Pudding And Pools

This summer held a lot of promise. While in Moscow, I was told that I would be living in a new place, and not only did this new place have an air-conditioned room for me, it even had a swimming pool. Needless to say, I was really looking forward to coming home.

You see,  my fifth year in med school was nothing less than a bitch in heat that no dog wants to fuck. It was so hectic, I don’t even want to talk about it. You would need to hypnotise me if you wanted to listen to my traumatic experiences. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad. It was stressful, which made me eat a lot. When I say, “a lot” what I mean is, “I only stopped short of raiding my guninea pig’s cage for snacks.” Eating a lot made me put on quite a bit of weight. In fact, it’s the weight gain that I find traumatising.

What does my weight have to do with summer, you ask? Everything. A summer in Malaysia usually ends only in one way: with people leaving as proud owners of a second chin. Food is good, cheap and available everywhere. In other words, the chances of the numbers on the scale going down were very, very low.

Now that I live in a condo which has a swimming pool and since I love swimming, you’d think that I’d make full use of the pool and lose all my exam weight. Yeah, sure. Not even my toe has seen the cool, chlorinated water that I had great plans of splashing around in.

Note How I'm Not In The Photo

To make matters worse, I have an uncle who doesn’t snack between meals; one meal just blends in with the next. He doesn’t want to eat alone, so I’m roped in to keep him company. My stomach has forgotten what it feels like to be empty. Poor bastard sure is gonna suffer when I’m back in Moscow.

If you’re wondering whether my uncle is overweight, let me assure you that he is not. He does enough exercise to keep 3 middle-aged women fit. What he fails to understand is that I barely do enough exercise to keep myself fit. In fact, I probably do just enough to not get a heart attack.

This awful combination of minimal exercise and obscene amounts of food has led to the fastest weight gain I have ever experienced in my life, and I am quite the expert when it comes to..ahem..excess baggage. I’ve only been home for 24 days. Shorts that fit me when I arrived can’t go past my bum anymore and the loose T-shirts that I bought last week show off a pretty revolting bulge where my hip bones used to be ( I prodded and poked, I can’t find them anymore.) There’s only so much shrinkage I can blame on my clothes’ dryer.

That said, I sadly admit defeat and accept that getting into a size-10 dress is a bit like riding a pink and turquoise talking unicorn to Narnia.

When The Uterus Drops

If I were to translate the topic I’m supposed to be reading now, it would be something along the lines of, “Incorrect Position of Sexual Organs”. The textbook has no pictures, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, because my imagination tends to run with reckless abandon.

Imagination or no imagination, I’m inclined to do a little bit of random blogging because this chapter is only nine pages long. Quite a treat, I would say.

1. I realized that I never blogged about my trip to Myanmar, and that’s just sinful. No credit cards, no mobile network coverage, dodgy “unofficial” money changers and a 2km walk uphill to Shwe Dagon Pagoda in the rain where there’s no proper sidewalks. I can’t believe that slipped my mind.

That's where we were headed to on foot. My idea, naturally.

2. I am such a sellout. I’m pretty sure about two years ago, I was ranting on and on about finding Twitter and the need for people to tweet every bloody thing they do utterly ridiculous. Now, I have a Twitter account and I’m on it more than I am on Facebook. My cousin Hera called me a “conformer to society” but completely understood when I said I was following sex-bloggers. Sometimes I wonder what sort of impression I leave on that 17- year old. Truth be told, I’m having lots of fun on Twitter because I’ve made it a point not to follow anyone I know from my uni or school. Part of the quarter life crisis nonsense I’ve mentioned before. Wait, I seem to have lost the plot. All I wanted to say was I’ve been following some really interesting people, especially bloggers (erotic and otherwise) and I’m pleased to say that I have a swamp of good blogs to read nowadays.

3. I am seriously considering going somewhere for my next winter holidays. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I’ve been in Moscow for almost 6 years and I’ve never gone anywhere besides home. The problem mainly lies in the fact that I like being in places, I loathe getting there. I must be such a disgrace to my Nanna, the woman traveled around Europe alone at the age of 65. At 25, I’m sitting on my wobbly ass complaining about wanting to go places and not actually going. I’ve been leaning towards visiting London, but we’ll see where my bank balance takes me.

Okay. The remaining five pages are giving me dirty looks. Till the next short, visually disturbing chapter.

My Winter Break (I Kid You Not)

I can’t believe I’m going to type this. This used to be my least favourite topic to write about in primary school, and here I am, posting it on my blog for people (yes, all four of you) to read. The exams must have fucked me harder than I recall.

My two-week winter holidays have finally come to an end. I’m looking forward to classes, mainly because this is what I’ve been up to:

1. Swatting flies. Literally. Thanks to Pedro, my half-blind, fully annoying guinea pig. Apparently the perfectly balanced combination of rodent poo, bedding and hidden stashes of food is excellent for breeding noisy, filthy flies. There are so many of them that I’ve gone slightly nutty. I am convinced that they have favourite spots, strategies to avoid me (sitting anywhere above 160 cm from the floor seems to do the trick) and personalities. I’m pretty sure that any sane person will know that I’m expecting too much from an insect that lives for less than a month.

Pedro in his home a.k.a Diptera Love Shack

Either way, I’ve invested in a decent fly swatter. Whenever I go on my daily “hunt”, it looks like I’ve combined badminton with basketball and pro-wrestling. I add pro-wrestling into the mix because there’s a fair amount of smack talk from me while I’m on my killing spree, ranging from “I’m going to kill you and spit upon your buzzing corpse” to “Hah! Go ahead, fuck around with me. Make my day.”

2. Shopping. This one was quite disappointing, not because there weren’t enough outlets with mad sales, or because there was nothing appealing to me. I just can’t shop. I’ve tried. I’ve gone with friends, I’ve gone alone, I’ve tried going early to avoid crowds, I’ve tried going when I had more time than I could care for. For some inexplicable reason, I cannot walk into every shop in a mall and scrutinise every item on display just for the heck of it. I rarely buy stuff because I want it, and even when I do, I rush into a store, quickly scan the place, buy the thing and scurry out. I’ve been in denial for some time now, but last week, when I was impatiently weaving through people to get out of a mall when I has absolutely NO reason to rush, I knew that it was pointless; I just don’t do shopping.

3. Eating. This wasn’t part of the plan, well at least not my plan. My plan was to spend some quality time walking outside with my pedometer on so that I could finally conquer virtual Tokyo and maybe have a small victory in the Tight Jeans Battle. My friends’ plan was to cook all sorts of lovely, decadent meals that would render us motionless after consumption. The choice between gobbling good food and walking in subzero temperatures was not a hard one to make. Class is on Monday, I’ll be wearing track bottoms.

At this rate, my Gynaecology cycle is beginning to look very inviting.