Some Sights of Mukah

During a not-too-hot looks-like-its-going-to-rain-in-the-evening type of afternoon, I embarked on another 25 mins walking journey to the heart of Mukah town.  Mukah town is divided into two main part: the old town and the new town.

Here is a Chinese temple in the old town. It faced the river, hence must have quite good fengshui. Alas, no mountain nearby.

A chimney, the remnants of a sago factory, an artefact of a once flourishing sago trade. Now it is just a part of history and a place for parasitic plants to grow.

A fishy symbol to tell everyone that the seafood in Mukah is a must-try. The ‘batang Mukah’ or Mukah river is just behind the petrol station. You can imagine how fresh the fishes are…  

Hmm, maybe the colour of the river will make you think twice. But I’m pretty sure they caught the fish in the south china sea not very far away. 

Part of old Mukah. Well manicure shrubs, clean roads and colourful buildings.

Of course then there is the kampungs also. Just a reminder that Mukah is just being developed…

This is the boulevard that sort of separates Old from New. 

The I believed ‘was once beautiful’ garden parallel with the boulevard. Like many things in Malaysia, it was a victim of poor maintenance and left to flounder at the mercy of an unrelenting Mother Nature.

A quite big sized mosque with the hat-like top. A lot of buildings in Mukah have this kind of top. Most probably a symbol of this town.

A minaret/tower in the middle of a roundabout in front of the mosque. Mukah does not have a traffic light and no rush hour traffic. 

But they do have a big KFC and also a Sugarbun.

That’s all for an overview of the place I am going to stay for at least 2 years…

Umai

There is this saying, “when in Rome, do as the Romans do.” Assimilation is by no means easy, especially when I am now at a place where the people are predominantly Melanau. To my untrained ears, Melanau might as well just be an exotic foreign language. Ironic, to think in Sarawak we can find Japanese classes and not the Mother tongue of our local brethrens.

Today I made my first foray into the wet market in search of local delicacies. Tasting what they eat, I felt, is a good first step of understanding their culture. The market was situated next to the river, coloured a muddy yellow and dotted by wooden boats of various shapes and shades. Here fresh fish were found aplenty; once hauled abroad dry land they were deftly dealt with skilled knives and packed into transparent square containers. This is the famous local sashimi, fondly known as umai. 

A teary old man stood nearby, chopping onions into uniformed shreds. A younger one packed them into small plastic bags with a few slices of chilli, and tied it together with another plastic containing limes. This, together with a small jar of belacan, is a DIY umai kit. Not cheap too, the whole set costs me RM18.

Back home, I prepared the umai as instructed by the fish monger.  This is the result:

Fish sashimi with belacan enjoyed with my bittergourd fried rice. 

The taste? Heavenly. Succulent and chewy, with the natural taste of the sea. Comparable with the fresh salmon I had in Australia. Wonder why we all still go to sushi kings eating defrosted salmon rather than indulging in fresh fish available from our own backyard. Surely there exists tremendous market potential for this?

Anyway just to show you all where the pharmacy is relative to my house:

The pharmacy as seen from the doorstep of my house. Literally just a stone throw away. 

Vice versa, my house as seen form the front of the pharmacy. I lived in the top left hand corner of a quartered bungalow.  

The out-patient pharmacy

My shared office.

Looking forward to my second week in Mukah. Next step, learn the language. No, I’m not leaving here as the same whole pebble thrown into the stream as I’m now. By the time I leave, I vow, there will be ridges and crevices to hold the rich memories of the place.    

Home in progress

And so I moved from the relative luxury of Kingwood Hotel

to this:

Moved into my quarters at last. Been busy the last few days buying things to make it liveable and also cleaning it.

Still only half done but here’s a few pictures of my new abode. Even though not as nice as Kingwood, it is not bad for RM125 per month with free internet. =p

Living room where cleaning is still in progress

Kitchen with the sink and stove

Food cabinet and fridge

Toilet

Another bedroom. I got it all for myself =)

And here’s my first ever self cooker dinner here. Life is not bad in Mukah… what’s left to deal is TV, Astro, aircond and a car..

A day at walk (Part II: Mukah)

Here’s some mukah pics. Just a sneak peak. More specific and in-depth posts in the two ensuing long years.

Mukah airport:

Kingwood Hotel, where I’m currently living comfortably in:

Modern concrete shop houses

Juxtaposed with quaint kampung houses: one for the human;

One for the sparrows.

My place of work,

and the facade of the 1 divided into 4 bungalow where I will be staying soon.

Mukah is, better than expected.

A day at walk (Part 1: Miri)

Today is not my ‘working day’ because it was considered as my ‘travelling day’ – a day given for me to get from where I was to where I am going to. It transpired to be a ‘walking day’ instead and indeed I do really ‘travel’.

The day started off with a plane trip to Miri. Reached there 8am. As the connecting plane to Mukah only flying off 1pm, I hopped into a taxi to have a quick tour of this oil rich city.

First stop: Miri City Fan. Beautiful scenery.

Walked pass Imperial Mall

and stopped for breakfast at a place called Hai-Ou cafe which was filled with lots of old people.

Some pictures of Miri Town

 

Me walking aptly in the middle of the road like a Teo Chew along Jalan Teo Chew,

Before I ended up shopping in Bintang Mall.

Around 1130am its back to the airport at last, where I enjoyed a last cup of modern sophistication

before going into this miniature plane.

    

What happened after that is another story altogether.

Oh by the way, the area enclosed in red is roughly Miri as I travelled it in 3 short hours of taking bus number 11.

I am impressed with myself ^^

Who is in the wrong? The other side of the coin

The most viewed story in The Star today is about the apathy of two petrol kiosk attendants, resulting in the indirect death of an accident victim. Read the whole story here.

To summarise, the kiosk attendants refused to lend out their fire extinguishers to a good Samaritan who desperately need it to rescue a girl trapped in a burning vehicle. Due to their actions, the girl was subsequently burnt to death.

It is not hard to predict some minister will speak up and condemn the attitude of the two attendants tomorrow and announce some form of retributions. In fact, netizens are already condemning them online. They are, without doubt, the villains in the news.

But will they actually analyse what is actually the root of the problem? Are the petrol kiosk attendants solely to blame? Or the kiosk owner who set the instructions “not to open the door after hours”? Or the thieves who frequently target these petrol stations, making the attendants suspicious to any claims or pleads?

My two cent’s worth on this is that this incident can be primarily attributed to a failure of communication – and with that, a failure to understand human nature on the part of the good Samaritan. It may sound nasty to be condemning a person trying to do the right thing, but we need to be level-headed here.

These are excerpts from his personal note about the incident, being posted on Facebook. You can feel his anger in the first line: FUCK BHP!!!!! FUCK BHP!!!

“then i shout at him, i need it! i want it! someone is pinned inside the car and its started to burn!”

“then i started to amuk kicking the kiosk and punching the glass of the kiosk.”

“Then i start shouting and yelling at them with bad words saying dat if the girl dies you two are the murderer.”

Predictably, “then the 2nd BHP attendant shout back at me.”

As pharmacists, we know that the first rule in dealing with an angry customer is don’t lose your cool at him. Getting angry with him would only make the situation worse. No one will cooperate and nothing will be done if both sides are angry and involve in a shouting match. I know the situation was desperate, but being angry will make it worse. Anger is a primitive action that will throw all reasons and rhymes out of the window. Our mind shut down. We are focused solely on who can shout louder and not on how we can reach a solution.

The good Samaritan also failed to see things from the viewpoint of the kiosk attendants. Remember the “boy who cried wolf?” They may have previous experiences where similar request resulted in their kiosk being robbed. They may have a boss who is fierce and lack understanding. Those who worked the midnight shift usually are sole breadwinners of their house and have hungry mouths to feed. They won’t risk a sacking for a tale they can’t verify as true when their family’s survival depends on them. He didn’t search for the primary reason for their refusal.

What the Good Samaritan should had done is to calmly reason with the attendant. He should had tried address their need, to allay their fears. It was also reported that “the attendant cannot see the fire.” As seeing is believing, he should have led the attendants to a vantage where the accident can be seen.  They will surely be more willing to help if they themselves can see the incident.

Perhaps this can be a lesson on human behaviour for the good Samaritan and all of us. A lot of people will scoffed that this is an emergency and that we have no time to think straight in one.  However, understanding human nature and learning how to adapt and response to reach a favourable conclusion is what we should had practiced everyday. By the time an emergency happens, it should had been a second nature.

The Good Samaritan should be commended for doing the right thing. The only regret is that if only he had done it the right way, the outcome just might had been different.

A pause and a write

The scarcity and paucity of my writings can sole be attributed to one single demon: work.

Not that I don’t like work. In fact that is an understatement. Actually I loved my job – the adrenaline rush, the calamitous din, the smile at the end of the day – but like the sloughy tar tasty food can leave on your blood vessel – work clogged up whatever impetus and sapped up whatever energy I had left at the end of the day  to write. Hence the silence of the pen.

I am writing something now because I am in the middle of my 10 day holiday break. In fact by looking at my blogging trend, you can safely bet that if I had written something, I am having the day off and you can ask me out for coffee. I am currently recharging my battery for a longer journey into the wilderness of Sarawak, while constantly battering and smouldering the urge to go out for another yumcha session.

Going out with friends is fast becoming an addiction. The laughter, the gossips, the coffee till the night is old fueled the craving for more . They are dangerous because like an addict who ran out of more meth, they amplify the silence when you have none. Being alone becomes a torture, staying at home becomes a punishment.   But what should we do then, about the saying “enjoy it while it lasts?” Another silly paradox of life.

Can fate be changed twice? But before that, the question asked should be, is the fate you think is you fate is really your fate? Not long ago I was getting ready to go to NZ for further studies, but a sudden afternoon heat and a telephone call later, I ended up in Australia. This time I had a premonition that I will be going to Daro before it became true, but a morning breeze and a brief chat later, I was switched to Mukah. I survived Australia and enjoyed it thoroughly, and would that be the same with Mukah? And of course I will have to live with the constant niggling thought, would I had enjoy NZ even further? Ditto Daro? Really, the path not taken all over again.

Yesterday, I turned a quarter of a century old. For those who have taken the pain to organise and turn out for my birthday dinner, I say a big ‘Thank You’. Thank you all also for rummaging through your whole wardrobe for that piece of pink to wear. Pink is really really a nice colour and you are all really really nice people. =)

Ah, the plain pleasure of seeing English flowing beautifully from pen to paper, figuratively speaking; or from keyboard to computer screen, literally speaking. If only English is a maiden, she will be the most beautiful lady I had even known in the whole wide world.

用华文谈心声

好久没用华文书写了。忙碌无休的工作使我早已忽略了的汉字的美妙，忘了笔画的拿捏。 不知为何今日心血来潮，拿起了钢笔，抄写了一篇描述文，从新找回那些埋藏在脑海已久的回忆。写完后甚至有种津津自喜的感觉。

想当年，我是多热爱华文，虽然它始终都以冷酷的肩膀回应我。我就是喜欢在它很艰难，很有挑战性，很不容易征服。那时那种意志力好久没再露出它的头额了。。。

我正寻找着下一个值得我付出这种奋斗不休精神的计划。有了那种热情，燃烧了那把火，我的生命才会精彩。

Whew, at last managed a decent three paragraph worth of Chinese characters. Not sure whether they make sense though. Nevertheless, am proud that I still can construct some sentences in Chinese. Happy. =)

FRP and off i go

Effective 16th April, I’m officially a Fully Registered Pharmacist (FRP) in Malaysia. Meaning that, well, instead of being ordered to do work, I can now order people to do work. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have much chance to do that.

In Malaysia, newly graduated FRP needs to do 3 years of “national service” for the country before you can go off and open your own shop or whatever. And this “national service” are more often or not in a place that is not your hometown.

Of course, if you are really unlucky (or lucky, depends on how you see it) you will get thrown into some obscure places like Daro.

It’s so rural that wikipedia only has a single paragraph description of it:

Daro is a district and small town in Mukah Division, Sarawak, east Malaysia. The nearest town to Daro is Matu. Daro is under the Majlis Daerah Matu-Daro (Matu-Daro District Council) which share the same council together with Matu. The population in Daro is estimated around 25,000, with Melanau making up the majority. There were ferries from Sibu to here, taking around two hours by using the channel of Rejang River.

and yeah, a boat is needed to get there. And there’s only one doctor in that whole place, there’s no 3G network (bye-bye iPhone) and I’ve never heard about the place in my entire life as a Sarawakian till now.

This will be a brand new exciting adventure. Perhaps fishing, farming and riding a bike will be my new hobbies soon.

Where is the heart…

The double door of the ward swings open. In comes the guy in the green overalls, pushing a 6 feet long cart in front of him. On top of the cart lies a scaffold that was shaped like a house, covered by a green canvas. In fact, it is a house for the dead.

The guy strides across the linoleum with brisk purposeful steps,  pairs of curious eyes followed his every move, necks craned to see where he will stop. Once he reaches his destination, he takes up a piece of white linen, swiftly and efficiently wraps the now lifeless body from head to toe, and transfers it into his cart. Then off he goes to where he came from. Just a chore he needs to do daily. The frequency may change, but the job is the same.

People die in the hospital wards all the time. When they do, the ones they left behind weep. Some wail. Some silent with shock. Some stand passively like a stone. People do react to death differently.

Death is a norm in a big hospital. It is normal to to find out that someone whom I had spoken to a few days ago were now a piece of lifeless flesh and bones. Someone who was happily telling me that he will  go home soon  really did go home,  just that it is in a coffin.

It is hard not to be affected by death; but then after so many deaths, somehow I became desensitised. When people die, no emotion flows through me. No tinge of sadness. No guilt of what could’ve I done better to save him. I feel nothing.

I am fast becoming like the man pushing the cart, viewing death as just a part of the job. I am scared I am fast losing my heart, fast becoming a cold and soulless person, but I can’t help it…

Sometimes life is just unfair

The impetus to write is just not there. Along the way, work and other perceived more important stuffs took central stage, devouring the time that should be spent writing, cooking and doing something I like.

Sometimes I wonder is work the central theme of my life?

Today I got some time to sit down and reflect. A virus had finally got to me, and for the 2nd time in the entire year, I was forced to take a leave.

This week will be the final week of my provisionally registered pharmacist year. Come Friday, I will have officially finished one whole year of tutelage and be primed and ready to face the challenge of being a fully fledged pharmacist, most likely in the district area.

Come what may, a few people had wondered why I was reluctant to appeal and try anything whatsoever to stay in Sarawak General Hospital, or somewhere else in Kuching. Wouldn’t it be easy and convenient?

It may sounds stupid and crazy, but I staunchly believed that it was people like me, sponsored by the tax-payer’s money who should be the first to raise a hand and say “I will go”. It should be a honour to go to the rural district, serving the people there who needs our help most.

People who where sponsored solely by their parents, especially those overseas who were forced by the rules to work in compulsory service for four years, are those whom I think should be given the choice of cities they want to serve in. Forcing them to serve the government is already an encroachment of their freedom, and further forcing them to serve in the district? Standing from their shoes, it is hard not to see how unfair the whole situation is. Their parents paid the most taxes, used up half a million ringgit to finance their education, and instead of being cash cows, they were forced to spend the prime of their lives in district hospitals. I felt sorry for them.

A lot of fellow provisionally registered pharmacists are also thinking of ways to go back to their hometown or at least be given a place in a hospital where there are easier flights to get home. Of course I agree that home is where the heart is. But well, we are in the health profession. We are supposed to be compassionate, to be self sacrifying, to reach out to those who needed us most. Well maybe we all have different motives...

Life is so unfair. And to make it worse, we have too many people who only thinks about their own benefits.

My two cents worth.

Throw of a dice

Been looking at the map of Sarawak recently. As you know, Sarawak is a very big state and there’s a lot of small towns that I know roughly where it is but not exactly where it is.

For example places like Simunjan, Betong and Long Lama exists in Sarawak. Heard about it before? Hell, its not even in the map above.

Why the sudden interest? Well in 3 months time I will be randomly assigned to any of the places on the map to work there for at least two years. We don’t have the luxury to choose, as this is what the govt termed as ‘Khidmat Negara’ or ‘Service to the Nation’ postings. My next 2 birthdays will probably be celebrated in some jungle or longhouse or next to a river.

In two months time someone high up will throw a dice..

 

and this will be how the Sarawak map look like for me.

 

Wonders how will lady luck treat me..

There’s just 10 more weeks to go before I finish my PRP training. Going to be fully registered and sent away soon. Starting my 4 week round in Nephro tomorrow. Damn time flies..