I was at the doctor's this morning, trying to complete a medical check I so unfortunately had to go through.
There I was, half-listening to my mum talk to another guy's dad about flight reservations when one of the RIPAS staff called out my name.
"Lim Ya Wiiin," she said, too loudly for my comfort. I winced. I hadn't heard anyone call me that since...the end of PMB, when we were discussing the shortcomings of our Commerce paper with 'cher Sofy. "Lim Ya Wiiin," the woman repeated.
Shut up, I thought. Just shut up. Your completely wrong pronunciation of my name is humiliating. But no, she didn't shut up. A split second later it hit me: I was supposed to walk over to the counter to get her to stop.
I stared at one of the completely unnecessarily gigantic chandeliers hanging from the ceiling while the lady-who-couldn't-pronounce-my-name told us we were supposed to go to the clinic at Sengkurong to get my form signed. Like, what the hell? Why couldn't we just do it there? At the beeg eemportant hozpitahl where it would've been perfectly convenient to find a doctor to assure me and the gov't that I was utterly healthy.
Lady-who-couldn't-pronounce-my-name then muttered something about something not working/out of order. I frowned and suppressed a groan of complaint. Stupid incompetence.
And that was how my mum and I ended up waiting at the Sengkurong clinic for at least an hour and a half.
I learned that the sound of kids screaming from behind the door marked "Klinik Gigi Kanak-kanak" scares the pants off other little children waiting in line for the dentist. It's a scary thing.
Parents seem to like lying to their children. When I had my injection when I was two, I didn't even know what an "injection" was. Probably thought it was some kind of belated birthday present.
Only when the needle sank into my arm did it open my eyes to something: Parents don't always tell you the truth.
...Because ignorance is bliss.
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