Molten Chocolate Lava Cake

I have to confess that I'm not a super huge fan of lava cakes. Sure they look impressive and taste fabulous at the first bite, but for one they're not exactly cheap and after a while all that chocolate makes you start to feel like you'll descend into diabetic hell.

Nevertheless I was left home alone the other day, and in a moment of weakness I caved in and decided to try making one for breakfast (don't judge). I just wanted to see whether I had the necessary skills to do it, and so I got to work. I'll admit I thought it was insanely difficult and I'd probably end up having to eat some morphed half-baked monster cake (like that hasn't happened enough times before)

Out of the oven

I gotta say, the 10 minutes in the oven was the most nerve-wracking 10 minutes of my life. Plus another 1 minute waiting for it to cool. When it didn't rise, I panicked. When it did rise, I panicked. When it sank in the middle I was ready to just jump off a cliff and call it a day. However when I finally flipped it over, dusted some icing sugar and took a chunk out and watch a perfect sea of chocolate burst forth, that's when I realised that world peace was possible, no I'm not fat and no we're not going to die of global warming.

Oooh mama!

Here's the cool part. My pictures were taken with a plain old phone camera with less pixels than I care to mention, and it turned out perfect. Literally no filter I promise. No fancy DSLR effect here! Oh man. I'm never ordering lava cake out again when I can make one for a fraction of the cost. And really pretty much anyone can do it.

EASY MOLTEN CHOCOLATE LAVA CAKE

1/4 cup chocolate chips
1 small egg, beaten
1 tbsp flour
1 tbsp sugar
2 tbsp butter
1 tbsp milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
Icing sugar, for dusting

1. Preheat the oven to 200° C.

2. In the microwave (or a double-boiler) melt the chocolate chips, butter and milk.

3. Remove from heat, add the sugar and vanilla extract and whisk till combined.

4. Slowly add beaten egg.

5. Add flour, whisk until combined.

6. Pour into greased ramekin or oven-safe mold and bake for 10 mins.

7. Let cool for 1 min (you should see the cake releasing from the sides of the mold), overturn on a  

    serving plate and dust with icing sugar.

Notes :

-  I just broke off bits of a large cooking chocolate bar since I didn't have chocolate chips. Worked 

   anyway.

- You really do wanna try for a small egg. You'll notice that once the egg is added everything kinda 

   clumps together in an eggy, gooey mass. No worries. I'd recommend adding half the beaten egg, 

   then adding the flour and checking out the texture. If it seems a little too thick, then continue with 

   the egg. You're looking for a nice pancake batter-like texture. Remaining egg? Hello omelette :)

- I tried doing it in a friend's place and she didn't have any chocolate besides a milk chocolate bar 

   with almonds. Purists look away, but I just melted that, picked out the almonds and reduced the  

   sugar a little. Turned out fine. Even had almond bits in it.

So long story short, if you're craving for a gourmet-looking sweet dessert for one, this is the absolute Holy Grail of easy desserts. I'm pretty much the novice baker and I have my bad days, but this one plenty foolproof. And you can share it with a loved one as it's enough for two people. But for me, I'm having it all to myself.

Half gone!

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The Fact about Fasting

I haven't actually blogged for sometime. I realise that. Well actually the simple truth is I'm lazy. And I procrastinate. And it isn't easy finding things to blog about. Here's the thing, I'm naturally inquisitive and I spend most of my free time studying people and wondering how they behave how they do. Since I've come home for my sem break (insert a resounding 'yay' here) I've been pretty...well I find no other word other than 'flabbergasted' to describe how I feel about the many odd goings-on in my home country. And voila, here's a reason for a new blog post!

Okay for the uninitiated, if you're from another country, or if you're from Malaysia and basically living under a rock, Muslims all over the world celebrate their holy month of Ramadan by fasting from daybreak to sunset. In a country like Malaysia where more than half the population are Muslims, this should be common knowledge.

So what could possibly be the problem? Well there's been a lot of  publicized incidents where the most recent is when a school teacher allegedly told non-Muslim students to drink water in the school toilets and if they didn't have enough, drink their own urine. As if to make it better, a minister later claimed the remark was 'made in jest', and what the teacher actually said was to show respect by drinking their water in the toilets. Yeah that solves everything. A few years back another school set up tables in the toilets for non-Muslim students to have their lunch breaks during Ramadan. If you're wondering what are the limits of stupidity, here is stupid level = infinite.

All these distasteful incidents were viral on social media, and social media attracts keyboard warriors like Indians to a grand sale (don't even try to deny it, I'm one of them). Of all the nasty, foul-worded comments on the post there appeared to be specific categories. First were the Muslims who apologised to the non-Muslims for the incidents, angry non-Muslims who were disgusted by these incidents, and most weird, Muslims who supported the incidents, of which there were quite a number. I remember seeing one odd comment where a Facebook user asked, "why do you non-Muslims hate Prophet Muhammad so much?" at which I was left dumbfounded. Say what?

You see, there is a reason for fasting. Being a Catholic, during the season of Lent we're taught to fast and/or abstain from meat for a reason. Remembering the less fortunate. Perhaps on a religious level understanding the sacrifices made by Jesus or what have you. Bottom line is, the idea of fasting is to resist temptation. And how do you resist temptation when you ask it to get out of your way? 

There is absolutely no sense I can see in this. How does that even work? Hey you, get that sandwich out of my face because it's tempting me and I might just go buy one and burn in hell for all eternity? Dude, your water is calling to me like a grand sale calls Indians?  (Help I can't stop) Why does it become our responsibility to accommodate you? It should be our moral obligation, not a duty. And to impose it on young children?

Now on  a more humane level, which pea brain came up with the idea of the toilet? Of all the places in a school, the freaking toilet? Why couldn't have it been a classroom, or the school hall, or heck, the school cafeteria? Isn't it easier to ask the Muslim students to avoid the cafeteria? I have no wish to even begin to name all the pathogenic cocci and bacteria lurking in a school toilet. How despicable of you to show the world that you're fasting, and yet behave in such a manner?

People turn into atheists because they see incidents like these which further strengthen their convictions. I think the problem with religion isn't the religion itself but the people practising it have too much attention on rituals until they forget the root of all religion  is the basic values preached. And Lord knows we need those.

I studied in a college where I had 3 Muslim roommates. They were really nice people and I never objected to them praying, or listening to devotional songs, or doing anything religious. Frankly it wasn't actually a question of tolerance, but the truth is it never bothered me. In the same way they weren't bothered by the Bible I kept on my table. Or perhaps they tolerated it. And during the month of Ramadan even though I tried not to eat in front of them, they would still tell me to go ahead and eat as I don't sahur (pre-dawn meal). 

So who gives you the right to claim that we hate Muhammad? Wouldn't any objection to the incidents occurring be made on a human rights basis, not the fake assumption that non-Muslims have some beef with Muhammad?

With all that said, I'm going to appeal to all Muslims who think that these incidents are justified, think again. I'm greatly saddened to think that Malaysians, with all their advancement in the world are falling short when it comes to practising basic understanding and tolerance. Maybe a little more understanding of what a fast requires, and what it's supposed to achieve will help you out. Otherwise, it's going to be a never-ending battle. It's the little things that tear a country apart.

By the way, to all teachers, please do watch your words. I have had many nasty people who claim to be educators but make the most racist and politically incorrect statements under the sun. I even once had a teacher who said that Saddam Hussein was right all along, that's why the Americans got rid of him. Erm, nice thing to say, Miss Sunshine. 

Would all the people who can't communicate shut up?

~Tom Lehrer~

Malaysian Matriculation Program Experience

Disclaimer : This post is not indicative of the lifestyle of every single matriculation student. Maybe I was just really unlucky.

When I was in matriculation a year or so ago, I used to post quite an embarrassing number of pathetic rants on Facebook on how I wish I was anywhere but there. As a result there were quite a few people who asked me whether it was really that bad. So here I am, more than a year later to recount my (incredibly confusing) experience in a government college.

For the uninitiated, the Malaysian government provides a foundation programme for SPM (Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia, the Malaysian equivalent of O-Levels) leavers. One applies for this program by buying a unique PIN number at BSN (the local bank) and using that number to access the online application.  A successful application would be reciprocated with an acceptance letter preceded by an online announcement. If the application is unsuccessful, one gets to submit a plea for reconsideration. Completion of this program guarantees a place in a government uni for your degree (but not necessarily the one of your choice).

Now here is where it gets tricky. I suppose that I'm probably breaking some kind of sedition law or whatever (cause seriously almost everything is seditious in Malaysia) but the truth is there is preference for bumiputera (which means basically means Malays). This would mean that non-bumiputeras (non-Malays) have to fight to get in. I met many Malay students with a rich assortment of C's and D's whereas the rest of us had to fight with our A's to get in. I am dead serious when I say the total number of Indian students in my college barely filled a lecture hall. At this point some of you might be thinking I'm being racist or whatever, but call a spade a spade. Results play a role in securing you a place, definitely, but so does your status. And that's how it was. And to be honest, it feels unfair that the non-Malays have to work incredibly hard to fight for a place when Malays who have less than stellar results are approved just because of who they are. I think it's plain open racism. But what do I know?

Having been approved for second intake, I was only informed of my acceptance a few weeks after the term had already begun. So with a lot of rushing and barely enough time to breathe (I had just completed National Service a month or so before, but that's another story) I was bundled to a place I had never heard of in my relatively short life. Here's the thing; most matriculation campuses are placed in the middle of nowhere. That's exactly where I was. NOWHERE. The campus was surrounded by trees and we were frequently visited by terrifying insects, curious monkeys and occasional gang of wild boars (I'm not sure what the collective noun is, but wild boars look mean, hence the word 'gang').

I'll begin by describing the life. You wake up everyday to attend class at 8pm, and class ends at around 4-5pm (sometimes 6). It's crazily hectic, running from one corner to another to attend classes in a pretty big campus. You're not allowed to be in your room during this period, even if you're sick. Oh yeah, about clothing. Boys are expected to wear formal shirts and ties ALL DAY. Seriously though it's not attractive to see them sweating like a croc hunter at the end of the day but I suppose they can't help it. 

I want to begin a whole new paragraph just for girls. Oh yes. We're expected to wear the Malay traditional clothing for girls, which is the baju kurung (long sleeved blouse which falls way below the knees and a long skirt). Now if I were to literally translate, baju means clothes and kurung means imprison. This is literally what this outfit does. Can you possibly imagine running around in the blazing tropical Malaysian sun wearing a long blouse and skirt? Chafed thighs were incredibly common for one not blessed with the legendary thigh gap such as yours truly. And also the fact that the skirt only allows your legs to open to a certain fraction, exceeding which you'd fall flat on your face. In fact whenever I thought no one was looking (or didn't really care) I would hitch it up to above my knees and dash around. Come on, I could barely walk in that thing. Formal clothes were allowed too but with a zillion rules. Not too tight pants (for God's sake, Malaysian girls have booty, everything looks 'tight'!!), not too short sleeves (at the elbows), collared, buttoned and covered shoes. 

You may think this is ridiculous on its own, but I'm far from done. In most colleges (mine started this ruling the year after I left, thank goodness) we're only allowed to leave campus on one day of the weekend. And yes, much like the Stone Age, boys and girls were not allowed to go out on the same day, where boys could only leave on Saturday and girls only on Sunday. This is (I assume) to prevent immoral activities. HAH. Yeah that works. This is a pain in the ass all on its own as not only was our freedom to make friends severely inhibited, it messed up with certain plans such as Christian guys wouldn't be able to attend church as they were only allowed out on Saturday. But like I said I never faced this as this rule began only after I left. Curfew was at 6pm SHARP, after which the guards (who were serious a-holes) denied entry  to stragglers who had the audacity to somehow telepathically control the town bus resulting in late arrivals to campus. 

We are patted down and questioned like detainees on death row. I even know of friends who complained that the guards picked through their food by hand to search for illegal substances (yeah, hash noodles are the new hash brownies). And the most infuriating part is the guards are extremely rude and violating. I was once made to walk back to my hostel (about 100m away and up 4 floors) just to change to a baju kurung as I was wearing slacks and a collared button-down shirt. Apparently that's a real turn-on. I soon resorted to wearing jeans and t-shirts underneath a baju kurung, removing it the mall toilet. I remember this one time when I was withdrawing money from the ATM near the guardhouse when it began raining heavily. It's a long walk to my hostel and there's no shade whatsoever. I waited at the guard house for the rain to subside but it only got heavier. Instead of offering me an umbrella or anything, they just sat and LAUGHED as I ran back to my hostel wearing a white shirt. Deduce as necessary. Also they seemed to relish being moral police despite openly (and actually quite disgustingly) flirting with students. I can't tell you the amount of times I was having a casual conversation with a group of guys when a guard would appear out of nowhere and force us to adjourn. Remember kids, talking gets you pregnant.

The cafes in the campuses are mainly Malay cuisine and I experienced food poisoning more times than I'm proud of. Cats lick off dirty plates that students dump in a huge wash basin. Cats sit and beg food from customers. Cats roam around the kitchen. CATS ARE EVERYWHERE. Especially for me I was placed in a hostel block which had a truly horrible cafe. Therefore I made friends which a bunch of dudes which gave me license to eat in the boys' hostel cafe without any awkwardness. Seriously consider living on nothing but biscuits. The food is completely without variety and really you just wanna throw up after a few months. We get a weekend off once a month and for me, it takes 2 bus rides and 7 hours to reach home. Eventually I gave up on coming home and just stayed the weekend in my hostel. I couldn't face spending almost a full day just travelling and barely spending time with my family.

Finally, the people. My first semester in matriculation was nothing short of torture. I had come in late, and I had missed fundamental lessons and was suffering to get through. I knew nobody and nobody approached me as I was the 'new girl'. I sat alone at the back of classes feeling extremely upset that I wasn't getting along with anybody. Fact is being a little later than the others I felt extremely dumb because everything seemed like Greek to me and I was embarrassed to approach anyone. I later found out that I also somehow appear intimidating and arrogant at first sight. Well. The resting bitchface isn't a good look for anyone. It didn't help that to disguise my nervousness I wore a lot of eyeliner and scowled at people. The only people I spoke to in my first semester were my roommates and my classmate Daniel (I know you're reading, I mentioned you. Happy?) However due to certain events that transpired I was forced to widen  my circle of friends in the second semester which made me tear down my own walls and forge new friendships. It was extremely difficult for me and I honestly admit that it was one of the lowest I've been. I'm glad to say that my efforts paid off and I'm still friends with some of my matriculation batchmates to this day.

Lecturers were quite a bittersweet pill to swallow. Being alone and depressed, lectures held absolutely no appeal for me until I experienced my first Biology lecture. My lecturer was a young woman (whom I thought was a student at first haha) and honestly she had my heart right from the get-go. Her lectures were extremely interesting and they were the highlight of my week. I had hated Biology in school but suddenly I was in love with the subject due to the excellent teaching methods employed by my lecturer. In addition I had a wonderful Biology tutor as well who pushed me so hard to get my first A in matriculation. Together these two amazing lecturers cultivated my love for the subject and restored my faith in the education system (you know what I mean). And today I'm a medical student. But not all lecturers were that awesome. For example I was always a source of exasperation for my English lecturer. I kinda got the impression that she hated my guts. On my part, as a self-proclaimed grammar Nazi I was also frequently pissed with her English which included sentences like 'please sit scatteredly', 'our class on tomorrow', and a zillion other phrases which grated on me like nails on a blackboard. And she was quite blatant about not liking me too by openly humiliating me in class and telling me that I would never ace the Malaysian University English Test. (Guess who ended up being top in the class for English. Take that!)

Many people are under the (false) impression that matriculation is easy. It's not. Not only are we thrust in the middle of nowhere, with barely any vacations, and sickening WiFi and a zillion mundane rules which everyone upholds like gospel, the syllabus itself is no joke. When put together the pressure will possibly send you off your rocker. You will also find yourself in the company of wild tigers who have no intention of helping you do anything and will do whatever it takes to tear you down. I've had too many unpleasant experiences to tell you that it is one I would never want to repeat again despite having met so many amazing people. I have definitely grown and matured, but I sure hope that anyone who wishes to undergo this program does the appropriate research and think hard and wise beforehand. 

And that I guess is the sad story written at 2 am.

 

Getting Sick Away from Home

I think many people understate the phrase 'Thank God It's Friday'. Yeah, Fridays are good. They signal the end of a week, the advent of a long sleep-in, the beginning of the proverbial 'night to remember'. But for me particularly, this particular Friday has to be the most relieving TGIF I've ever had the fortune to say out loud.

Now when I began writing this blog, I intended to provide future students who were going abroad (specifically to Indonesia) information which will keep them alive and sane. A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy of sorts. So after I recount this very horrifying experience, I shall attempt to provide as much advice as possible so that YOU, YES YOU, travellers and students alike will keep an alert eye out to prevent such events from ever happening to you. These things happen to everybody, so you must always, ALWAYS be prepared for the unexpected.

Firstly, I must say that I'm not particularly an unhealthy person. I'm a little on the skinny side, and my immune system isn't exactly Fort Knox impenetrable - but I usually have quick recoveries from viruses and bacteria and what have you. The only weakness I have is a long-running gastrointestinal one. This is a highly uncomfortable subject which I rather not broach. But really, tummy problems are mostly easily treated with a tiny tablet called Lomotil. Therefore I allowed myself to become overcomplacent with regards to my health, resulting in a series of unfortunate events this week. Actually when I think back, I didn't actually consume anything out of the ordinary or do anything odd, and it's a mystery as to what could have caused these events, but cause doesn't matter when the effect is the one crying out (successfully) for attention.

It was Monday around 11.30 pm when everything from my tummy upwards began doing a tap dance. Among all ailments I have a particular hate for nausea. Who doesn't? It's kind of like an itch you can't scratch, it doesn't do anything other than sit there and annoy. I tried to rid myself of it. Nothing doing. I lied down and tried to get some rest but nooo, it just wouldn't stop. And then it finally happened. I threw up everything and started having diarrhea around midnight. Like I have mentioned before, GI weaknesses are common fare for me, so I reached into my bag of tricks and pulled out a Lomotil. Diarrhea gone. However I continued to puke up fluid every hour till 8am the next morning. I couldn't eat a single thing as it would make a reappearance about 30 minutes later.

It was probably one of the most horrible nights of my life. I have to say though, no matter whether you're a devout person or a hardcore atheist, all your beliefs are flushed out the window when you're sprawled on a bathroom floor worshiping the porcelain throne at 1am. Oh yes, vomiting really feels like it requires divine intervention, doesn't it? I opine that people tend to invoke the name of Allah, Buddha, Jesus and the Devil himself when there's a serious case of diarrhea or vomiting. Pretty much anyone who's free. Hah tell me I'm wrong. Whatever it is I emerged from my battle all sweaty and burning of fever the next day. And when I decided that I needed medical help (or at this point, euthanasia), turns out another one of my friends had been suffering from the same thing just after me (we live in different rooms in our hostel and I was dead to the world, so don't judge me for not knowing) and she followed me to the hospital.

A trip to the doctor revealed that we both had low blood pressures and high fevers. Actually that's all I heard from the doc, fever really gets you tripping balls and I was pretty dehydrated. All I cared about was collecting my meds and emergency medical leave letter. The cab ride to the hospital and back took a lot out of me and well. I didn't make it back to my room without my stomach contents making a reappearance (surprise!). So in a nutshell, I spent about 4 days with nausea, recurring headaches and a general shitty feeling. I've been trying to find out what's wrong with me but after Google diagnosed me with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma (seriously?) I decided that I rather just wait for the bad luck to run its course. My friend (who generally has a weaker constitution than I do) recovered, but I'm still sitting here, feeling awful and saying with all the relief I can muster ; THANK GOD IT'S FRIDAY.

So. I know at this point you must be cussing me out for being disgustingly graphic. Truth is, I was not graphic enough. You must understand that getting sick in a foreign country with nobody to help  you, especially if you're not fluent in the language and unfamiliar with your surroundings, can turn sour very fast. I'm going to do you a favour and give you some advice. Ignore it at your peril. LITERALLY. 

• DO get yourself vaccinated. Please do. If you're not sure what vaccine to take, Google it. 
• ALWAYS drink clean bottled water. All sorts of pathogenic bacteria and viruses could be lurking in tap water.
• Here's a tip that I take very seriously ; always stock up on Lomotil or Imodium. Turbo diarrhea may sound funny when you're recounting it to family and friends, but it is absolutely no laughing matter when you're stuck on the toilet wishing there was a seatbelt to save you from being propelled to Mars.
• If the country you're headed to does not speak your native language, at least know what simple symptoms such as cough and headache are called in that particular country. Trust me it wasn't fun trying to explain things to a doctor who looked at me like I was speaking Swahili.
• Maybe you might wanna indulge in medical insurance? Just sayin'.
• And it wouldn't be such a bad idea to leave the house with a mini medical kit. Just a few paracetamol, oral rehydration salts, Benadryl. Better safe than sorry.
• If you can't handle it, don't try street food. I swear I've seen mutant rats the size of full grown cats freaking GALLOPING around food stalls and people behave like these are cute little pets. Disgusting vermin.

I'm sure there are many other precautions, but these are my personal top few. Being sick is the worst, and if there's nobody around, it could very well turn into a nightmare.

Oh yeah, a special shout-out to my Irish readers! I just found out that I have quite a number of you guys, and I really love Ireland, especially the awesome accent. I hear that we Indians are quite exotic over there. I would love to visit sometime :)

A Eulogy

I hate goodbyes. And I'm not good at them. When my beloved grandmother passed away a year ago not only did I feel slapped in the face, but I experienced a weird emotional roller-coaster with many hormonal ups and downs which involved a few embarrassing public tearful episodes and several dazed moments when I would stare blankly into space with pretty much nothing on my mind. So when my very best friend passed on a few days ago, I resolved not to behave the same way. Therefore I'm hoping that this eulogy will allow me to come to terms with her death.

I met Hemala close to 11 years ago. I was 9, and had just moved to Peninsular Malaysia from East Malaysia. Not only was I a great source of gossip (being from another part of the country), but I was quite a runt with a very close resemblance to a stick insect, and buck teeth. Yeah that was me back then. On my first day of school I behaved like a scared puppy, sitting alone at the back of the class wide-eyed and afraid of everyone. And nobody dared to approach me, they just stared at the 'new' girl. The new girl was creepy, and evil little girls have no sympathy for new girls.

However one person wasn't afraid of me. Hemala was the first to approach me, and she took me around the school on my first day and gave me a tour as well as introduced me to the other girls ( I was in a convent school). I distinctly remember her telling me to go to her if I had any problems and she was kind enough to tell the other girls to talk to me and make friends. Having nobody else and being naturally antisocial, I stuck to her hard like a leech, and in no time we were best friends. That very weekend I met another girl in church who happened to be from my class at school. We too struck up a friendship and before long, Hemala, Amelia and I developed a close bond. Honest to God I cannot remember how it happened. We were as different as chalk and cheese, but we became the unlikeliest of friends despite having next to nothing in common.

Hemala was one of the most hardworking people that I have ever met. She'd stress herself out over the littlest things. We had such a hard time coaxing her to relax and be a little more laid back. She was also incredibly innocent and hence often unwittingly hilarious. We had a lot of laughs at her expense as she was often confused with pretty much everything we said and it took a long time to explain things to her. She relished our friendship, constantly begging for sleepovers. Forming groups in school for assignments were a no-brainer as we had an unspoken agreement to do almost everything together. I still recall one night where we stayed over at Amelia's place for a discussion on a school project, pigging out on pizza and talking the night away. We had so much fun chit chatting and basically girls' night was a huge success.  She was extremely responsible and took everything seriously. For that reason she was very dependable and nobody could deny her diligence in performing duties.That never got in the way of our friendship despite the fact I was on the other end of the hardworking scale while Amelia was more moderate. Our differences complemented each other instead of tearing us apart.

Her father took care of her like gold, and I personally envied her family relationship. She was always a devoted child and she had an amazingly close relationship with her elder brother. The three of us were hard and fast, and we never hid anything from each other ( though Amelia and I did debate hiding certain things from her on account of how naive she was, we ended up telling her everything anyway ). We had group studies where we would gather under the pretext of studying but end up gossiping. We even had surprise birthday parties, persuading our parents to drive us over to each others' houses at night with a birthday cake. We could sit for hours and talk about a gazillion things and yet still have not enough time to cover everything. Our friendship stood the test of time, and we were close right til our school days ended. We grew up, and our circle of friends grew larger, yet we put time aside for us three musketeers as that was one ring that was never breached by anyone or anything. Even the biggest fights never lasted more than a couple of days. Many things changed, but somehow we never grew apart.

I have a zillion memories with her that make me smile when I think about it. I remember once when we were in school, I was sitting in between Hemala and Amelia in the laboratory when a bird flew over and pooped on Hemala's skirt. Unfortunately enough Amelia and I happened to be kicking each other throughout the class and there was a huge uproar as I attempted to run away from Hemala while my feet were still tangled with Amelia's. I'll never forget the yelling I got from Hemala for being an idiot. There was also the time when one of us swore during an intense game of UNO and she scolded us for using 'wild' words ( she meant 'vulgar' but got confused with the UNO wild card ). And the time we ran out to the long jump pitch on the other end of the school field to collect sand to dump over a bottle of kerosene someone had spilled beside a barbecue pit during a Girl Guides camp. There are so many happy, sad and hilarious moments that we spent together and I couldn't possible document them all, but the whole point is we had an actual female friendship which didn't involve the drama and the catfights expected. We were nothing less than sisters.

As we got older and left school it became increasingly difficult for us to maintain our friendship. We met other people and made new friends. No, our bond didn't lessen despite not being able to communicate as we used to for hours. The fact that we were in our respective colleges made it difficult to meet up and catch up with each other. The last time we met was perhaps a year ago when we had dinner in Pizza Hut and like always, talked for hours. Hemala never once forgot to whatsapp me and she constantly asked me when we were going to meet, but I was always too busy or away. I promised her that I would meet her during my term holidays this June, and I genuinely missed her and looked forward to it. As fate would have it, it was not to be.We used to joke about how we would tell each others' future husbands what a huge mistake they were making. We used to joke about how we would become godparents for each others' kids. We even joked about one day living in the same apartment when we were all grown up because who needed men anyway when you had the best of friends?

Imagine my horror when Amelia called me and hysterically told me that Hemala had died in a car crash. I was speechless. How was that even possible? Young, naive and obedient to her parents and an amazing sister to her elder brother. It seemed like a cruel joke. Surely God had made a mistake? Surely this was all a horrible prank? I hung up and broke down in tears. I called my mom telling her the news because I didn't know who else to call or what else to do. I did not know whether to cry or be in a daze. I did both. I wanted so badly to come home and see the girl I considered to be my sister for the last time, but I knew it wouldn't change anything. And it would have broken my heart to see the sorrow of her family. I couldn't believe that we would never meet again, and I would never get to tell her all about my new life in university, and listen to her voice again. I am embarrassed to admit that I even sent her whatsapp messages, hoping that I was just dreaming and she would reply me cheerfully the way she always did. I could not sleep and I was in a dazed state, hoping for an end to the nightmare. To tell you the truth I once again had the occasional bout of crying, but most of all I was in a constant state of confusion.

Hemala this is for you. I'm sorry for all that I have done. I'm sorry for not being able to see you. How was I to know you would leave us so soon? There was so much left for you in this life. We won't see your future husband to tell him what a mistake he was making. We will never see your kids. We will never live in that apartment we talked about. I'm sorry for all the times I neglected you, for all the times I was impatient with you. I wish so much that I could have seen you before you left, but like always, the circumstances forbade it. I want more than ever for you to come back. If I had the power to turn back time I would change what cannot be undone. Who else is left to make stupid comments that are both annoying and hilarious? Who will now fill the permanent hole in our hearts? Who will complete our little circle? Where will Amelia and I look for you now when we have something new to talk about, when we have new events in our lives? We miss you very much, and we love you, and though you are away, our friendship is still here. I will see you again someday, and be prepared because I'm gonna be so mad at you. We will forever treasure the memories we have created. One day, we will accept that you are gone. Til then, we will grieve our loss. Someday we'll come to terms with the fact that you have left. Til then, we know you're watching us from up above. We promise to be good. We promise not to argue. We promise never to grow part. Most importantly, we promise to keep our friendship alive. We pray for you. Rest in peace, old friend. And may you watch over us and realise that you mean so much to us. Til we meet again. Farewell. 

P/S :- To all those reading out there, please drive safely. Don't put your loved ones through the misery of writing your eulogy.

A Malaysian Indian in Indonesia

This particular post has been in the works for a long time, but I was a little worried about posting it as it talks about a certain issue that involves RACE. However after much deliberation I have decided that I have to rant or this will be in my system and I will combust if I don't get it out. 

Let's see. Fact : I am an Indian. Yes I am. That's where it ends. I was born in Malaysia, as were my parents. Somewhere a few generations ago the British decided that my ancestors needed a change in scenery and they were brought to Malaysia. I am a MALAYSIAN citizen. Not an Indian national. I have never been to India. In fact if I were sent there the Indians would probably consider me an alien due to how NOT Indian I am.

You see, I am what I call a 'physical Indian'. I have the features, the dusky skin (chocolate brown if you will), the big eyes, dark brown hair. But that's all. I'm not proud to admit that I can't speak any Indian language fluently (P/S: There's no such language as Indian. Get your facts right) I can understand basic Tamil but that's all. I cannot tolerate spicy food. At all. And I do not own Indian traditional clothing. I have never worn a saree in my life. I'm Catholic (an Indian Catholic? How fascinating!) Bottom line I am not particularly cultural and have to dig a little deeper than most for my Indian roots.

I'm trying hard not to be sarcastic, but I reached the limit of tolerance when I first came to Indonesia. I should have known when right from the first day a clerk in the university did a million rude gestures (palms raised together, head bobbing from left to right, holding and circling an imaginary tray) to explain to me there were barely any Hindu temples in the city for me to pray. I was already burning when I explained that I was a Catholic with gritted teeth, and I was even more pissed when he looked at me like I'd just dropped from Mars.

As time passed I started to think I was a zoo escapee when even a regular trip to the mall resulted in feeling like I was standing in a stadium with spectators staring and whispering and giggling at me. It was a real smack to my self-esteem and I have given people the stink-eye on too many occasions until the resting bitchface seems to be permanently stuck on me. People have asked if I was from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Timor Leste, Papua New Guinea (like what the frak??) and a zillion other countries except my home country. Have the people of this country never seen Indians?

To answer the question, yes they have. I was utterly horrified to learn that Indonesians were a huge fan of a show called Mahabharata (a story about Indian legends or something) and they were obsessed over Hindi movies. As a result, we faced many rude uneducated people yelling 'Mahabharata' at us in public and singing Hindi songs as if Shah Rukh Khan was my neighbour or something. For someone like me who barely watches Hindi movies I felt utterly insulted. Being publicly mocked became a real challenge that tested the limits of my patience greatly. And to add insult to injury, not only were they more well-versed in Indian culture than I was, they even possessed names that were way more Indian than ours were. (in fact I am mystified to this day)

Here's a few examples of stupid questions I have encountered :

a) Why are you all black?

b) Why is (Ying who is Chinese) white?

c) If your parents are Indians, you must be from India.

d) Have you ever gone back to see your family (in India)?

e) You're Malaysian? Oh I thought you were Indian.

f)  You must be great at making flatbreads

g) Do you speak Hindi? (no) Tamil? (no) INDIAN???
h) Are you of Brahmin or Aryyan descent? (Wait...what?)

i) Is the red dot made of blood? (I give up on life)

I could write a gazillion more but it's hiking up too much blood pressure. I personally don't know anybody in India, I can't help being a little darker than the pigmentally-challenged and jeez you really need to brush up on that dusty attic of a brain you have. I have been scorned and mocked and the feeling is one I wouldn't wish on anyone else.

However after a lot of those stupid moments I realise that I just need to let it go. I still get mad and I have been sharp to a couple of people who thought they were being smart. I figure that people make fun of us because not only are we a group of girls, we don't look intimidating and people think they can get away with anything. I guess it must be true because people look taken aback when I give sharp looks or retort.

Moral of the story : it is easy to be racist towards another. Perhaps a person's aesthetic value doesn't appeal to you and you feel the NEED to say something nasty. I invite you to put yourselves in the shoes of those on the receiving end and then will you realise, you can drive people to destruction if you don't know how and when to shut your mouth.

Let There Be Light!

Okay I know I started off this post with a dramatic title, and you're probably expecting me to follow up with an equally dramatic piece. Sorry, but this is going to be a rant about the problems regarding electricity in this part of Indonesia.

A few days ago, I was having a really good nap at about 5pm when the electricity shut down and I woke up in a really sweaty and shitty mood tangled up in my blankets. I'm a medical student. Nap times are a rare luxury. And yet the universe had the AUDACITY to play this trick on me. I thought of going back to sleep, but the heat evidently thought otherwise. It was then when I checked my phone and *insert dramatic gasp here* I had only about 30% battery left. And no way to charge it. That was when I realised I was doomed.

Since the sun was already going down and I didn't fancy taking a shower in the dark - too many horror movies, and I'm deathly afraid of creepy-crawlies - I decided to shower right then. And after a perilous shower involving a rogue insect and nearly falling and dying in the bathroom - I was wrong, the bathroom was already dark -  I was already thinking of an escape plan while waiting for the electricity to turn back on. Here's the thing. Firstly, the entire city was in blackout (street lamps, hospitals, office buildings, you name it) and normally my hostel has a generator as a backup plan. But as it turns out, the generator was out that day. Yay me.

I grabbed my phone and as if on cue, Ying sent me a message saying that her room was basically a sauna and could we please go somewhere where it didn't feel like we were sitting in hell. Vejitha, Jessica and I were equally desperate and sure enough, within half an hour we were all gathered downstairs waiting for the cab to spirit us away to Dunkin Donuts. By the way, Dunkin Donuts was also running on a generator and there was no air conditioning. That's Palembang for you.

There have been quite a number of times when I was in the mall or cinema and all of a sudden there would be a blackout and we would be sitting like jackasses in the dark waiting for it to turn back on. I remember this one time when we were sitting in a donut shop and there was a blackout, and a waiter frantically rushed to our table with a flashlight. No, not to make sure we were okay, but to make sure we remembered to pay the check. Because heaven forbid we made a dash for it in the dark. What do we look like, donut kidnappers?

There was also the time when we were watching American Sniper (great movie by the way, you should definitely see it if you haven't) and halfway throughout the movie the entire cinema went pitch black. And apparently people here are so used to these happenings (and I suspect some were a little dazed and figured the movie was over) that some started leaving the cinema and others began eating what appeared to be a full-course meal (like really rice and vegetables, I am NOT kidding). The movie resumed in about 5 minutes, but for someone who had never experienced such a thing, I was well and truly flabbergasted.

Less humorous moments would be times when we had urgent assignments to complete or we needed to wake up early for lectures and there wouldn't be electricity. Or worse, the electricity would fluctuate, causing a real-life Paranormal Activity situation with the lights flickering and the fan switching on and off. I've had times where I stayed awake til 5am and slept for an hour, waking up to go for class at 7.30am. Needless to say my puffy eyes rivaled Kermit the Frog and my skin pallor made me look like an Indian vampire. 

So future students, here's my advice. Palembang is hot, hot, hot and the heat can shrivel you up to a husk. Invest in a battery-operated fan and a good torchlight. And while we're on the subject of heat, really, think about an umbrella. I'm not a fan of umbrellas and people do mock you for carrying one, but honestly a little bit of mocking is better than melanoma. And if all else fails, I have no choice but to tell you to suck it up. Simply because that's all we can do. At least I've never experienced a water shortage before *knock on wood*. Now THAT would be the height of disaster.

Mie Terang Bulan, Palembang, Indonesia

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. The truth is, I love pork. I do. And since I came here it's been ridiculously difficult to obtain any pork dishes. I suppose the good people of Palembang don't really consume pork as it's a Muslim-dominated city. But I do. I hail from Ipoh, Malaysia, which is practically the BEST place for food in the country - Penang Island, you lose - and pork noodles and dumplings are common fare (any Malaysians familiar with wantan mee?) So when I found out about this pork place in Palembang, I made it my personal mission to try it out, no matter the cost (figuratively of course, I live on a strict student budget!)

Mie Terang Bulan - I guess a loose translation would be 'glowing moon noodles' ?? HAHAHA - is basically a small hole in the wall located in an area known as Sayangan. We did a whole lot of research about the place so that we knew what were getting ourselves into. Apparently we were not supposed to go at rush hour (6.00 - 7.00 pm) because the boss would get really cranky and yell at customers, and rumour has it that if you don't bring your own container for takeaways, at least bring some tissues to wipe away your tears after being yelled at by the shop proprietor. At least that's what we heard.

So we put on our game faces on and made our way to Mie Terang Bulan for dinner after church (yes, we are holy people. Haha!) The cab driver didn't have much difficulty finding the place and contrary to what we had heard, there wasn't a long queue that required a tent and a donkey with provisions while waiting for your turn. The shop is basically a classic kopitiam (Chinese coffeeshop), with plastic stools and Formica tables. 

Kuah Pangsit

Mie Pangsit - Rp 24,000

Pangsit Goreng - Rp 29,000

Since there were three of us, we shared a plate of pangsit goreng (fried pork dumplings) which came in a set of 10 per portion. All I can say is WOW. The dumplings were fried to perfection, with the pork juicy and tender within the crispy golden brown wanton skin. The sweet plum sauce (at least that's what I think it was) was the perfect accompaniment. Good start.

Next was mie pangsit (pork dumpling noodles). Now this came in a pretty huge portion, but I was hungry as hell and scarfed the whole thing down. The noodles were slightly chewy, with pork slices. Pretty good, but it was a little lacking in the sauce department. I tried adding a little soy sauce, but the saltiness was too much for me. Eurgh. The noodles came with a side of kuah pangsit (pork dumpling soup). Now here was the true winner. The dumplings were so-so, as I found the filling to be a little too soft, but the soup was seasoned to perfection, with crunchy slices of Chinese cabbage and a slight peppery flavour.

The shop doesn't really have a variety of drinks.. In fact, that's an understatement. There's only sweet tea, unsweetened tea and lime juice. I had the iced lime juice (Rp 10,000) and it was amazingly refreshing, with the tangy lime giving a slight zing to the drink. 

All in all the service was pretty good, there was a friendly young woman who was serving us and she didn't give me the look of disgust when I requested a fork instead of chopsticks  (I just can't get the hang of chopsticks) . However we were apologetically but firmly ushered out as soon as we were finished as there was another family who didn't have a seat in the restaurant. I guess I should be thankful we weren't yelled at for any reason, bad vibes upset my digestion. (I don't know why I was so prepared to be yelled at).

The verdict ? I'd definitely go back for more. The mie goreng (fried noodles) was recommended, and we'd be sure to try it the next time. However if you're not a heavy eater you may want to ask them to reduce the amount of noodles. And if you're a foreigner, get ready to be a mini celebrity. Wanna know why? EVERYBODY stares at you like you're the Chosen One or something. Seriously it never gets old. 

Oh yeah, the shop opens at 4pm and closes around 8, so try not to go too late or they would have run out of noodles and you're gonna have to go home and cry yourself to sleep. Haha.

MIE TERANG BULAN

Jln. Mesjid Lama No. 144B

Palembang

Liberica Coffee Rajawali Village, Palembang, Indonesia

It all started when Ying decided to karate chop her printer. Well actually she had kicked it by accident and there was a slight malfunction. Anyway I received a frantic Whatsapp message in the morning requesting an urgent trip to the mall to fix up the printer and I thought, hey, what about lunch?

And so it happened that Ying, Jess, Veji and I went out for lunch in Liberica Coffee after dropping off the printer at the mall. Much to our intense annoyance, our cab driver decided that he would compete for Slow Driver of the Year and practically crawled all the way to Rajawali Village. We attempted to plead for him to go a little faster but he almost immediately sent the car through a pedestrian ( might I add, at 40km/h ) as though he was proving a point. Therefore we figured that he'd probably do better sending us safely at 20 km/h than banging his way through town with a zillion casualties.

Here I must tell you, I'm not exactly a native Palembangian (Palembanganese? Palembangan? oh, whatever ) and a trip to Rajawali Village will result in you burning through your ears as you try to (unsuccessfully) explain to the poor cab driver where it is in broken Indonesian. Especially if you're a foreigner it seems like they deliberately misunderstand you just to piss you off. I've had my fair share of idiotic cab drivers, but that's a story for another day.

To direct a lost cabbie. basically all you do is go to the Grand Zuri Hotel down Jalan Rajawali and you'll spot a building complex with a My Kopi-O cafe out front. Just pay the cab driver and bid him adieu. This building complex is actually a mall which is still under construction. Liberica Coffee is located on the ground floor. Don't worry, it's open and functioning. It might interest you to know there is a proposed Liberica Coffee branch soon to be opened in the Palembang Icon mall.

Liberica is divided into two partitions; smoking and non-smoking. Our seats in the non-smoking area were soft armchairs and were just perfect for a quiet ladies day out.

Hot Chocolate : Rp 38,000

I am a real hot chocolate enthusiast, but though it looked really good, it was a little too sweet for my taste and well, I REALLY need my kidneys. And would it kill to add a marshmallow?

Fettucine Alfredo : Rp 38,000

Spaghetti Bolognese : Rp 44,000

The pasta comes with a choice of either fettucine or spaghetti. I really have a thing for fettucine, so I got the alfredo whereas Ying decided on the bolognese. The alfredo was probably one of the best I've had here. The first time I visited Liberica the mushrooms in the alfredo had this odd canned preservative taste, but today the button mushrooms were pretty good (though still most probably canned), the sauce was thick and creamy, the red and green bell peppers were crunchy and there were substantial slices of rotisserie chicken. The bolognese had this great tangy tomato base with minced beef in it. Both the pastas were topped with garlic bread and a sprinkling of Parmesan. I enjoyed the garlic bread but Ying claimed hers was a little on the burnt side.

Cream of Mushroom : Rp 25,000 (Yes, it's half-eaten)

Barbeque Chicken Wings : Rp 34,000

Vejitha, our resident vegetarian decided to go with cream of mushroom which came topped with garlic bread. The soup itself was thick and creamy and most satisfyingly packed with mushrooms. Jessica decided to go with the barbeque chicken wings. I do have to point out that the management didn't really get the anatomy right and there were no wings but just little chicken drumsticks - warning; in Palembang, chickens are a little diminished in size. Literally chickens here look like they went through a shrink ray. You can eat a whole thigh in just one chomp. Regardless the barbeque wings were fantastic, with the chicken melting right off the bone and the sweet smoky taste of barbeque sauce to accompany it. I'm not a fan of barbeque sauce, but those glistening drumsticks were more than I could handle.

French Cheesecake : Rp 32,000

Bailey's Tiramisu : Rp 35,000

After lunch we were itching for dessert and ordered a cheesecake and the tiramisu. The cheesecake was pretty good, baked with a perfectly even brown top, smooth-tasting with just a hint of lemon. Truly the envy of rookie bakers like me. However the tiramisu definitely won out. The layers of mascarpone and coffee sponge soaked in Irish cream and topped with a sprinkling of cocoa really made my day. In fact it makes me emotional. Or maybe that's just the liqueur talking?

I digress. I ordered a vanilla rooibos tea (Rp 21,000) after lunch and it came served in a dainty French press. The scent of vanilla in the tea was really delightful,  but maybe next time I'll stick to green tea as I'm not much into scented teas in general. We also ordered a blended hazelnut (Rp 37,000) which I think is a milkshake blended with a couple of hazelnut shots. It was pretty good too, not too sweet with just the right amount of hazelnut.

I'm not much of an epicure and describing food is really not my forte, but I truly enjoyed our lunch session. The general ambience is quiet, and Liberica has a classic teashop atmosphere about it. The price of the food is reasonable and I'd definitely recommend it. However I must say that they should really improve on food presentation and general customer service as the waiters were in Dreamland most of the time.

For the more alcohol-inclined, Liberica offers a variety of beers and coffee cocktails, along with wines and other alcoholic beverages.

P/S :- Don't be shocked about the tax and service charge. You know what I mean.

LIBERICA COFFEE
Rajawali Village
GF Floor, Blok BF-BI
(0711) 5630130

www.libericacoffee.com

A First.

So I've just started blogging. There. I said it. I mean, I've been wanting to do this for a while now but my good friend procrastination has always put his foot down. But now, I'm doing this. Right now.

This being my first post, I guess I should explain what I'm doing here instead of watching the latest episode of The Big Bang Theory - I'm still wondering how the producers are gonna handle Sheldon coping over the death of Leonard Nimoy - or performing the favourite activity known to medical students worldwide; sleeping, or even enjoying my Friday night out. Or watching Walk the Line for the umpteenth time (okay so I think that Joaquin Phoenix did a great job, don't judge me).

Well to explain that, I should first clarify how last August I moved to a little place called Palembang ( which is in South Sumatra, Indonesia) to pursue a medical degree. Now I am a born and bred citizen of that food haven called Malaysia, and in my haste to research medical degrees and to plan my path to being a doctor I neglected to consider how I would adjust to a whole new cuisine. Neither did my batch-mates.

In retrospect nobody in their right mind who's serious about pursuing a medical degree would give it up for food, but hey, I'm a Malaysian, and good food is just no laughing matter. Seriously. Which is why I left my beautiful home country with loads of ammo in the form of Maggi Instant Noodles and enough Milo to feed a battalion.

I remember the first time I stepped into a local Pizza Hut, I was thirsty for something that would remind me of home ( cause they have Pizza Huts in Malaysia too, duh ). I had been living off nothing but bread and instant noodles and crackers for days, and I was sick and tired of it. A Pizza Hut seemed like the Parthenon, where the gods gathered for the great feast ( right so I'm exaggerating, but at that time it was as sincere as could be, really!)  But as I ran through the menu my initial excitement slowly turned into a feeling I can only describe as horror. No kidding here. I shit you not; the local Pizza Hut has the craziest assortment of toppings you've ever seen. I was exposed to the atrocity of having potatoes, corn, fish fingers, POTATO CHIPS and worse of all, SPAGHETTI on a freaking PIZZA. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry as I regarded the picture of a pizza with curly spaghetti on it. For real. And that was before I discovered that locals eat compressed rice like a burger in KFC. When I say compressed rice I mean plain white rice neatly compressed into wax papers, and you see people peeling off the papers, smothering it with garlic chilli sauce and munching into it like a burger. Just that. And thus I knew I was in trouble.

Within months I realised that finding food in this place was going to be no mean feat. Indonesian local cuisine is basically different methods to burn your ass off. I actually do enjoy some of their local dishes, but being one of the few Indians who can't tolerate a chilli without being blasted into outer space, I quickly learnt not to push my luck.

 Apart from that, the golden rule of RICE EVERYWHERE is unspoken gospel. It doesn't matter where you go , there's not a place where you can't find rice. And for someone who isn't that into rice, it's tough life. And woe betide if you're a ketchup person. Be prepared for people to stare at you like you're a zoo escapee if you dare ask for a bottle of ketchup. They don't usually say anything, but I spot the derision in their eyes - yeah I'm talking to you, that girl behind the KFC counter!

Anyhoo, life here isn't without perks though. I've had the opportunity to sample some pretty good food in Palembang and at the encouragement of my close buds, I've decided to record down my experiences with food in this place so that future medical students in Palembang will not be lost sheep like I was. Frankly when I found out I would be coming here, long and frantic Google searches about Universitas Sriwijaya gave me zilch. Well actually there were a couple of blogs which were in Indonesian, and the language gave me a sense that I was drowning before the storm even started. So in the interest of future students who might wanna know what they're in for, and also for me to spend time without going insane, here's my blog.

And I'd like to credit my good friend Ying for making the idiotic holy biscuit comment that gave me the idea for this blog's domain name. And Jessica and Vejitha for providing inspiration. You guys are great :*