On Borrowed Sleep and an Unhurried Day

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoThe night before had been thin on rest — the phone seeing to that, as it does, with a series of calls from the hospital that fragmented the dark into useless pieces. There is a particular fatigue that follows a broken night on call, a sort of low static behind everything, and I carried it into the morning like an unwelcome companion.

The round itself was mercifully quiet, which felt like a small mercy granted in compensation. I was nearly out the door, congratulating myself on a clean exit, when a transfer landed — the universe's way of reminding me not to count my chickens. I noted it, made the necessary arrangements, and then, with the practised detachment one develops, simply got on with my own business. The admission would arrive when it arrived. There is no sense standing guard over a thing you cannot hurry.

Lunch was ramen at Lot 10, that reliable warren of food where one can always find a steaming bowl of something restorative. A good ramen asks very little of a tired man — no decisions beyond which broth, no conversation if you'd rather not — and gives back warmth and a brief, soup-induced clarity. It was exactly what the day required.

Afterwards I wandered into Low Yat, where the electronics live, and emerged with an e-ink tablet — the iFLYTEK AiNote Air 2. I have a weakness for these things, the quiet promise that this device, finally, will be the one to organise my scattered notes into something resembling order. I know better, of course. But the screen is easy on tired eyes, and there is a small joy in the unboxing that I refuse to deny myself.

Anita, meanwhile, had a wedding to attend in Shah Alam with her friends — the sort of cheerful afternoon obligation that sends her off in good spirits and leaves me happily to my own devices. So I went home and did the most sensible thing available: nothing in particular. I chilled, half an ear cocked for word of the admission, the e-ink tablet keeping me mildly entertained while I waited.

Dinner was a quick one at Kerinchi, the kind of unfussy meal that suits an evening when ambition has long since clocked off. I had no appetite for anything elaborate, only for something easy and nearby, eaten without ceremony.

And then, at last, rest — the thing the whole day had been quietly building towards. After a night so generously interrupted, an early surrender to sleep was less a choice than a biological necessity. I find I have stopped feeling guilty about these collapses into bed; the body keeps its own accounts, and it had a debt to settle.

So a modest day, all told. A quiet round, a transfer to absorb, ramen and a new gadget, an empty afternoon well spent, and a simple dinner to close it. Not every Sunday needs steak and grandeur. Some just need a soft pillow and a phone that stays silent. Tonight, I'm hoping for both.

A Sunday Without Its Steak

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A sunny start to the Sunday — KL doing that thing again where it remembers it's tropical and turns the brightness up to full. There's a particular quality to Sunday sunshine that weekday sunshine simply doesn't have. Same sun, different posture. Less demanding.

Rounds went smoothly, mercifully brief. Sunday rounds have their own rhythm — quieter corridors, fewer interruptions, everyone moving at a slightly more humane pace. By the time I was done, the day still had most of itself to give.

Which I duly spent at Low Yat, on a mission for a charger and a USB dock. There's a particular pleasure in wandering Low Yat with a specific list — it gives the place a shape it doesn't otherwise have. Without a mission, it's a labyrinth of cables and screens and salesmen pretending not to watch you. With one, it's a treasure hunt. Both items located, prices reasonable, the small satisfaction of crossing things off a list. A good morning's work.

Lunch was ramen at Kagura Tokyo in Lot 10. The kind of meal that suits a sunny solo Sunday — sit at the counter, watch the steam curl up, eat with proper attention. Ramen rewards focus. Eat it distracted and you've missed the point. I gave it the attention it deserved.

A wander through Pavilion afterwards. Relatively quiet for a Sunday, which was a small mercy — none of the usual weekend density, just enough people to make it feel alive without making it feel like a contest. I drifted rather than shopped. Sometimes that's the better way.

Anita was out with her friends, which meant the afternoon belonged to me and a few quiet domestic tasks. Some cleaning, nothing heroic — the sort of tidying that creates the illusion of productivity while requiring almost no thought. The house seemed pleased about it, in its way. There's something restful about an afternoon spent indoors with no particular destination, the windows open, the day moving past at its own speed.

A small departure from the usual: no steak cooking tonight. Sundays have built themselves a tradition around steak in this house, and breaking it once in a while feels almost transgressive. But traditions need the occasional pause to keep their meaning. The cast iron pan gets a night off.

The sunset, though — the sunset earned its keep. One of those proper KL sunsets that takes the sky through every shade of orange and pink before settling into a soft, lingering blue. The balcony was the only sensible place to be. I obliged.

And now, with the evening settling in, attention turns to Old Trafford. United's last home game of the season tonight. More poignantly, Casemiro's last appearance there. There's a particular weight to these farewell matches — the sense of a chapter closing, the crowd preparing for something they'll only fully feel in retrospect. He's given the place a great deal. The least one can do is watch.

A good Sunday, all told. Even without the steak.