from learning hands to healing one

assalamualaikum w.b.t...

-2017-

Malam ini, one of those rare quiet nights—

scrolling through threads, reading stories about the “toxic” side of healthcare..

And somehow…

it brought me back

to why I chose to stay

My path was once clear—

a diploma, a double degree..

a plan that made sense on paper.

But in between those steps,

I doubted.

I questioned my worth, my place, my ability.

Back in 2017, during my internship - at the same hospital where I later did my HO-ship - I was given a choice:

--continue in the lab, pursue master-PhD…

--or step into the wards

I chose the wards.

as I chose the clinical lane.

as  I wanted a future I could see myself living in - clinical works

I stayed close to home, too - hujan emas di negeri orang, lebih baik hujan batu di negeri sendiri.

And somehow… that felt right..

My role back then?

Not much different from a HO.

But I carried myself quietly as “just a student” - too tired to explain the whole double degree journey :D

And yes…

that was where I first met the “toxic” side of this field.

“I don’t like students. Not smart enough.”

“I don’t want anyone less than an MO during my rounds.”

“You don’t deserve to be in this OT.”

Words that came without warning,

without reason I could understand somemore

But somehow…

I chose to see differently.

whenever I was scolded - it reminded me that not everyone treated me that way..

whenever I was rejected - I found another door.

I still remember one senior MO saying,

“It’s okay… baru satu kan untuk today.”

And that was enough.

Alhamdulillah, it was enough.

along the way too —

I met souls that made everything lighter..

Even when they were tired,

they still chose kindness.

“Very good you chose this path..not many would.”

“Come back one day..we’ll work again as a team.”

“It’s never easy..but if you still have the passion, continue. We need people like you.”

Those words…

they stayed.

They grounded me.

They became reasons - when I almost didn’t have any.

Even now,

I may not find those same people again..

Some I’ve crossed paths with during my ho-ship..but I never said anything.

Never introduced myself.

Maybe I overthought it.

But every word, every moment - I still carry them, gently.

And perhaps, that’s why I’m still here..

Yes - there will always be toxic people, in every place, in every system.

But if I can be one of those who are not, if I can add even a little more kindness into this space, then staying - will always be worth it.

last few weeks i met one of those that i pernah jumpa waktu intern 

and he still recognized me - which i sangat2 terharu

"finally awak balik jugak sini..betul awak kata nak balik sini..saya ingat awak tak balik dah..dah sambung study ke, awak yg saya kenal dulu even kejap pun, awak jenis yang suka study..moga terus istiqamah study..continue je apa yang awak pernah cakap dulu tu..saya doa as a colleague, nanti ada rezeki kita jumpa again bila awak dh sp too"

and those short meeting, truly added another light in this lane..

moga kita semua dipertemukan dengan orang2 yang baik..moga yang tak sihat tu segera sihat..and moga kita direzekikan menjadi one of those yang tidak menambah gusar hati orang lain..

be nice .

be kind .

xoxo,

yanie

when the cold got colder

assalamualaikum w.b.t...

-somewhere-

Some sorrow become so familiar that they no longer look like melancholy at all

They begin to resemble habits

A quiet table in the corner of a café;

A cup held for too long;

A conversation avoided;

A smile given at the right time so nobody asks too many questions

There are people who know how to grieve loudly,

and there are others who learn how to make heartbreak look graceful

The second kind usually sits quietly beside untouched coffee

Not because the drink matters that much,

but because it becomes easier to hold a cup than to hold together everything unraveling inside the chest

So the coffee stays between both hands like a secret no one is supposed to read

And somehow, lately, even the cold coffee feels warmer these days

Warmer than certain conversations that slowly lost sincerity

Warmer than affection that changed its shape without explanation

Warmer than the silence left behind after giving too much of the heart to places that never intended to keep it safe

Perhaps that is why the coffee is never finished quickly anymore.

The ice melts first.

Then the foam disappears.

Then the bitterness settles quietly at the bottom, untouched.

Minutes stretch into hours while the cup remains half full, as though time itself is hesitating to move forward

From the outside, it only looks like someone enjoying a slow evening

Someone lost in thought

Someone tired after a long day

No one notices that the longer the coffee stays untouched,

the heavier the heart probably feels

No one notices how sadness often hides itself in ordinary things

In lingering too long before going home

In staring absentmindedly through café windows while pretending to admire the rain

In replaying songs only because they hurt in familiar ways

In letting drinks grow cold because swallowing emotions is already difficult enough

There is a certain loneliness that does not ask to be understood

It only asks for somewhere quiet to exist

And coffee has always been kind to that kind of sadness

It never interrupts

Never asks why the eyes seem distant

Never questions the silence

It simply waits there patiently, growing colder with every passing thought,

while the person holding it tries to survive another evening without letting the ache become visible

Sometimes the saddest people are not the ones crying openly

Sometimes they are the calmest ones in the room -

the ones who mastered the art of looking composed while quietly breaking apart underneath

The ones who keep saying “it’s okay” because explaining would take too much energy

The ones who laugh softly so nobody notices the exhaustion hidden beneath their voice

The ones who sit alone with coffee long enough for the entire café to change around them

And maybe that is the secret.

Maybe the untouched coffee was never just coffee at all..

Maybe it was a way of delaying the moment of going back to an empty feeling

A way of keeping the hands occupied while the heart struggled to stay steady

A small warmth to hold onto when everything else started feeling unbearably cold

So if someday there is a person sitting quietly before a cup long after the warmth has disappeared,

fingers still wrapped gently around it as though it contains something fragile - 

it may not mean they enjoy cold coffee

It may simply mean they are trying very hard not to let their longing be seen

xoxo,

yanie