A Saturday That Nearly Missed Its Own Invitation

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoSunny again to start, the sort of morning that makes you briefly optimistic about the day's plans before the day itself has had any say in the matter. Mine had rather firm opinions early on — the ward round, usually a known quantity, decided today to stretch itself out well past its expected finish, one thing leading into another in the way these things do, until the neat window I'd left myself for the wedding had quietly closed without asking permission.

Anita's friend was getting married, and I'd been down as her plus-one for the day, which is a role I generally enjoy — good food, a bit of dancing I'm not especially good at, the pleasant sensation of being somewhere celebratory without any of the organisational responsibility. Instead, I found myself still occupied while the ceremony's clock ticked on without me, which is the sort of disappointment that doesn't shout, just settles quietly into the back of the morning.

Fortunately, Anita isn't one to be stranded by my scheduling failures — she'd already lined up another friend to go with in case exactly this happened, which either speaks well of her foresight or poorly of my reliability, possibly both in equal measure. Either way, she wasn't left standing about, and there's a particular relief in discovering your absence hasn't actually derailed anyone's day but your own.

With the morning's plans rerouted, lunch became the more modest ambition, and Mid Valley obliged well enough — busy in the way it always is on a weekend, but comfortably so, the kind of crowd that moves rather than clogs. A decent plate, a bit of people-watching, the sort of unhurried meal that makes up in calm what the morning lacked in it.

Then the sky, apparently taking notes on my day's theme of things not going quite to schedule, opened up with genuine commitment. Proper heavy rain, the kind that turns pavements into rivers and sends everyone under the nearest awning to wait it out, phones out, faces resigned. It eased, eventually, with good enough timing to let the evening's real plan survive intact — the pasar malam, stalls lit up and steaming despite the ground still drying beneath them, that familiar mix of grilled everything and fruit stacked in careful pyramids.

Dinner sorted itself out from there without much fuss, one of those evenings where the food arrives more as a formality than an event, welcome all the same after a day that had asked more patience of me than expected.

Now, finally, a bit of downtime — nothing ambitious, just the simple business of sitting still and letting a Saturday that started late and ran long come to its proper close. Missed weddings and morning delays aside, there's something to be said for a weekend that eventually finds its rhythm, even if it takes the scenic route to get there.

Desk, Wagyu, and a Small Victory of Timing

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoThe morning began the way most working mornings do — early, purposeful, ward round first before the rest of the world had properly stirred. This one came with a slightly unusual travelling companion: Irfan's Jellycat, smuggled along to the clinic for no better reason than birthday afterglow, sitting somewhere near my desk like a small soft-furred colleague who contributes nothing but morale. It did its job admirably.

The rest of the working day settled into its familiar shape — behind the desk, steady and unremarkable, the sort of stretch that doesn't ask to be remembered so much as simply got through. Straight through to the afternoon, no great drama, just the quiet accumulation of tasks ticked off one after another.

Lunch, though, was the day properly announcing itself. Kyomo, and wagyu yakiniku that did exactly what good yakiniku ought to — arriving in modest portions and somehow still managing to feel generous, each piece better than the last. Irfan went the sensible route with a kale salad, presumably atoning in advance for whatever excess the rest of us were about to commit. The kimchi tray deserves its own mention, genuinely excellent, sharp and well-balanced in a way that elevated everything around it rather than simply sitting there as garnish. A properly good lunch, the sort that leaves you slightly regretful about the afternoon's remaining commitments, except today there weren't many, which made the whole thing feel entirely without consequence.

From there, a change of register entirely — the pasar malam, all noise and steam and the particular chaos that only a good night market can produce. Otak-otak first, that smoky, wrapped little parcel of a thing that never quite photographs as well as it tastes, followed by nasi lemak, because no proper night market visit really concludes without it. Street food after fine dining is an odd sort of whiplash, but a welcome one — the day covering an impressive amount of culinary ground without ever feeling indulgent for its own sake.

Altogether, a genuinely good day, the sort that doesn't announce itself as special in advance but adds up nicely in the retelling. Wagyu at lunch, otak-otak by evening, a plush bystander watching over the desk in between — not a bad spread for a Wednesday, or whichever day this technically was.

Early to bed regardless, with England kicking off the next morning and no intention of missing it groggy. Some things are worth protecting a night's sleep for, and a quarter-final is squarely one of them.

The Body Sends a Memo

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoA sunny start to the day, and the morning round went smoothly — patients sorted out in good time, the list closing neatly rather than fraying at the edges. There's a quiet satisfaction in finishing on schedule, in walking away from a morning that asked for nothing more than what you'd planned to give. A weekend round done well leaves the rest of the day feeling earned.

Which was just as well, because the rest of the day was largely given over to repairs. I drove out to Kota Damansara for physio — the right shoulder has been playing up this past month, and it has now reached the stage where ignoring it is no longer a credible strategy. It was sore enough to warrant acupuncture, that curious business of being made to feel better by means of small needles and quiet faith. I won't pretend to understand entirely how it works, only that the shoulder and I have reached an arrangement, and the shoulder, frankly, has the upper hand at present. The body, having served without complaint for a good while, has begun sending the occasional memo. One reads them whether one wants to or not.

After that, a late lunch at Johnny's in Alpha Angle — the sort of unfussy, familiar place that asks nothing of you but your appetite. There's comfort in a meal that requires no decisions, no occasion, just sitting down somewhere you've sat a hundred times before and letting it be exactly what it always is.

And perhaps it was the familiarity of the place, or the slowness of a sore Saturday, but we fell to reminiscing — back to the Gombak years, when we lived out that way and the boys were still small. Funny how those days arrive unbidden, summoned by nothing in particular. They were not, at the time, days we thought we'd one day miss. They were just the days we were in — busy, ordinary, faintly exhausting in the way that small children make everything. And now they have that warm, burnished quality that ordinary things acquire only once they're safely behind you. We didn't dwell on it. You don't need to. A few minutes of "do you remember" is enough to acknowledge the thing and move on, which is probably the healthiest way to handle the past.

A quick stop at the pasar malam in Melawati on the way back — that reliable parade of light and smoke and noise, the smell of grilled things hanging in the evening air. I didn't buy much. Sometimes the walking-through is the point, more than the buying.

Then home, and an early night, the shoulder insisting on it more firmly than I'd have chosen myself. There's no arguing with a sore body once it's made up its mind. It had been a good day, in its quiet, slightly creaky way — a morning done right, an afternoon spent mending, and a brief, unsentimental visit to a version of us from twenty years ago. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday. The shoulder may disagree. It usually does.

Weekend, and the Small Logistics of It

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoThe weekend arrived, though it didn't begin with a lie-in — those are a luxury reserved for a different kind of Saturday. Irfan had driving school, which meant the morning opened with a bit of domestic logistics: dropping him off on my way in to work, the two of us in the car at an hour that felt faintly unfair to both of us. There's something quietly pleasing, all the same, about these small handovers — the parent-as-chauffeur routine that I know has a shelf life, and that I'll probably miss more than I'd care to admit once he's driving himself everywhere.

Work, even on a Saturday, was waiting. But the clinic ran smoothly, which on a weekend morning is exactly what one hopes for. A stem cell infusion was done and went as it should — the sort of thing that demands full attention while it's happening and then, gratifyingly, recedes into the category of "completed." By the time lunch came round, the morning's work was behind me, and I could step out of it cleanly. A morning that knows when to end is a gift in itself.

Lunch was with Anita, which made the day feel properly like a weekend rather than a slightly truncated working one. There's a particular ease to a midday meal with no clock pressing on it, the conversation unhurried, the food allowed to be the point rather than fuel grabbed between commitments. After the week behind us, sitting down together felt less like an event and more like a quiet restoration.

Afterwards I found a little time to catch up with Star City before the day's next logistical obligation came due — namely, collecting Irfan again from driving school. The chauffeur, recalled to duty. He emerged, presumably marginally more roadworthy than he'd gone in, and we made our way onward.

And onward meant the pasar malam, because some weekend rituals don't require deliberation. There's no real planning involved — you simply go, and let the place do what it does. The crowd, the steam, the smell of things grilling, the small negotiations over what to take home and what to eat on the spot. It's the kind of unstructured pleasure that resists being filmed properly and is all the better for it. You just move through it, basket filling, appetite rising, the evening settling into something warm and slightly chaotic in the best way.

By the time we got home, the day had quietly used itself up, and what remained was a restful night — the proper kind, with nowhere further to be and nothing more to sort. After a hectic week and a Saturday that, for all its smoothness, still asked something of me, an evening of simply being at home felt like the correct ending.

Not a grand weekend opening, then. Driving school, a clinic, a good lunch, a night market, and a quiet house at the end of it. But the small logistics of an ordinary good day, strung together, add up to something I wouldn't trade.

Pasar Malam

After spending the best part of an hour at the ICU talking to the nurses about my Uncle, I went straight to Kepala Batas. It was time for pasar malam. I just couldn't resist it. Being Saturday evening, the place was packed. It didn't help when I got there just after half past 6. The crowd were really in a rush to get their chopping done.

Didn't get to do a proper browsing. It was pretty much smash and grab, before rushing to Sungai Petani, arriving there just in time for berbuka.

It was undercooked. We had to cook again at home.Spent the rest of the evening catching up with the family gossip and talking about my Uncle. He remained critical, and the journey for him would be a long one. It also looked like he might have to be on dialysis at the rate he was going. Big challenges ahead.

After the talks died down, I really need to get some sleep - and catch the football a bit later on. It would be a subdued game with the two semifinal losers meeting for a third placing match. But still worth the watch ....