The Ordinary Week, Reasserting Itself

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoAnd just like that, the holidays folded themselves away and the ordinary week returned, unbothered by my brief taste of leisure. Back to work, then, with an early start — and the seasoned certainty that the first clinic after a long weekend would be heaving. People save up their ailments over a holiday the way one saves up laundry, and present them all at once. I was not wrong. The clinic overspilled, the list grew longer than the morning could decently hold, and the afternoon absorbed the overflow with weary good grace.

The traffic, too, seems to have remembered its old habits. It has been thickening by the day, the roads reclaiming their familiar congestion now that the city is back at its desk. There is a grim sort of reunion in sitting once more in a queue of brake lights, watching the minutes go and the distance not.

The real drama of the day, however, unfolded elsewhere entirely. Mak and Julia had stationed themselves at Zehn, locked in the modern gladiatorial contest known as the BTS ticket scramble — two determined people, several devices between them, refreshing pages and willing the servers not to crumble. I have witnessed military operations planned with less intensity. The queues, by all accounts, were brutal, the kind that test both patience and broadband.

In the end, it was my account, of all things, that came good. Four tickets, secured against the odds, which I learned of via a flurry of messages bordering on the triumphant. So it is settled: we will be at Bukit Jalil on the thirteenth of December, somewhere among the masses, doing whatever it is one does at these things. I make no claims to expertise in the matter. But there is something rather lovely about being swept into someone else's joy, and Julia and Mak's delight was infectious enough that I find myself genuinely looking forward to it, expertise or not.

The rest of the day did what working days do — it filled itself, quietly and completely, until I looked up and found it nearly gone. I reached home late, though mercifully in time for dinner, which is the small daily negotiation between work and the table that I do not always win. To sit down with the household at the end of a long one, the food warm and the conversation undemanding, is a reward out of proportion to its simplicity.

Now, an early night beckons, and I intend to heed it. The first proper week back has only just begun, and there is no sense pretending otherwise. The clinic will be full again tomorrow, the traffic will not improve, and the patients will keep arriving as patients do. But there are also concert tickets sitting somewhere in an inbox, a small promise of December tucked away against the long ordinary stretch between now and then.

For tonight, that is more than enough. Lights off, and a sensible bedtime, earned.

The Day That Changed Its Mind

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoThe plan was simple: do nothing. Second day of Raya, nowhere to be, no obligations pulling at the sleeve. The kind of day you sketch out in your head as a long, unbroken stretch of idleness. But days, as a rule, don't much care for plans.

Word came through that there had been a death — these things arrive without warning, as they always do, rearranging the shape of a morning in an instant. Abang Razak and I made our way to the mosque for the prayers. There's not much to say about these moments that isn't already understood. You go, you stand, you offer what you can, which is mostly just your presence. The ritual holds you when words fall short.

We were finished by lunchtime, and the pivot from solemnity to sustenance felt natural enough. We headed to Rebung, which was mercifully quiet — school holidays keeping the usual crowds at bay. There's a particular pleasure in Rebung when it's not heaving: you can actually taste the food rather than simply survive the queue. The spread was as generous as ever, and we ate with the unhurried appreciation of people who'd earned their lunch through an unexpectedly full morning.

The afternoon belonged entirely to the sofa. I napped with the kind of commitment that borders on athletic, only to surface later with a headache that suggested I'd perhaps overdone the horizontal. There's a cruel irony in sleeping so hard you wake up feeling worse. The body has a strange sense of humour sometimes.

By evening, though, things had recalibrated. Dinner at Gardens was the gentle reset the day needed — pleasant surroundings, good food, the headache retreating somewhere behind the second glass of water. Meanwhile, Anita had shifted into preparation mode for Julia's visit next week, which involves a particular kind of domestic energy that I've learned to observe from a respectful distance. Cushions get repositioned. Surfaces get scrutinised. Standards are applied that I didn't know existed.

Later, we settled in for a film — Mercy, which turned out to be a decent way to close a day that had covered rather more ground than anticipated. From mosque to movie, via Rebung and a regrettable nap. Not the day of pure relaxation we'd envisioned, but something richer for its detours.

Clinic tomorrow, which means the holiday is officially folding itself away. But there's no complaint in that. The break did what breaks are supposed to do — it broke things up, shifted the rhythm, let the ordinary fall away for a few days. Back to it, then.

Arrivals and Offerings - Aidil Adha 2026

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoThe alarm went off at a hour that barely qualifies as morning, but there was no reluctance in it. Some early starts carry their own momentum, and driving to KLIA to collect Irfan is one of them. The roads were empty in that particular way they only manage on public holidays — the kind of quiet that makes KL feel like it's still deciding whether to wake up.

I reached the airport just after six, expecting a wait. KLIA on Aidil Adha morning has a stillness to it that you'd never believe if you've only seen it during peak season — all that polished marble and soaring architecture with almost nobody in it. As it turned out, the wait was shorter than planned. Irfan's flight landed a full forty-five minutes early, which is the kind of pleasant surprise that airlines so rarely deliver. He appeared through arrivals looking well, and just like that, the thing I'd been quietly looking forward to all week was done. Everyone home.

We were back by eight, the morning still young and full of possibility. The day's main obligation was the Qurban in Bukit Antarabangsa — the ritual sacrifice that sits at the heart of Aidil Adha. There's a particular atmosphere to these gatherings: communal, unhurried, purposeful. People milling about in the morning warmth, children darting between adults, the whole thing proceeding with the quiet organisation of something that happens every year and knows its own rhythm. We were all done by lunchtime, everything handled with satisfying efficiency.

Afterwards, the decision was made — as it often is on these occasions — to have some beef. When the day has already centred around the animal, it feels only right. We passed our share of the Qurban meat along to relatives, which is part of the whole spirit of the thing. The giving is the point, really.

The afternoon pivoted to something altogether more secular: shopping. Anita had a Rimowa trunk in her sights, and who am I to stand between a woman and well-engineered luggage? There's something almost architectural about Rimowa — the ridges, the precision, the satisfying click of the latches. A proper object. Then it was my turn for some clothes, because apparently one cannot live on the same rotation of shirts indefinitely, however strongly one might feel otherwise.

By the time we got home, the day felt genuinely full — the kind of full that comes from variety rather than exhaustion. Airport at dawn, Qurban by mid-morning, retail therapy by afternoon. Three quite different acts, all slotting together into something that felt complete.

Another day off tomorrow, which is a luxury worth savouring. But tonight, like last night, an early one. The body keeps its own counsel on these matters, and mine was making its position very clear.

The Art of Winding Down

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoTuesday had a specific energy to it — the quiet industriousness of someone tidying the house before going on holiday. Not frantic, just purposeful. Everything today carried the faint undertone of get this done properly so tomorrow can be tomorrow.

Clinic took up the morning, the usual rhythm of consultations ticking along at a steady clip. There's a particular satisfaction in morning clinic when it moves well — each appointment finding its natural length, nothing dragging, nothing rushed. The kind of session where you emerge at the other end feeling like the work did itself, even though you know perfectly well it didn't.

After lunch, the ward round had a clear objective: discharge as many patients as possible. There's an unspoken kindness in this before a public holiday — nobody wants to be sitting in a hospital bed over Aidil Adha if they don't need to be, and the ward staff deserve a lighter load too. So we moved through it with cheerful efficiency, ticking off the ones who were ready, making sure everything was in order. It's oddly gratifying work, sending people home. The paperwork is tedious, naturally, but the outcome is worth every duplicated form.

By three o'clock, the clinical side of the day was done. What remained was the administrative tail — the notes, the letters, the various bits of documentation that accumulate like sediment over a working day. I worked through them methodically, the kind of low-intensity task that suits a mind already half-turned towards tomorrow.

The drive home felt lighter than usual. Perhaps it was knowing there was nothing pressing on the other side of tonight. No alarm set to a punishing hour — well, actually, that's not quite true. The alarm would indeed be going off early, but for the best possible reason. Irfan lands tomorrow morning, and I'll be there to meet him. There's a different quality to an early start when it involves collecting someone you've been looking forward to seeing.

The evening was deliberately uneventful. Just the gentle deceleration of a day that had done its job. No grand plans, no elaborate dinner, nothing that required standing up for longer than strictly necessary. Sometimes the most luxurious thing you can do with an evening is absolutely nothing at all.

An early night, then. The kind where you're in bed before the hour feels remotely embarrassing, and entirely at peace with it. Tomorrow the holiday begins properly — Irfan home, Aidil Adha ahead, and two unhurried days stretching out like a cat in a sunbeam.

But that's tomorrow's entry. Tonight is just the pleasant business of stopping.

The Unhurried Wednesday

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoSome days arrive without any particular ambition, and there's wisdom in letting them be what they are. Wednesday came in slowly — not sluggish, just serene, as though the day itself had decided that urgency could wait. I didn't argue.

Breakfast got its proper due this morning. Not rushed, not squeezed between tasks, just a quiet sit-down before the drive in. There's a version of the morning routine that feels like preparation and another that feels like presence. Today was the latter. The coffee was unhurried. The toast was deliberate. Small luxuries, but real ones.

The afternoon clinic matched the day's tempo — lighter than usual, the kind of session where the gaps between patients give you room to breathe and catch up on the administrative debris that accumulates when things are busier. I'm not one to complain about a slow clinic. The work still matters; it just moves at a pace that lets you be a little more thorough, a little more present with each person in front of you. A transplant meeting rounded things off before I headed home, the sort of discussion that always carries a certain weight regardless of the day's general mood. You shift gears, focus sharpens, and then it's done.

The family dispatches were more interesting than mine tonight. Idlan had a long day at Taylor's, but the good kind of long — the kind that comes from being properly engaged rather than merely enduring. He seems to be settling into his new course, which is quietly reassuring. There's a particular relief in watching someone find their footing in something they've chosen, that moment where obligation starts to shade into genuine interest. Early days still, but the signs are encouraging.

Anita, meanwhile, had assembled herself a rather civilised itinerary. Lunch with a friend at Rebung — Chef Ismail's place, where the Malay spread is the kind of thing you don't so much eat as surrender to — followed by tea at Carcosa Seri Negara. There's something wonderfully old-world about Carcosa, all that colonial architecture and manicured calm. She came home with that particular glow of a day well spent in good company, which is its own kind of contentment.

And then there's Irfan, who's just finished his exams in London. The relief must be enormous, though knowing him it'll manifest as quiet satisfaction rather than anything theatrical. He's spending a week with friends before flying home next Tuesday, which feels exactly right — that liminal stretch after exams where the city belongs to you again and responsibility hasn't yet reassembled itself. London in late May, with nothing to do but wander and eat and stay out too late. I can think of worse prescriptions.

A slow day, then, but one that held more than it first appeared to. Sometimes the unhurried ones carry the most.