The Human Touch

Found myself back at the National University Hospital for a couple of hours this afternoon, fulfilling my final scheduled appointment with my brain doctor. We reached agreement that my grey matter is functioning effectively, I'm happy to say, which means I have no further appointments scheduled related to my mental & physical breakdown of late 2022, which means I'm a very happy soldier indeed.

Funnily enough I enjoy being around the hospital, and I think Noi does too, so in a way I'll miss popping up there now and again. In truth, since I owe my life to the care of their excellent doctors, nurses and ancillary staff I harbour a genuine affection for the place such that I find it difficult to criticise the organisation on any level. Which is why I've felt severely conflicted regarding my irritation over their records department - and manfully avoided expressing that irritation in this Far Place. But today I'm going to say something.

And that something is this: I reckon it was a big mistake for the hospital administrators to close down the actual office where people could go to in order to ask for their records and put the whole shebang online. The app they provide to enhance communications in general terms is fine, but not in relation to trying to get one's records. I know this for sure since I've been trying to get hold of material that I need to apply for medical insurance in Malaysia and I just couldn't navigate the system (for a full three months). This wasn't due to my sometimes wilful inadequacy in relation to the wonders of tech. Take my word for it, it was genuinely impossible.

But here's the thing. Today, I triumphed and finally got access to what I needed (fairly desperately as I have an application deadline to negotiate) but this wasn't through the help of the app. The doctor I went to see actually listened to the problem I faced sympathetically and went to considerable trouble to contact an amazing lady, Ms Jessica Ko from the records department, who literally ran around initially to find us and then assist us in completing the necessary paperwork to get what we needed, and somehow remained smiling throughout.

So wobbly human stuff once again out-performs the super-efficient and probably expensive system that most likely has put few folk out of work as cost savings. Could there be a lesson in all this?

A Strong Start

After an eventfully fun-packed day we got back in time to catch the first episode of the second series of Cuci on Suria TV. This is the show based on the unlikely premise of the dealings of a post-traumatic cleaning company (hope I phrased that correctly) based in this Far Place. It's a genuinely excellent programme, and, based on this first episode, it looks as if the quality of the first series is going to be maintained.

By its very nature the content veers towards the potentially melodramatic - tonight's episode opened with a brutal murder - but the writers somehow keep it grounded in the realities of day-to-day life. There was a typically thought-provoking sequence based around the stress and strain of being in a fairly low-income occupation just now that genuinely furrowed the brow without any strained emoting.

Sometimes it's enough to just quietly become the character without doing much at all of anything.

Stunned

If anyone had told me before today that it was possible for me to be utterly stunned by the depiction of an act of violence in a work of fiction I would told them that that was next to impossible. After all, this is a reader who took Blood Meridian in his stride and that's about as extreme as it's possible to get. (Actually, I found McCarthy's great novel extremely disturbing, but I could cope without physically shuddering.)

And then today I read the conclusion of Chapter 3, Book 11 of The Brothers Karamazov. To say my reaction to Dostoevsky's penultimate paragraph was visceral is an understatement. To add to the impact, I happened to be reading it in a very public place and had to hide my state of disturbance. Fortunately I was able to cover up. Just.

A Sense Of Accomplishment

Saddened by the recent news that the Pangs are winding up their company Pangdemonium. I can't say I've seen a huge amount of what they've put on stage, but every show I've seen has been obviously first rate. In fact, I'm feeling a tad guilty I wasn't able to give them more support than I did in terms of watching their stuff. But that's something of a sort of systemic problem here. Productions have short runs and schedules are unforgiving. (I know that sounds like a weak excuse, but it's actually a strong one. Case in point: I was intending to attend the two most recent SSO concerts, but on both the nights in question it was absolutely impossible that I could have got to the concert hall. Grrgh!) 

Must say though, I reckon that Mr & Mrs Pang must feel a remarkable sense of accomplishment given the quantity and quality of work they've somehow managed to get up on those stages across the decades. I've long been of the opinion that much as producing great drama, poetry, prose, music, painting, sculpture and all that arty stuff depends on talented individuals, the sense of a supportive 'arts scene' is a necessity. And the contribution of those who put in the hard labour to carve out that scene can be curiously over-looked. Happily, it seems the Pangs are being genuinely celebrated for their achievements.

I hope they've made a ship-load of money, but rather suspect they haven't.

Eyes Wide Open

Over the last year or so I've learned one heck of a lot from James Payne's Great Art Explained videos on YouTube. Watching them (usually more than once) has been a reminder of what a boon it is to sit at the feet of a great and enthusiastic teacher.

Yesterday I was blown away by his account of Mark Rothko's Seagram Murals. I've had the great good fortune to have visited the room in The Tate with nine of the murals exhibited and that was quite an experience, but I wish I'd known then what I know now through Mr Payne's brilliant commentary.

I've never really been able to 'see' visual art through my own limited eyes. It's quite something to have the privilege of the vision of others.

Zonked

Somehow got myself to the gym after winding up the afternoon's training session with my Basketball guys. It was hard work on that elliptical trainer, I can tell you. But I'm glad I went - though I'm paying the price now. Will pour myself into bed some time soon, when I find the energy to do so. Digging deep for traces now.

Another Reason To Be Cheerful

Noi set off early for Jakarta this morning and is now happily ensconced with her chums, having a jolly good time. I'm surviving on her signature shepherd's pie, cunningly prepared amidst all our rushing round yesterday. So no need to worry about me, thank you. Enough goodies surround me to see me through the empty weekend. And I'm playing Prince's Emancipation at a satisfying volume to fill the space.

The big highlight yesterday was not the frantic packing for the Indonesian capital as you may have falsely assumed. Rather it was our making the acquaintance of the little chap featured below, who's just a week old. Not sure what it is about babies that makes even an old cynic like me cheerful, but the magic always works.

A Minor Challenge

We're planning to rise extra early tomorrow. Noi has an early flight to Jakarta; she's off with her chums on a sort of sewing holiday. I'm not exactly looking forward to rising in advance of the Dawn Prayer, but it's not a bad way of gearing up to the challenges of Ramadhan. In truth, the whole day has been a bit of a rush, but since that's true of every day at this time of year I can't honestly claim it's been exceptional.

True Greatness

Now enmeshed in Book 8 of The Brothers Karamazov, with the focus on Mitya. There's still a way to go in the novel, which makes me very happy indeed as I don't really want it to end. Will FD sustain this level of brilliance? I'll be surprised if he doesn't as everything so far has had the air of effortless spontaneity, as if the book is simply an improvisation of sheer genius, which can't possibly go wrong as it doesn't quite know where it's going.

I've previously rated, for more than a few years, Anna Karenina and Madam Bovary as the two greatest novels of the 19C in any language but I suspect I'll soon be changing my mind.

Every episode of The Brothers K seems to achieve a kind of perfection, but I'd rate the Gold Mines chapter, in which Mitya tries to borrow 3000 roubles from Madame Khokhlakov the funniest pages of any prose I've ever read. Better than Dickens at his considerable best. And I'm not even sure that Dostoevsky intends to be funny.

By Moonlight

Exceptionally beautiful full moon last night, illuminating us as we made painfully slow progress along the North-South Highway to this Far Place. The irony was sweet and bitter all at once. Arrived late, but happily in one piece, ready to fight another day. That day being today. 

Not sure I actually won the fight, mind you. But another gorgeous moon this evening made all my struggles irrelevant.