taxi waits of over 2 hours from the end of my shift.

In an ideal world, a car dunce like me would be best off buying brand new, regularly bringing the car in for prophylactic servicing, and then selling it off before it has any serious problems. Unfortunately, I don't live in an ideal world - but I need a decent car on a very modest budget that won't cost me more to service it than the price of buying it.

I'm not really looking for anything fancy - just a fairly well-maintained little hatchback that won't kill me with fuel expenses and car repairs. I've been doing a bit of research, and I've already zeroed in on certain makes and models that may suit. However, given my current automotive know-how, anyone could hand me a lemon of a car and I'd probably drive it away with a smile on my face - until it refuses to take me anywhere and needs to be towed to the nearest service station as soon as I've bought it.

Frankly, I can't think of any solution around this dilemma at the moment. While I have made a few acquaintances here, I'm still a bit wary about dragging any of them car shopping with me - not only because I wouldn't want to impose, but also because I don't know who might have the best amount of know-how to help me out. Short of taking a crash course in appraising cars, I'm not sure what else I can do. Of course buying anything that pre-owned always comes with risks, but despite my desperation, I wouldn't want to throw away my money on a dud.

If there are any natives out there reading my blog - I'd love to hear some suggestions. (Or maybe you have trusted friends who are considering selling off their cars!) As for my readers from back home and elsewhere, let's just all cross our fingers together and hope I don't get gobbled up by the sharks alive.

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Not Cooking for One

Adobo on rice *sigh*

This photo by River Rats

One of the things I miss the most from back home? Hot, homecooked meals.

I may be living in a house with a kitchen, but it just takes too much energy to cook for one.

I have done my best over the past few weeks not to fall into the trap of eating too much "take away" (a.k.a. "take out" back home) - which is both horrendously unhealthy, not to mention expensive. I've mostly succeeded, but gastronomic options become quite limited when you don't want to be bothered with cooking.

Don't get me wrong, I can cook. I actually even enjoy it under different circumstances. But the idea of having to take out the pots and pans, prepare all the ingredients, then putting everything away and washing up after - it's just too much effort to make for a meal just for one person. Whereas when you nuke a frozen meal (invariably a meat pie or a box of Lean Cuisine) in the microwave or prepare a sandwich, you only need to wash one plate after. Peeling an orange or biting into an apple means you don't even have to wash anything at all... a good thing when you're dead on your feet from work and walking the three or so kilometers home.

As for a full, hot breakfast? Out of the question. I barely have time to eat my cereal in the mornings as it is! When I get out really late, I have breakfast on the go - walking to work while munching on an apple.

Maybe when I've saved enough money and settled into the rhythm of things, I may get one of those electric skillets on which I can do a little bit of grilling (would you believe I've been here a month and not have had a bite of steak?) and a stir-fry every now and then.

I will only consider whipping out my culinary skills only if I'm going to be making food good for more than one portion. In the meantime, I'm sticking to bread, fruit, cereals, and frozen food. And if I get the urge to eat rice - there's always Indian or Chinese take away, which I indulge in once a week.

Can anyone here think of other alternatives? I'd love to hear them.

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Nosebleeding in English

Yes, I have been raised bilingual. Yes, I have been instructed in English since I've been old enough to read. Yes, I have used it in academic discussion for just as long and everyday conversation for even longer. And, yes, I probably read and write better with it, maybe even express myself with it, than I do with my native tongue - and I have a body of work, a thriving blog, and academic IELTS scores to prove it.

But my first month abroad is quickly teaching me that despite my background, I am, as someone who uses English as a second language in an English-speaking land, still prone to frequent "nosebleed*" moments.

Despite having fair command language, I often find myself suddenly bereft of words to express certain thoughts or questions quite unexpectedly. I find myself stopping at mid-sentence when I would frantically grab for an English word in my otherwise good vocabulary only to find Filipino words floating to the surface instead. At times, when my mouth is running faster than my brain, the occasional Tagalog integrates itself into my stream of thought, only to be met by puzzled glances.

In fairness to me, I've been complimented quite often at how fluent I am in English relative to how long I've actually been living here. My English has been good enough to get me through the basics of day-to-day interaction - asking for directions, following instructions, striking up conversations with complete strangers at bus stops (yes, this actually happens quite often in Australia). This country has become such a multi-cultural place that Aussies take my occasional grammar and pronunciation flubs in stride - and are often way more forgiving than many people are back home would be if they heard me.

But the biggest adjustment so far has been in my interaction with the patients I see at work - something other overseas-trained doctors who work in English-speaking countries probably grapple with as well. Although I was taught medicine in English and my conceptual understanding of medical knowledge is in English, I have gotten used to conducting interviews and asking questions in a way that would be better understood by the patients I used to see back home. All of a sudden the metaphors and the analogies that have served me well for so long no longer work. Explanations of common conditions I've used for years quite effectively must now be reworked for my English-speaking audience. New subtleties and nuances have to be relearned.

I don't think that makes me a worse doctor than I used to be. It just means that, for now, I have to make more of an effort to be understood and to understand. Knowing that I have to keep on my toes works in my favor, and it's that effort that I put in that closes the gap. It's slow going, but I like to believe I'm getting there and getting better every day I come into work, every patient that I interview. It's all just part of the growing pains of practicing medicine in a foreign country.

Nonetheless, no matter how fluent I get at speaking English, I know the nosebleed moments will probably remain a fact of life. And while I may have no real, formal knowledge of Filipino and my actual Tagalog vocabulary is shallow at best, not speaking it for long spells has made me realize that a heart-deep connection with it exists - and I miss using it, in a major way.

(*For people not in the know, the term "nosebleed" is Filipino slang for something exceedingly difficult or takes so much effort that it makes your nose bleed. It is often used in the context of someone trying to conduct a conversation in straight English and struggling mightily with it. I don't know how widespread the term's use it and how accepted is the term's use is in this context - so please free to correct me by posting a comment if I am wrong. :))
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Walking the WOC

See one, do one, teach one.

There is only so much medical knowledge that you can glean from reading the books. An internist's clinical eye can only be developed by actually seeing. A surgeon's hands can only gain their skill by actually doing.

And for doctors just at the beginning of our journey, the quality of practical knowledge often rests on the guidance of our teachers' wisdom and expertise. Our mentors spend time every week to see our patients with us, and share valuable clinical pearls with us - and many of them WOC - without compensation.

Having worked only in a training hospital and been reared in a culture where teaching is the norm all my years as a doctor, I admit that I never fully appreciated the time and the effort that our consultants put into our rearing.

It boggles the mind how these doctors, now leaders in their fields with busy practices, give precious hours of their time to teach despite the lack of financial return. How surgeons who charge a hefty fee for each procedure serve as first assists to surgical trainees doing a complicated procedure for the first time - and do it for free.

What's in it for them? Cynics will say that the prestige of being associated with a university with such a well-established reputation is motivation enough - but given how easy it is to get the hospital tagged to your name without having to give anything back, it cannot be the explanation. Maybe there are just people who simply love to teach. And then there are those who believe in paying it forward.

Whatever their reasons, these teachers continue to inspire and spur on struggling trainees to reach the standards they have set. And in doing so, they pass on their love of medicine and of teaching, so that despite the many challenges of a medical career, there will always be those who will walk the WOC with them.

* * * *

This is a contribution to The Blog Rounds 16 - Unsung Heroes hosted by Doc Gigi.

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A Rainy Taste of King's Park

Any fine day in winter is too precious to be wasted, especially on a day off. So, undeterred by a dysfunctional camera, the lack of a car, and my growing pile of laundry, I decided to spend my Friday exploring one of my adopted city's most famous landmarks - King's Park. Between going outlet window shopping in the city despite not having much cash versus gorging on photo-ops despite not having a proper camera, there really was no contest.

Armed with my trusty folding umbrella, the Perth guidebook I brought from home, and the bus and train schedules, I was all set. My inner wanderlust was looking forward to a great day drinking in some serious natural beauty in the gargantuan sprawl of genuine bushland and manicured gardens that remains outstanding in this city where parks and open spaces seem to be a dime a dozen. At over 400 acres, it is reputed to be the third biggest inner-city park in the world.

Even without a car, King's Park is quite accessible by public transport. There are buses you can catch around the city that can take you straight into the park - Bus 37 - and all hop-on-and-hop-off guided bus tours will also take you around. But for people with a limited budget and no aversion to walking, the Red CAT bus - one of three bus services going around the central business district which you can ride for free and can catch right outside the Perth Underground train station - works just fine. Just get off at the Havelock Street stop and follow signs pointing the way.

Which is what I did. But as I was walking down Havelock Street, my fine day suddenly took a turn for the worse - and I had to scramble for my umbrella to keep from being drenched by a cold winter shower. Undeterred and commited - there was no point in turning back now when almost half the day was gone - I plodded on, my lesson on fickle winter weather and having a sense of humor when traveling well learned. The bone-deep chill of walking in the winter rain was quickly forgotten, though, when I found myself under the canopy of Fraser Avenue's magnificent lemon scented gums as I walked into the park.



From its perch high above the city on the western side of town, the park offers magnificent views of the Perth CBD skyline, the mighty Swan and Canning Rivers, and all the way the hills of Perth in the horizon. Bemoaning the loss of my camera, I took a couple of photos with my camera phone for posterity. I even got a nice old gentleman, who was decked in full raingear with his wife in a matching set, to take my picture against the backdrop of Perth city in the distance.



Under the shelter of my little umbrella, I oohed and ahed over the lush greenery, the magnificent old jarrahs and breathed deeply of the smell of rain and the hint of eucalyptus. I followed the walkway and marveled at the strange, exotic looking plants whose names I didn't know but were pockets prettiness that warranted a picture. The wide open spaces were nearly all mine with the exception of a smattering of fellow tourists.



There are volunteer guides who take interested visitors around the park at certain times daily for free - anyone can get a brochure with the schedules in the park tourist information center. There are different kinds of walks - some which go through the botanic gardens, others going as far as the heart of the park's bushland - lasting about an hour to two hours depending. The kinds they offer also vary on the season, with more lengthier walks offered in the spring and summer when the park is alive with people.

I wanted to the visitors' center with the intention of joining a group doing the walk on the scheduled time - only to find myself all alone in front of the sign announcing the guided walk schedules. Apparently everyone else must have known about the weather forecast and were sane enough to stay in the warm indoors instead. Torn between cutting my losses while the rain had ceased temporarily and sticking to my guns, I was forced into a decision when the guide for the afternoon - a lovely lady named Inge, who must have been about 65 at the least because she says she has memories of what Perth looked like 50 years ago when she first came over - asked me if I wanted to go on the guided walk. Unwilling to deprive her of her solitary audience, I agreed and was glad that I did.

Inge took me around the botanic gardens and told me many interesting tidbits about the highly specialized native flora of Australia planted through the garden. Australian plants have had to develop unique survival tactics in order to exist in the continent's poor soil and harsh conditions, and my inner nerd really enjoyed hearing all the interesting factoids about them. There were also many pockets of prettiness that just begged for a picture - like this one, at the Water Garden section of the walk.



One of this guided walks' highlights was going on an elevated walkway about 60 meters above the ground, which cuts through the trees and lets you see the canopy at eye level rather than from the ground. The vantage point is amazing, and it literally offers a gorgeous bird's eye view of part of the park.



There are certain tree-lined streets within the park which have been made into Honour Walks. All the trees along these streets have been planted for or dedicated to young Australian soldiers who have died in both World War I and II. There are small plaques in front of each tree in remembrance. I think it's a wonderful kind of living memorial that goes on after you have passed. I would love to have someone plant a tree in memory of me when I am gone, too.



There's a section of the botanic garden dedicated to the memory of the pioneer women of Western Australia. (Did you know that WA was the second place in the world where women were allowed to vote?) In the paved walk going through it, there are inscriptions and replicas of sculptures made by prominent Australian artists that represent what women have given to their society over the past two hundred years and more. Among all of them, this one was my favorite.



My guided walk with Inge lasted about an hour and fifteen minutes, and at the end of it, I knew one thing for sure - I am definitely going to be back. Inge says the best time to go will be in spring, when all the wildflowers are in bloom and everything is gorgeous and even greener.

Anyone who comes to Perth should not miss a visit to King's Park. A day spent under the wide, vividly blue sky, surrounded by open spaces in this oasis of green in the heart of the city is just what one needs to refresh the spirit and make one realize just what a wonderful world it is we live in. Seriously. Rain or no rain.
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R.I.P.

For some weird reason, all of my gadgets have started acting up on me ever since I flew them over here. Just last week, my CD drive suddenly disappeared from my laptop... my Palm PDA refuses to hot sync with my computer at the worst possible time... now, to top it off, a traveler's worst gadget nightmare has happened.

My digital camera has apparently kicked the bucket.

I got my Cybershot as a medical school graduation gift from my parents, and it's been a constant travel companion eversince. It's been with me through far and wide, high seas and mountains (not a lot of these, though), good and bad weather, drunk and sober times (yes, this is relevant). I've never had much trouble with it over the past three years and change I've had it - so its demise has come as a complete shocker.

Well, maybe not a complete shocker. It's been doing that flickering LCD thing ever since Aman - which I initially put down to overexposure from the blinding white sands of the beach. I thought it had had it when we were in Anawangin after it got caught in the rain - after my last sunset shot, it flickered and died. Thankfully, it came back to life after I charged it back home, so I thought it was probably just the battery.

I've been going around my adopted city these past two weeks with it in tow, but being a traveler alone makes it tricky to take too many pictures. It seemed alright the few times I brought it out - I was even able to get a picture of me and my landlady at the bed and breakfast I was staying at last week. So imagine my dismay when I tried it out right before I left for a day exploring King's Park the other day (more on that another time).

When I turned it on, I was treated to a laser light show complete with hissing sound effects instead of a functioning LCD and zoom lens. I took out the battery and put it back in, then turned it on - and the retractable lens just peeked at me, moved out halfway, then died. I plugged it into the wall, in an attempt to charge it, but when I turned it on, the anti-red eye orange light blinked several times, the flash went off once - then it died.

It has since then refused to switch on since. Not even for a flicker.

Given labor and repair costs here - which are atrocious - it may be cheaper to throw it out and get a new one. You can imagine just how distressing this is for me - I'm living in a foreign country and just itching to take photos as I explore it for posterity, I am trying to save up and my first paycheck is already accounted for by expenses even before I get it... and this happens! I wasn't planning on a new camera until after a year... only then, I was planning on getting an SLR. So much for that!

Besides that, it feels like I'm saying goodbye to a really good friend. *sigh* (Now you have an idea why I am such a pack rat.)

So long, my little Cybershot! :(

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Lucky Country

the healing hands fountain in front of the hospital where i work

(photo from flickr)

I've been working here just a over week, and I still can't get over how lucky "public" patients here are. I know that all medical systems have their flaws, and Australia is no exception, but compared to back home, they don't know just how fortunate they really are.

I work in a public hospital (government funded) in one of Perth's outer suburbs, a fairly small one relative to my old medical home. It's a 200 bed hospital that's just inching its way towards secondary hospital status - by Australian standards that is. We don't have an ICU and as a rule (strictly enforced) we cannot have intubated patients or toxic patients here. We don't have complete specialist cover and have to refer some of our patients to the bigger centers in Perth who need consults.

Despite this, in this little hospital, we have access to diagnostics and resources that my fellow co-residents and I would have killed for. All you have to do is order them, arrange for a schedule, and most of the time you get results within 24 to 48 hours. For blood work, you can get them as fast as half an hour. I know this must sound routine to someone who works in a first-world insititution or even a private hospital back home, but for us, it was all but a wistful dream. To top it off, puiblic patients don't have to pay a single cent.

And the drugs! All you have to do is write it in the chart, and it's all provided for. Antibiotics are given regularly, without fail. No need to run around looking for donors, worrying about where you are going to find your patient's next dose. And this covers discharge prescriptions as well. No need to wrack your brain cells and make up unconventional combinations looking for the cheapest option.

I'm often given amused smiles by my fellow residents when I'd give a delighted, "Oh, you have that (can do that/can give that) here? Wow! I've never seen that done (given to a patient) before!" Believe me, I've said it so often, it's become almost embarrassing.

On the other hand, they can't wrap their head around the idea of relatives who ambu-bag patients who cannot afford a mechanical ventilators, let alone patients who ambu-bag themselves. The concept of young patients dying simply because there are no medications to be had is unthinkable to them. And treating empirically based on a clinical diagnosis is almost akin to a joke. Yet these are realities that I and fellow doctors who work in government hospitals in the Philippines lived with every single day.

Being exposed to all this excess, I can't help but being a great deal envious in behalf of the many needy patients back home. And sad, because given the place health is given in our national budget, to have something like this back home is something of a pipe dream. As it is, the government cannot even pay trainee doctors a decent wage for service hours rendered; it is never going to have enough to cover the health expenses of even just the Filipinos who find their way into the hospitals across the country. The ever-upward spiraling prices of health care in the world makes the unlikely almost impossible.

Whenever I hear someone here griping about how lousy their health care system is, I'm always tempted to make the retort, "How about I send you to the Philippines in place of one of the patients we have in the wards?" Just a day in, and I'm sure they'll realize what we all know to be true - they're still pretty damn lucky.
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Blue Monday

those i'm friend-sick for

People warned me it would catch me unawares. And just like that, it did.

I've had a bad day at the hospital today. I can't go on a comfort shopping spree because there's nowhere open after five. I can't watch a movie because I don't have a car and it's not a great idea to commute at night. I can't even drown myself in ice cream because I missed the last open grocery - which closes at six.

But most of all, it's hit me that there is no one here I can just ask over to whine to... to have some retail therapy with (besides, the shops are all closed!) or have a soothing coffee with or get wasted with. No one to gripe with about the unfairness of life over lunch or dinner. No one to make unsubstantiated and totally unlikely scenarios of vindication with.

I've been in constant communication with my parents - and that had helped a lot - but there are many things about my job that my non-doctor parents will never understand, and bad days at work are among them. Besides, I'd never try to get wasted with my Mom - got to keep up appearances, after all.

My other workmates try to be supportive, but it's early days yet. Nowhere near "Let's-get-drunk-so-all-this-can-go-away" or the "let's-shop-and-comfort-ourselves-with-the-joys-of-materialism" just yet.

I miss my batchmates. And just like that, I suddenly miss home.

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Did You Say Walking Distance?

photo of Minnawara Park (in the summer) by Clarion

I've been in Armadale for almost a week. It's a very picturesque and quiet area, and being into the whole "beauty of nature" thing, I am drinking everything in. But one thing I'm learning very fast is that the phrase "walking distance" is relative to Western Australians - probably something they develop because the state they happen to occupy is so vast.

I'm currently staying at a bed and breakfast that is walking distance from my hospital - which actually means it is about 1 km far from it, and about a 10 minute walk. It's also walking distance from the shopping center and the lovely park shown above - about 1.5 km far, and a 20 minute walk.

Over here, because it's a quiet suburb, buses stop at stations on schedule and only come every half hour at their most frequent. If you're late one minute for the train, you'll have to wait 15 minutes for the next one. There are also no buses that pass along the highway where I live after 730 at night. This poses a bit of a problem because I have shifts that end at 9pm and shifts that start at 830pm.

Walking is lovely during the day and the sun is out, but quite a different matter when it's dark out, cold, and it's raining. Everyone out here has a car, it seems, as I've gone walking home at 6 pm (and it's already dark here because of winter) and I'm the only one on the road on foot. The locals say it's a relatively safe neighborhood. But when you're a woman walking alone in the street and there are dark vacant fields thick with trees in intervals beside you, it's a bit forgivable to be a bit antsy when you're doing it.

I am definitely going to have to save up and get a little car ASAP. In the meantime, there is always the expensive but safer option of calling for a cab.

We're pretty spoiled in Manila with our public transport that goes everywhere, you can hail from anywhere any time of day, and will drop you off wherever you want. The trade off is horrible traffic and unspeakable pollution. There is no such thing as the traffic jam we see back home over here - but then again, I don't live inside the city, so I could be wrong.

But this new way of getting around is just one of many new things that I am getting used to.

I have yet to get my own internet connection - so forgive me for being such an irregular chronicler these days. There's so much to write about, and I have quite a bit of time to write about them - only I don't really have a means to get on line at the moment. Just wanted to let you guys know I am still alive and I haven't forgotten my blog in all the fuss of moving.

More soon! In the meantime, keep those good vibes and wishes coming - I start work tomorrow and need all I can get!
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Here Goes Nothing

my cousin Jazz and I at St. Kilda Beach

This is the last few hours of my reprieve in Melbourne, and reality is finally sinking in. By this time tomorrow, I will be completely be on my own.

It's been a good visit to my family in Melbourne; and being around them has staved off the onset of homesickness. It's a nice reminder that I will have people to call on if I do get into trouble.While it's a 4 hour flight away, at least there are people can fly to my rescue who don't have to get a visa. It's just a bit frustrating that with all the relatives I have in here, I end up in a city where I won't even know anyone.

Anyway, I've pysched myself to tough it out - at least until I can pay off all my credit card debt! But I'm optimistic it will be a good year.

Time to repack my stuff and prepare for my "one brave thing!"
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Into Winter in a Day

photo of foggy Melbourne in winter by deezmon

I'm here!

After many obstacles overcome and a seven hour flight, I am finally in the southern hemisphere. From the muggy, humid tropical heat of the resurgent summer in Manila, I am now shivering in the foggy, grey winter of Melbourne, Australia for a four day pit stop before I start my on-my-own saga in far away Perth.

Although I've been here a few times, it was never in winter. And while winter here is not as hardcore as what they have in other temperate countries, for a girl weaned under perennially summer weather of the Pinas, this kind of cold is a bit of a culture shock. To wake up at eight only to find the sun barely up is disconcerting, to say the least.

Of course the weather is not the only change I have to deal with.

I've been here only a couple of days, and already I have swung into one "nosebleed" moment to the next. It's tough speaking in straight English! And don't let people who say Australia is an easy destination because everyone here speaks English. English, when spoken with the broad Oz strine, sounds quite foreign. I've also been steering away from shops - because aside from having very little to spend until I start work, the prices when converted from dollar to pesos is quite enough to keep me away from any form of retail.

This short visit in Melbourne is more of a vacation rather than a real part of my adventure. But I can already feel just how very different everything is going to be for me in the next few months. Yet there is comfort in this unfamiliar because over here I am still surrounded by extended family - and in easy touch with home through email, Skype voice calls, and telecommunications.

Thank goodness for amazing technology that has shrunk the world - that allows one to travel from summer to winter in a day and back home in the space of a few seconds with a few clicks of a mouse.

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Mission Impossible

This is not even half of it...

It was hard enough packing up three years of my life away in the callroom last December, when all I had to do was throw things in my car and drive them to storage at home.

So how does a sworn pack rat like me figure out what to bring abroad for a year and stay under 20 kilograms?

My friends have suggested not to buy too much and just buy in Aussie when I get there. Unfortunately, quality clothes and shoes are expensive over there; bargain clothes there are not as good as what I can get here for a lot less. So everything I'd saved up for the past few years not buying new apparel unless absolutely necessary, I've completely blown on the still-growing pile of shoes and clothes in my room that I am in total denial about.

Thankfully, I do get additional shipping freebies up to Melbourne of about 20 kgs, so I really have 40 kgs all in all. I will have to pay for the shipping from Melbourne to Perth, so that part must wait until I have cash to spare. Thus, smart packing is in order - and I have to be able to carry with me all my must-haves for at least two months in my suitcase.

Sounds easy? For normal people, maybe. For a perennially pack-heavy traveler pack rat? It's mission impossible.

As ever, procrastination and denial go hand in hand, and I have yet to sort everything out. Finally putting stuff in a suitcase and a box will finally make everything real - and I am really not ready for that yet. But with less than a week to go, I really should get started on this.

I have been living in a cloud of unreality these past three weeks, and the days have zoomed by without my looking. Don't get me wrong, I am going through with this. But to be honest, I still ask myself why I even want to sometimes.

Okay... time to make a checklist and get my ass in gear. It's packing time! To the seasoned and the experienced - tips will be greatly appreciated. I need all the help I can get!

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Disasters and Miracles

This past week has been a whirlwind of activity - what I get for being a pessimist and putting off everything that needed to be done until the very last minute. Exactly one week to my fly day, and there's still so much to be done. And that doesn't even include packing! Given this extreme spike in my stress level, my innate scatterbrain tendencies have been working overtime.

Because of this, last Friday, for about an hour, I thought that all of my plans had suddenly, irrevocably gone up in smoke.

Meet my purple expanding folder - which contains ALL my personal, ORIGINAL copies of my credentials and other documents essential to my pending trip.

Not being a complete dunce, I have already photocopied these same documents in a set to be left with my family in Manila, but since I am still in the process of compiling it, my photocopies are in this same envelope, too.

So in short, my whole life is in that envelope.

My disastrous story begins on Friday morning, when I left the house without bringing my cellular phone with me. Leaving my phone is usually not that a big deal for me, but since I had a lot of errands to run and needed a phone to coordinate with people I would be meeting, I asked my brother to meet me at the mall with it.

I had just come from the POEA, where I had spent the past few days fixing my exit clearance and registering as a bona fide OFW, so I had my precious envelope in tow. As I waited for my brother, I lugged it from one shop to the next as I tried on clothes and did some last minute shopping.

I hadn't been to this particular mall for years. Around a few minutes before I was to meet my brother, I saw that the store I set as a venue for us was no longer where it used to be. Worried we wouldn't find each other because of this, I went to the nearest pay phone and tried calling him - repeatedly because he wouldn't answer - and getting in touch with the house. Since it was difficult to hunt for coins in my black hole of a bag with my arms full of purchases and my bulky purple envelope, I put the envelope on top of the phone... and forgot about it.

Yes, I completely, utterly, stupidly forgot the envelope on top of a public phone in a mall. Someone give the idiot a prize!

After I met up with and got my cellphone from my brother, I promptly left the mall to run my other errands all over the metro, blissfully unaware that the key to my entire life was gone. Hours and kilometers passed. I guess I was so used to lugging it around with me that I assumed it was still with me all that time.

It was only at my last stop - the photocopying shop in UP Diliman - that I realized that things had gone horribly wrong. I felt like my entire world had completely disintegrated. It took all my willpower to hold on to sanity to drive through the rush hour traffic to get back to the mall. I was trying not to think about the fact that I would have to reconstruct a file of documents put together only after months of tedious legwork in TWO WEEKS. I was looking for an escape hatch from taking the trip, but this wasn't the way I wanted to bail out! At every stoplight, I was furiously texting all the praying people I knew in my phonebook, begging them to pray for a miracle.

My brother had gotten to the mall ahead of me, so I asked him to check the phone I used in the slim hope that it was still there. It wasn't. I told him to try the security office to see if anyone had turned it over. No one had. I told him to check the last places I recalled going to. No one remembered seeing anything.

It was around the time my brother told me there was nothing in the security office that my control started to slip. I was hysterically bawling as I was driving and praying incoherently - I was just saying please over and over again. When I finally got to the mall, I parked in the first slot I found and shot into the mall to retrace my steps one last time, but not with much hope.

As I was walking around the Food Court, on my way to the other set of public telephones I used, someone called me on my cellular phone. Apparently, she saw my home number on one of my documents and wanted to inform me that my envelope with the mall security in the area where I was, and the person who answered at home had given her my cellular number. She figured I would want to know ASAP that it had been found, even if I wouldn't be able to pick it up at once.

It turns out that a costumer had found the envelope earlier that afternoon and had turned it over to the food court security. They had waited for someone all afternoon to claim it, and, just around the time I was having my fit of hysterics, the manager finally decided to go through the papers inside it to see if there was any contact information they could use to get in touch with me.

Coincidence? Maybe. Me, I firmly believe it was the power of praying friends and God taking pity on His stupid, scatterbrained daughter.

In this time of great uncertainty and major life changes, God continues to remind me that He's on top of everything. And despite my frequent flirtation with the edge of disaster, He brings forth miracle after miracle - and I cannot thank Him enough.

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You're Putting WHAT in my Mouth?!

photo by megnicol

Acting on the wise advice of everyone who's gone an a long trip away from home, I've been spending the past few days (apart from fixing my papers and embracing my new role as an OFW) catching up on my dental work.

Much as I like my dentist as a person, I am one of those who considers a session in the "hot seat" akin to a stint in purgatory regardless of what form of pain she chooses to inflict on me at the time. The less I see of her the better. Now that I've experienced getting a tooth extracted, I have revised my opinion - a visit to the dentist is not a trip to purgatory but a trip straight to hell.

One of my molars has been undergoing intensive root canal treatments for a while - probably another legacy of too much sweets as a child. A few weeks ago, after an x-ray, my dentist gave me the devastating verdict that the tooth was beyond saving. If I didn't want to suddenly wake up with the mother of all toothaches when I'm stuck in a place where all health-related services are notoriously expensive unless you're covered by Medicare, the molar had to go ASAP.

After going through all the stages in the dying process - denial ("Are you sure nothing can be done?"), anger ("I've been getting a root canal for months, what do you mean I have to get my tooth taken out?"), bargaining ("Maybe we can try for a few more treatments and I can have it taken out when I get back?"), depression ("I can't believe I am actually going to have a permanent tooth taken out at 31. At this rate I'll have a mouthful of false teeth by the time I'm 60."), and finally acceptance ("Fine, let's get this sucker out once and for all.") - I finally had my tooth taken out a few hours ago. The trauma is so fresh that I have yet to feel sensation return to my lips and tongue even as I type.

With all due respect to my dentist and all the other dentists in the world -- I really don't know how they can do what they do. I can't even imagine how they grow up wanting to do what they eventually do! How does one grow up wanting to become a dentist? I'm not saying it's not good honest work and a much needed skilled profession. It's just that that someone who actually wants to do this because he enjoys it must have an unacknowledged sadistic streak lurking somewhere. They definitely have it in spades over surgeons - who at least cut and inflict pain on patients asleep and wear the mantle of the but-I'm-saving-his-life syndrome to justify it.

Dentists do their work on a fully awake patient who can feel every twist, scrape, wiggle, and tug as they do it. Despite the advent of anesthetics and modern instruments, the prodding and the pulling that modern dentists do still eerily calls to mind untrained barbers doing the same thing a century or two ago.

At the sight of my dentist laying out the things she was going to need to pull out my one measly tooth, it was all I could do not to squawk in panic at the array of vicious looking sticks, picks, and pliers - not to mention that evil-looking hypodermic needle. The only way I could think of to get through the experience without being scarred for life was to keep my eyes closed. That way I didn't have to give into the urge to screech, "You're going to put THAT in my mouth!" every time my dentist picked up another instrument from her tray and approached my open mouth with it.

The extraction procedure was, quite thankfully, a textbook one despite my fleeting urge to go into hysterics.

An empty stomach did not deter me from popping two different kinds of analgesic right after the procedure to counter the sucker punch of pain that's bound to come once the effect of the lidocaine has completely faded out. The anesthetic is beginning to wear off, so I'm going to go get an ice cream now. Not being able to eat solid foods is a good excuse as anything to get a sundae without guilt.

Frankly, I hope I never, never have to go through anything like that ever again. Or should the occasion ever arise, I'm going to insist on a general anesthetic so I can sleep through every tug and pull.

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Hitting Panic

photo by Krysten

I already have a flight date, almost all of my papers are in, and it seems as if all systems are really go. I've completed most of my shopping, and I have enough time to finish sorting out my stuff before I leave if I start doing it now.

Everything seems to be almost ready but me.

Can someone tell me where the brakes are?

I thought I'd had ample time to get my head around the fact that I am going to be leaving my entire life behind to start anew in a city I have never been to, where I do not know a single soul, away from everything I know and everyone I love. But D-day is approaching so much faster than I thought it would.

The urge to cling to the familiar is overpoweringly strong. The excitement of a new adventure is tempered by a good dose of fear, guilt, and sadness at the thought of leaving my support system behind. As the days to my departure wind down from one to the next, I have to stop myself from frantically looking for an escape hatch.

Talk about being careful what you wish for!

My friends are more excited for me than I am at this point. I guess it's easier for them to keep my life in perspective - that this is only going to be for a year (at least for now), that I need this change and the experience will be good for me, and, if the worst happens, I can always come home. Their encouragement is my lifeline and one of the biggest reasons I haven't exercised my right to change my mind.

Frankly, I still have no idea what I am doing - and I think that's a pretty good excuse to give in to panic every now and then, don't you? But despite my panic, I'm seeing this through with faith that the courage to jump is a real prelude to learning how to fly.

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