picture courtesy of google :-|

Tapping the vein, looking for a juicy one, my head spinning from the turmoil of the previous night, I still smile as my phone beeps. I've got you to go home to, see. Then I think back on the previous night.  Blood taking is very mechanical, small talk required, but it gives room for the tired mind to wander.

The patient was desaturating, 'Tukar high flow mask' I say after listening for ronchi or prolonged expiration. The nurses are well versed, they've already set up the crash cart and he's on the cardiac monitor. 'Boss, I'd like to inform you...' I say over the phone not knwing the patient's going into asystole. I rush back and climb onto the bed to do the chest compressions which many people argue is life saving, but in most cases I've seen it's more of a life prolongation. GCS dropping,intubation required, the MO has arrived. Fluid already being run, patient maxed out on triple ionotropes we get a bradycardic pulse. Arms heavy from fatigue we scramble off the bed and squint at the monitor. Is that a rhythm? Do we need atropine? Then heart rate becomes zero again and we do chest compressions again, patient's heart is stubbornly in asystole. 30 minutes, 40 minutes, the surrounding patients are hushed, suffering qualms of fear at the impending death of a fellow ward-mate.

I don't want my loved ones to spend their last few minutes like that. I've seen enough in the last few months. I feel the helplessness of family and slight glint of (?misplaced) hope as we ask them to stay outside while we resuscitate. Up to today I still tear each time it happens.

As the rib cage becomes more yielding under our persistent compressions, and the pupils become fixed dilated from a previous sluggish response over 2 days, we know our chnaces are slim for the patient to wake up and smile at his family. We know. We tell the family. DIL issued we say. Dia sudah tak ader  we say. Tindakbalas terhadap rawatan sangat kurang, jangkitan kumannya kuat sangat. Each time I say it something twists inside of me. Could we have done more? It's a life. It's a person someone else loves.

I don't want my loved ones to go with an NAR, nor do I want them to have tubes stuck down their throats or central lines flushed with drugs that give us a false impression of haemodynamic stability. I dont want their last active thought to be that of a tired medical worker shining a torch into their pupils or palpating their carotids. I dont want people to stick grey branulas into their groin area as they try for femoral lines when the BP is already spiralling downwards. I dont want them to suffer. But I will be damned if I signed an NAR and didnt try for that slight possibility that I might spend another 2 minutes with someone I care for.

Essentially to me, that's what CPR is. a temporary prolongation of live, and thne if God willing and the patient has what it takes, he/she survives and we medical workers have one less heartache. Don't be fooled. We feel for each person we care for,  whether he's an innocent or crimina, whether he's rich or old, or whether we like him/her or not.

So yes, I am against NAR, unless the prognosis is really horrendously bad. Until then, keep resuscitating. I prefer my people alive.

Wesak

Happy Wesak to all who celebrate :) missing the orange robes, sanskrit chants and rotating water fans in the brickfields buddhist mahavira..

Writing.

Havent had time for it lately. The inspiration is in abundance though :p... perhaps one of these days. But that's what i've been saying for the past 3-4-5 mths... hehee... maybe tis time to accept that Connections needs to be put behind me? For a person that lets go of some things easily, some other things are way too hard for me to leave behind.. I think i take attachment to the point of obsession and disattachment to the point of schizoid personailty disorders. I need to find a middle path. This is when I should pay more attention to Buddhist teachings and seek the middle way. Oh well... back to my books for now..

Xmas

It's Christmas today here. I'm splat in Eastern Europe, in a country where the people are predominantly Orthodox Christians. For them Christmas is on Jan 7th :)

I was going through my bloglist and realised that stuff I read comes predominantly from Malaysia, Sri Lanka and India... There are the odd African and American blogs out there that I follow, but they're rare and few in number.. Just a random thought.

First snowfall during our first year

Istanbul and Me

Hi all :) Been some time since i read a decent blog, much less posted one. Been kinda preoccupied, my apologies. Nyways, here I am, 6 days into my winter hols, uploading a few pictures from our 3-day transit in Istanbul on the way home last summer. Just to add a dimension to it, am tacking on some feelings to each image.

An old tree in the Hagia Sophia Musuem. A lot of wonder and enthusiasm was poured into Ottoman relics and bejeweled daggers and teapots (yes, there was a ruby inlaid teapot), but just as much amazement and awe was found in this tree, hollow inside, yet still providing shade. 

When I see you with another, this is is how I feel. Like there's something gnawing at me from the inside out, but yet I stand there, unwilling and unable to move. Jealousy and Commitment.

A pup on the grounds of the Sultan Ahmet (Blue) Mosque. I come from a Muslim country and transiting in yet another Muslim country, I was touched to see the casual passerby feed stray dogs and cats alike. And shockingly, the stray looks almost like a pure breed Lab, don't you think?

Each moment spent with a loved one is like the moment the pup had, lying in the sun on the fluffy green green grass. A feeling of comfort and peace. Content :)

This is the replica of the candle chandeliers they had in the Hagia Sophia Cathedral. The Cathedral is easily one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen - even in the state of reconstruction it was in! Despite the 70 odd tourists in the same building complex, there was a calm about the area, unmatched in any other part of Istanbul.

Sharing small everyday things with a loved one switches on a myriad of bulbs in me, each one almost routine, but not a single mundane one unimportant. Many small things that matter to me, that keep me warm inside.

The curved domes of the Sultan Ahmet Mosque, the interior covered entirely by mosaic. Another intiguing thing is that this building has no corners, each angle is rounded. The prevailing hues of blue and gold gives it its alternative name - the Blue Mosque. And apparently it's considered sunnah for a Muslim to pray here. Aside from the central mosques in Mecca, this mosque is another one of the holy centres of Islam, or so a friend told me.

Beauty at a glance, but as we consider each slab of mosaic, we realise that's what we are. Just stone without others around us. And we realise that each of us contribute to make the bigger picture that much more alluring as we reach out to others. Humanity.

Blue sky with distant clouds, the deep blue sea. A view from the grounds surrounding the Hagia Sophia Museum. A warning to the wary, the grounds is extensive and it took us fairly fit individuals a full 10 hrs to complete it without break. There are benches around for people to sit and catch their breath, but we were on a  tight schedule and each wonder had us trotting form one to the next ceaselessly, like workaholics on amphetamine.

The want in us to seek greener pastures. The drive to go the distance and race along to an unknown destination. The stuff of dreams and that which fuels aspirations and consistent hardwork. Ambition. 

We had the chance to take the Bosphorus cruise and view the East and West banks of Istanbul. Surprisingly the cruise is government run and it costed 3 Lira - I think! I cant remember for sure now :P... 3 Lira is approximately 3USD, which works out to about 10bucks of my home currency. Not too steep a price for travelling students I feel :) Each cruise ship had floats lined up one the sides like this one and we saw the remnants of the old forts and watchtowers, the homes of the wealthy, lush greenery that later reminded me of Kerala a bit, and the famous Bosphorus bridge, a picture of which I think we and has to be somewhere in the collection of Istanbul pictures.

For a person afraid of open water, you make me want to jump into the cold waters anyway. Why? You make me feel safe and cared for, that's why. Security.

     The Hagia Sophia Cathedral and the Sultan Ahmet Mosque stand as symbols of religious renaissance in Istanbul. Also The Spice Bazaar, Central Bazaar, lighthouse, Caverna Basilica (which is eerily beautiful!), and the Hagia Sophia Museum are places not to be missed. 

     Will try to dig up some pictures and write another post some time :) 

     Oh and if you're at Istanbul, do walk along the tramline, use the tram with their cute red tokens, try their non-melting icecream, drink their apple tea, and don't forget to try their small ring shaped pastry with kas-kas on it. If you arent a travelling student on a  tight budget, Turkish tapestries and rugs should be on your wish list too :P 

     Turkey is worth the visit..! :)

Kaarthigai

It coincides with the 15th day of the Hindu month of Kaarthigai, when the moon is full and the Keerthika star is visible in the night skies, or something along those lines. The astrological part escapes me.
     Mum told me a week back but I forgot completely. Then BB called and it hit me that for the first time in 24 years I wouldnt be vegetarian on this day. A day many non Hindus think is Deepavali but is not, though some consider it an extension. It's a day where Lord Shiva made himself a single speck of light, hence why we worship the flame; a day where six small boys became One for the love of a Mother; a day I find more exciting than Deepavali, more so for it's lowkey home celebration scale.
     I miss running from porch to backyard and making my way up the staircase to the altar to light the little clay lamps we call agal vilakku with my siblings and parents. 

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     I miss the small prayer as my eyes take in the myriad of flower offerings at the table which serves as our altar at home.

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     I miss running around with a scrap of cloth to dab up oil spills despite the folded layer of paper we place meticulously under each lamp to prevent such things.
     What I would give to sit at home, all lights switched off and just watched the flickering lights in the still humid darkness of the warm tropics.
     What I would give for the small smiles we exchange as we genuflect on our efforts as a team.
     Strangely, I even miss collecting the used lamps and cleaning them up.
     Most of all, I miss celebrating it at home. The memory of last year's Kaarthigai at home is making me smile now, a welcome recluse from the previous 4 years of it practically not being celebrated here away from home. This year I brought the agal vilakku with me and will place one at the doorstep to my room when the sun sets at 4pm.
     Am looking forward to future Kaarthigais with my loved ones.
     Thank you BB, thank you Amma. Happy Kaarthigai to all who celebrate :) 

Bowling Philosophy

You know how we bowl side by side, one eye on the scoreboard as we squint down the bowling lane, wondering how many pins will fall to our superior skill? 


What do you think would happen if we stopped bending over and squinting down our respective lanes, and instead of swearing at the ball for 3 whole seconds, we took that time to smile at a fellow bowler, and laughed when the ball went into the drain? Or winked when a fellow bowler got a strike or a spare?


What if we stopped racing, tried not to think of only the final score? What if we bowled just for the fun of it and made friends along the way? 


What if we stopped scrutinising the other's playing technique and just nodded warmly as the other picked up a bowling ball next to us?


What if life was like bowling: its path the bowling lane, fellow bowlers the people we meet along the way, the bowling ball our efforts and work, the pins the returns we get, and the scoreboard our competitive nature? 


What if the act of bowling was bigger than the game? What if living was bigger than being alive?

Charity

“Ippadi anjukkum pattukum kashtapadam pothu, yen ma kaasu veenakarai?”

(When we are suffering to earn fives and tens, why, my girl, are you wasting money?)

That’s what he said when his daughter came home after watching Toy Story for the second time in the cinema.

The young girl stared at her father as he dropped a coin into the old man’s cup and returned the man’s toothless grin with a smile. “Use money, earn money, share it, value it, no need to hoard it.”

“Amma, there’s this concert that all my school friends are going for.”

She just kept stirring the pot full of sothi. The girl watched her mother and then her heart leapt at the slight nod.

“But first put away clothes you’ve outgrown to give to people who really need them.”

“Can’t we have Nutella, Appa?”

His father frowned but put it into the cart wordlessly. He took the bus to work that day and the boy wondered why.

The girl tried her best to sneak the puppy into the compound, but her mother had already noticed the ragged mongrel.

Her expression unreadable, she watched her youngest sigh as the realization that another mouth to feed in her household was just a bit too much to ask for sank in. The girl tried to shoo the pup away, but suddenly the forlorn creature began wagging its tail.

The small girl turned to see her mother place a bowl full of leftover rice and some chicken on the ground before it. She ran to her mother’s side and smiled up at the face she knew so well. “Thank you, Ammi.”

The old aunty was walking in the hot sun, her gait unsteady and barely holding up the two plastic bags full of groceries.

“Kanna, go help that Aunty.” My mother stood there and I wondered why she was making me go when she could have easily gone herself.

When the old aunty gave me a tight hug and slobbery kiss on my cheek, I almost figured out why she had sent me instead.

“You give me for 12 and I’ll buy.” The girl sighed as her Dad walked out of yet another store after haggling over the price of an item.

“Sir, buy this colour book for your daughter.” The girl looked at the boy slightly older than herself, a peddler on the streets, and wondered if he was OK. She was 8. Colouring book for her? Puh-lease!

Her father was already handing over the money. “Study well, son.”

At times like these it hits me that charity begins at home.

Amazing Grace

I've always loved church hymns. I think it may have to do with the fact that I was a regular chapel goer during my school days. 

In case you were wondering, I'm very much a Hindu. But due to my heritage, we offer incense and lotus to Buddha and I am also passably well-versed in many things Islam because I have quite a few close Muslim friends. I honestly don't bother about other people's religious beliefs. I'm inclined to think that it's between them and God but more than one person has questioned outright what religion I belong to and though I think it's none of their business, I thought I'd take this opportunity to explain it anyway. 


I'm aware of the Buddhism being a teaching, but I don't know why I personally feel it's a religion of sorts, at least back home.

Enjoy the clip. Watch her expressions. That and her voice gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside :)

Her voice adds a whole different depth to the song. God bless her.

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Appreciation

I thought I'd attempt to pull a Pollyanna and learn to be thankful right now for what I have instead of waiting for tomorrow to be able to smile again...

Weirdly, this helped me feel better somewhat

I hope everyone has a great day ahead! :)

Dates and Celebrations

I used to have a little piece of paper in my sizable clutch on which I would scribble important dates, mostly birthdays and anniversaries. I haven’t updated that scrap in sometime because:

1.     1. I somehow always forget to write down the dates

2.     2. I depend ever more on my phone reminders and calendar with cute little cake icons in the corner

3.     3. Facebook’s all I need to remember birthdays – the reminders, the recent comments and shoutouts on the  

           home page

4.     4. Friends and family who blog usually give me a heads up about upcoming important dates

5.     5. My memory has been pretty good to date *touch wood*

Unfortunately, as grouchy as I can get, my social circle’s expanding and as much as I’d like to deny it, I’m getting older and you know what they say about women: once we hit the midtwenties, our hips grow inversely to our memory power i.e. the hips whooooossshhh outward and memory capacity pretty much hits rock bottom. I’m going to need a proper organizer sometime – that sometime is probably not too far off I suspect – because I just forgot a loved ones’ birthday. I know. Evil.

Wonderful. Now I can look forward to getting hippy. Not hippie. But am still banking on my genes and hoping that senility and portliness don’t get to me. Ever. Yes, I’m in denial of the potential future. It happens.

Denial --> Anger --> Bargaining --> Depression --> Acceptance

The above is the stages of death. Death of my once-exceptional memory and never-before-this wide hips. And I’m only at denial. It’s gonna be a LOOONNNNGGG road before I stop harping on this. My dwindling cognitive abilities and possible future weight issues. Still nonexistent for now. I think :S

Oh yeah. Happy Mothers’ Day by the way. This is one of the few celebrations that make sense to me, because where would we be without our mothers? 

A kink in the clouds lets the sun through

The same skies that smile upon you too

The murky greys always seem more blue

Every time I get to talk to you, it's true...

The cursive writing on that shiny paper

Filled my heart with joy, eyes with water,

A note from beyond made my day brighter.

For as much as we argue and bicker,

And think each other impossible in anger,

Nobody else knows me better.

I love you and miss you, Amma. Happy Mothers' Day!! To Pi and Vans too, of course :) 

"God could not be everywhere at once, and so He made mothers" 

I've always liked that quote....and so I'm quoting it! :D

On Children.Not A Happy Post

          Kids are time consuming, nerve wrecking and totally unpredictable. Even more so when they aren't our own!You would think that they'd be less complex because they are essentially miniature versions of us, no? But after our third posting at the department, the little stethoscope-demanding gremlins seem to have grown on us.

          All that said and done, I still fail to get why people have kids and then throw them aside.  

Case 1: Beautiful woman with gorgeous eyes talks to us. Educated, confident, Orthodox Christian. Then we walk into the procedure room later and there she is, getting a D&C (abortion) Unwanted pregnancy? Use protection, dammit. Not like you live in a Muslim country without sex-ed, yeah?

Case 2: Well-to-do couple, stable home. When we met their child (then 5 months plus), they were nowhere in sight and had stopped visiting the child when he was 1 month old. Why? Coz he was born with microcephalia (small skull and brain) Yes, death is imminent for a child in that condition but he was still their child. He still needed their love. We just learnt that he passed away a few weeks back. I doubt anyone claimed his body. Please do say a prayer for him.

Case 3: It happens ALL the time at home and I'm getting bloody sick of it. Woman (in most cases it's a GIRL, not a WOMAN) has kid, wraps it (or doesn't) and hides baby in bushes/toilet/whatever place she thinks is safe. Whatever place she thinks is safe, is NOT. The kid will probably be hungry/ suffer from overcooling/ get an infection/ be bitten by insects/ be afraid. Yes, newborns can feel fear. These 'mothers' never hand in the child to welfare/ the police because they fear the potential social stigma. Cow dung, if you ask me.

Case 4: Abuse. We hear about abuse in the name of God (like God would tell you to burn the kid with incense or whip him till he bleeds?), in parental conflict, in poverty/after drug or alcohol consumption. I freaking hate it. I've even met with a mum who made her kids drink paraquat (weedkiller) after some problems with her spouse. How are we supposed to be IMPARTIAL and WANT to save the life of a woman who would harm innocent beings under her care? Don't get me wrong, but most child abuse cases involve the mothers or female guardians. At times I find myself cursing Hippocrates and his oath.

          I don't know why I'm writing this. It isn't going to change the fate of these kids, but it sucks to see kids like that. It's just unfair. I usually think of their shy smiles, confiding whispers, Winnie the Pooh bedspreads and little finger nails but I got a little emo after reading about the babysitter and lover who caused the death of a toddler. Inhumane.

Are women REALLY the better half? 

          Women succumb to selfish acts, give in to fear for 'social standing' and then behave like men are incapable of rational thought when in fact it is the woman who makes the FINAL decision on abortion/ abandoning the child. 

          The fact that I am even blogging against my own gender proves how wrong I feel this is. 'This' being us women smearing camel shit all over the notion of motherhood and motherliness.

          Forget breastfeeding campaigns. Teach the women how to BE women and not vile ar** wipes, for our educated women of today have forgotten the basic cave-men era lessons of loving and nurturing.

          I know the post is full of rantings and negative emotions. My apologies, but I had to get these feelings into a semblance of order. I don't function well with pent up chaotic anger, but expressed 'controlled' fury like this is more manageable :)

"God is in the face of a child "

My mum told me this once when my nephew was born. I couldn't agree with her more. 

Looking forward to more drool faces and pouty small round faces, because I think CHILDREN are the better half of the population. 

Alexandria

       The first view we got of the Mediterranean Sea, and her gathering might. Choppy waves, and chaos. That's what I initially thought.The churning froth from the heaving waters had us awestruck for where I come from, the waves are more subdued  - though no less beautiful!
       Disembarking from the van we were hit by the salty tang of the sea, and cold spittle rained on us from even 3 plus metres away. 

       Then we got closer to the water's edge. The fine spray and the way the droplets danced and shimmered as wave upon wave pounded on the cemented walls around the periphery of the city left us breathless. Breathless from her majestic power and also because we were running for cover!
Note : Running for cover was a futile attempt because we all got drenched anyway :P
       The pounding of the waves was rhythmic and almost orchestrated, and the thunder of the waves drowned out all thought from us. 

       We waited a full 2 hours and more to watch the receding waves. That platform you see in the picture above had been submerged underwater the first time we got to there. 
       We could finally hear each other speak again but none of us did much talking  for some reason.

       This was our parting shot as we left to go to the library (No, not the original library by Alexander the Great, that one got sunk long ago!) 
       I love the shoreline formed by the crests of the waves, that huge white curve upon the sand.
       I genuinely believe that if I had been an atheist, I would have succumbed to animistic beliefs after that day, for the sea truly seemed to have a soul of her own. The sea having a soul thing was much talked about after our trip, when our tongue-tied-ness had worn off, but one thing we all agreed on was this: never had any of us seen any other body of water with such character, such attitude before!
       And our translator assured us that she was like this every single day. Such immense power, it was a trifle scary. 
Yeah, we had a translator :), since the only decent word we knew collectively in Arabic was 'shukrat', which means thank you... and that wouldn't have gotten us very far! 

The Answer to Her Prayer

Kach opened here eyes to the overhead announcement. “We will be landing shortly. Please remain seated till the safety lights have been switched off.”

The air stewardess walked down the aisle, pausing only to ask a boy to put his seat upright, before making her way to the cabin at the back of the aircraft, presumably to buckle herself in as well.

Kach turned to look out the window at the welcoming nightlights of the city, and the tiny lurch as the plane’s rubber tires hit the runway was amplified in her own tummy, a surge of joy and something else at being home again, after four long years in a foreign land.

She thought of her friends from school, many of them working, some even married and on the family way. She wondered if Brownie would still remember her scent. She thought of her two nieces and nephew, wondering how much they would have grown since she had seen them last. Would they recognise their aunt?  Her own brother and sister would have aged in so many ways she would never know. They would have had experiences that did not include their kid sister. Kach suppressed a sigh and retrieved her hand-carry luggage from the overhead compartment.

She could have gone through the immigration check blindfolded, she had done it so many times in the last eight years, since she had left home to get a degree overseas.

“The green lane is only for citizens, Miss,” the Customs’ officer on duty told her, eyeing her blonde streaks, green contact lenses and less than conventional attire.

Kach nodded and held up her red passport for him to see. “I know.” She smiled sweetly at the gawking official and breezed past him.

The luggage boys, luggage men really, had not changed much. They still stared too openly and when she returned their gaze, they would tell each other about her brazenness, thinking that she could not understand them.

She hoisted her 40 kilograms worth of luggage onto the trolley she had taken from the stand just a few minutes before and made her way to the information counter.

“Hi, may I leave my things here for just a moment, please?” she asked in her native tongue, and the receptionist tried to object but Kach cut her short. “Please, just five minutes. I’m travelling alone.” Not waiting for a reply, Kach made a bee’s line for the washroom and proceeded with her transformation.

The receptionist did a double take when Kach appeared. “Thank you,” Kach said to her, clad now in the traditional garb of the women of her country, eyes her usual brown. The receptionist looked a bit unsure when Kach reached for the bags. “Trust me, I am the same person," Kach told her soothingly and lifted her head-scarf slightly to show her the blonde streaks.

“Ah-haha, I’m sorry, but you look quite different from before.” The girl seemed actually embarrassed.

Kach winked at her and wheeled her bags away to the Arrival Hall where her brother waited with his wife and daughter. “Khadijah!” her brother yelled, beckoning her over.

Kach waved in their direction. As she embraced her sister-in-law in the traditional way with three pecks on the cheeks and exchanged the respectful greeting with her elder brother, she was all too aware of the wall between her and them.

She did not mean to live a dual life like she did. She had been taught well by her parents, but where she came from, people judged and labeled the people of her faith, and she had had to learn how to fit in and be accepted, for the sake of her husband and young one if nothing else. But now, back here, she would have to learn how to fit in with her own people all over again, and that got harder each time.

She could just tell her family here about how she was there. She had attempted it once, two yearsback but her sister’s scorn for people of her faith who had converted or hidden their identities after the wake of 9/11 had stopped her. She could tell them about her child and husband, but they would have never wanted to know, for her husband and child were of a different faith. But still she would try again this year. She had brought their photos again.

From afar she saw her parents. Kach smiled as she hurried towards them to kiss their hands and ask for their blessings. She had not forgotten her faith even though she never showed it abroad. Sometimes she wondered if she was hiding her faith from the two people she spent almost each day with, for her husband and child thought that she was a freethinker. None of them had seen her copy of the holy scriptures and the Quran, which she kept under the kitchen sink. Sometimes her own cowardice sickened herself.

As the Zohor prayer sounded from the nearby mosque, Kach bent her head in fervent prayer, asking for forgiveness for her deceit and a sign from above. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at her own reflection in the revolving exit doors.

“Umi, Abah, would you sit down for a minute?” she asked her elderly parents in her mother tongue. “I have something I need to tell you, something I should have told you five years ago.”

She could see her brother frowning, but his eyes were questioning and his manner open. She gave him a small smile and called him over with her right hand, her left hand already pulling out Nathaniel and Pierre’s photographs from her clutch purse.

***************************************

* Hey all. No offence intended with the use of religions and all, but I am merely stating things as I see them. Just take it as a bit of reading, don’t focus on the little details too much. And no, I don’t know a Khadijah, Nathaniel and Pierre at all. They’re fictitious characters I made up to share a small part of my experience from living away from home.

Wow. A REAL disclaimer notice! Crap. Gotta start writing on lighter topics. Definitely :)

By the way, if you watch Hindi movies, you might want to watch ‘My Name is Khan’. It gets lots of mixed reviews but I liked it. It has a nice story: it’s about a Muslim boy who’s autistic and moves to America. The way it’s portrayed made me feel errm sebak dada… (heart-filling? That’s a bad translation :P)

Oh, and the church hymn had me humming to it for 3 days straight. Honestly :D

Light

This was taken outside a Bedouin village. Can you see the man's face with his mouth open? They believe(d) that the sun set each day after that very hungry man ate up the sun, and each morning, it rose because it was so hot that he was forced to let it out again.

Just another folklore on sunsets, huh? I loved it though :)

I wish I had the picture of the desert night sky, but I didn't think of taking a picture then. Definitely one of the best experiences in a foreign land.

This is a castle in Alexandria. Those clouds overhead are storm clouds. It was eerily beautiful, especially with the bits of sunlight breaking through. But the best part of Alexandria was the ocean, pictures of which I hope to share sometime soon!

This was at Hurghada. The sunrise was very peaceful, and the lone camel grazing near the pokok kurma (I'm not too sure what you call it in English) was just asking to be photographed.

Night lights along the road, next to a running river. I have no idea why it makes me think of goals that one wishes to reach in life, the aspiration for a dream, the effort to make it reality. That little light on the top is the reflection against the windowpane :P

An eclipse that we saw right here on campus two years ago. The Mayans believed the eclipse foretold the ending of an era, Hindus have numerous superstitions concerning any eclipse, more so a lunar one. I thought it looked a bit like a human iris, with the little pupil in the centre letting in light.

I know this looks like a postcard, but one of us snapped this image when we were on the Nile, that time in Egypt. That is the Nile bank, upon which lies the history of ancient civilisations and laid the foundation for today's. The perfect form of the sun and the dark silhouetted palms and shrubs look even better in real life.