Celebratory Meals at Shinmapo & Kung Jung Korean Restaurants

My Recent Realisation

I realised I no longer celebrate milestones the way I once did. There was a time when achievements felt incomplete unless they were announced, shared, or marked in a visible way. These days, I find myself doing the opposite. I tend to let the moment settle before deciding whether it needs to be explained at all.

Recently, two Korean meals (one at Shinmapo and another at Kung Jung) became those markers for me. Not in an obvious way but they simply arrived at the right time, where I am more aware of how far I have come, and more selective about what deserves my energy.

The Down-to-Earth Vibe of Shinmapo

Shinmapo felt familiar and grounding. The food was hearty and uncomplicated, the kind that does not demand attention but offers comfort through consistency. Think KBBQ pork in different cuts, refillable banchan, and plenty of kimchi.

There is something reassuring about meals like this, especially when they are shared with friends. They remind you that steadiness is a form of strength, and achievements do not always have to be impressive to be meaningful. Happiness, when shared, is happiness gained.

The Refined Vibe of Kung Jung

Kung Jung, on the other hand, carried a different tone. The experience was more refined and more composed. Think Hanwoo beef, pollack, beef ribs, yukhoe (Korean-style beef tartare). It was mostly measured and intentional, much like the mindset I find myself in now. There was no rush or the need to prove anything. Just be present.

Embracing the Co-Existence

What struck me was not the contrast between the two restaurants, but how naturally they coexisted within the same period of my life. Familiarity and growth do not cancel each other out. In this season, I am learning that it is possible to hold both and to appreciate where I am now.

These meals did not feel like celebrations in the traditional sense. They felt more like acknowledgements. A recognition that something has shifted, that certain chapters have closed, and I have come to appreciate this quieter way of marking time.

Not every win needs to be explained. Some are meant to be quietly celebrated and fully owned. Period.

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This Was Never a Detour

Once Upon A Time in Secondary School

After SPM, I applied to nursing school in USM and was accepted.

I remember that moment clearly. It felt right. It felt certain. But my mother said NO, and that was the end of that path, at least for then.

So I stayed. I did my STPM. I continued studying pure science subjects. It wasn't easy. Life wasn't exactly great at home, but that's another story to tell.

Graduated from University of Malaya (UM)

I entered University of Malaya and graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Education (Honours) with Distinction, majoring in Biology with a minor in Chemistry. I was very proud that I did well.

My Career Path Throughout the Years

Somewhere along the way, my career took me into marketing.

To an outsider, it might look like a sharp turn. To me, it felt more like translation. I learned how to communicate, influence, build systems, and tell stories. These are skills that later found their way back into healthcare in unexpected forms. I worked closely with medical institutions, health services, and patient-facing platforms. For a long time, that felt like home.

Before enrolling in my Master of Marketing, I almost chose a Master of Public Health instead. I remember hesitating. Not because I lacked interest, but because I questioned legitimacy. I wasn't a doctor. My professional experience lived elsewhere. So I chose the path that aligned most neatly with my resume.

That choice made sense. And yet, the question never fully went away.

My Recent Outlook

More recently, I noticed myself looking again. This time at micro-credentials, short courses, certification programmes, anything that would allow me to re-enter the healthcare landscape without uprooting my life. Not to start over, but to reconnect.

That was how I found myself enrolling in a chaperone and companionship course focused on ageing and caregiving. And later, being accepted into a formal programme on ageing and geriatric rehabilitation, a course I will take in a later season, when timing allows.

Am I Complicating Things?

For a while, I wondered if I was complicating things.

But then I realised something important:

This was never a detour.

From nursing school to science education, from public health curiosity to healthcare work, from caregiving to geriatric learning: the thread has always been there. What changed were the forms, shaped by family, feasibility, responsibility, and season of life.

I am no longer trying to become who I wanted to be at eighteen.

I am becoming who I can be now, with clarity, maturity, and intention.

Some callings do not disappear when they are deferred. They wait patiently until we are ready to hold them properly.

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Learning to Care, Before We Have To

The following reflection builds on an earlier piece about finding my way back to healthcare; not by changing careers, but by integrating care into how I live.

Malaysia, an ageing nation.

Malaysia is changing quietly, steadily, and in ways that will touch almost every family. We are now considered an ageing nation, and alongside that shift comes a reality many of us are only beginning to confront: caregiving is no longer optional, distant, or theoretical.

After reflecting on my own relationship with healthcare and why I've been drawn back to it, this post moves from reflection to action, and why I chose to start learning how to care, before circumstances force us to.

Conversations around me.

Lately, when I speak to friends with ageing parents, the same sentence keeps appearing in different forms: "It's not easy to find a caretaker who can take care of my parents well."

Good and trusted caretakers and home nurses who can come to the house are not only difficult to find; they can be costly in the long run. Many families are navigating dementia, Parkinson's, mobility loss, post-stroke recovery, or the slow erosion of independence that comes with age. Almost everyone I know has some version of this story unfolding in their home.

It is not only my friends. Many of my in-laws' peers are living with some form of cancer, diabetes, heart disease, relapses, and chronic conditions - whether being actively treated or quietly endured.

A quiet realisation.

And slowly, it becomes impossible to ignore the truth:

My in-laws are ageing.

One day, my husband will age too.

And so will I.

This awareness has shifted something in me.

I am not a doctor, and at this stage of life, I don't need to be. What I do need is the ability to respond calmly, competently, and compassionately; someone who does not freeze when an elderly parent falls, forgets, weakens, or needs help with the most basic human tasks.

I want at least one person in the household who understands ageing, who can respond with calm, knowledge, and compassion.

Taking action.

That desire led me to register for the "Chaperon & Companionship Course: The First Step in Caregiving" by Care Concierge Malaysia. It's a practical programme that introduces essential skills such as basic health assessment, patient communication, observation, mobility support, and personal care.

Around the same time, I was accepted into a formal programme on Ageing & Geriatric Rehabilitation. Although I had to decline the intake due to timing, the decision to return in the later part of the year felt intentional rather than disappointing. Some learning needs space. Some knowledge deserves readiness. This is one of them.

Getting myself ready.

2026 will be a year of grounding - finishing my Master of Marketing, deepening my work, and continuing to learn through hands-on caregiving exposure.

By 2027, I shall be ready to step into structured geriatric training with clarity, intention, and emotional maturity. Not because I am certain this will become my full-time path, but because I believe some knowledge is too important to postpone.

Caregiving, to me, is not a career move or a credential chase. It is a form of readiness for my family and for the realities that will arrive whether we plan for them or not.

In a society that is growing older, choosing to learn how to care is not dramatic. It is practical, humane, and something I would rather do early, calmly, and with intention before we have to.

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Finding My Way Back to Healthcare

I have always wanted to be a doctor.

Some of you might know that I have always wanted to be a medical doctor. Not casually. Not as a childhood phase.

It was a quiet, persistent knowing that followed me into adulthood, you know, the pull towards medicine, care, understanding the human body, and being present in moments that matter most.

Life, of course, took me elsewhere. That particular path is no longer feasible, and I have made my peace with that, or so I thought.

Over the years...

I built a meaningful career in marketing, eventually finding myself working closely within healthcare organisations. For a long time, that felt like enough. I was still in the industry I loved. Still learning. Still close to care, even if not at the bedside.

Then, gradually, some of those containers disappeared.

Roles changed. Chapters ended. A venture I believed in came to an abrupt close.

And suddenly, I realised something that unsettled me more than I expected. I no longer felt inside the healthcare world. I was adjacent to it, serving it, speaking about it, but no longer held by it.

Grieving is necessary.

That realisation triggered a quiet grief. Not because I wanted to change careers. Not because I was unhappy with what I do. But because I had lost proximity to something that once felt like home.

Healthcare, for me, has never been about titles or prestige. It has always been about care, dignity, vulnerability, and being useful when things are fragile.

Somewhere along the way, I began to miss that deeply human dimension, the kind that cannot be fully accessed through strategy decks or analytics dashboards.

Looking for my way back in.

I started looking for ways back in. Not dramatic ones. Not radical pivots. But honest, age-appropriate, sustainable ones.

And so, I enrolled in a one-day caregiving-related course; it's practical, grounded, human.

I will blog about this after completing it.

I was also accepted into a professional certificate programme focused on ageing and rehabilitation. Even though I had to decline the intake due to timing, the decision to return in a later part of the year felt right; it's unrushed, intentional.

I know I am not trying to become a doctor anymore.

But I am also not willing to let that part of me disappear.

My next blog post (Learning to Care, Before We Have To) explores why I focus on ageing care.

When growth requires intentional integration.

What I am doing now is something quieter. It's called integrating.

Integrating who I have become with who I once wanted to be. Integrating knowledge with care. Integrating work with life, family, ageing, and the realities that are already knocking at our doors.

I don't know yet what this will lead to. And for once, I'm okay with not knowing.

Some learning is not about outcomes. It's about belonging and returning, differently.

And maybe this is what growing older with intention looks like: not chasing old dreams, but finding new ways to honour them.

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Choosing Closure Without Agreement

This reflection is about a personal season of growth and discernment. It is not written in reference to any individual relationship or organisation.

After writing my previous post, I was somewhat shocked that the story wasn't quite over yet.

Because apparently there was still one more decision to make to formally close the door even though the ending still didn't feel quite fair.

And seriously, that was harder than I expected.

I said I wanted peace of mind, but honestly, I didn't want to lie to myself. I didn't want to pretend that what happened was okay, or that it didn't matter. Because it did and still does.

For a while, I thought closure meant I had to agree with the outcome. That I had to make sense of it, or accept it fully, before moving on. But I'm learning that this isn't true.

Closure Doesn't Require Agreement

I arrive at a new level of comprehension that closure doesn't require agreement.

Signing off on an ending doesn't mean I approve of how things were handled. It doesn't mean I've forgotten the effort, the care, or the sacrifices that went into that chapter. It simply means I no longer want to stay connected to something that no longer aligns with who I am.

I'm not trying to erase the experience. I'm choosing not to stay stuck in it. There's a stark difference.

Stepping Away Graciously

Holding on to the feeling of injustice was costing me more than letting go. Not just in time or energy, but in peace of mind.

So in the end, I chose to agree to step away without needing everything to feel resolved.

Some chapters don't end with fairness or closure in the way we hope for. They end when we decide that staying no longer serves us.

No bitterness, just self-respect.

Let me carry the lesson forward and leave the weight behind.

And that feels like the right place to end this chapter.

Here's to the Year of the Fiery Horse.

No more looking back.

Let's gallop forward! Lighter, braver, and ready for success.

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When a Chapter Ends Without Apology

This reflection is about a personal season of growth and discernment. It is not written in reference to any individual relationship or organisation.

Some endings don't come with shouting or drama.

They come with silence, paperwork, and a sudden shift in the story you thought you were building.

Just very recently, I walked away from something I had invested deeply in, not just with time and work, but with belief.

I stayed longer than my instincts suggested I should. I saw the red flags. I acknowledged them. But I chose to hope, to commit, and to honour the version of the future I thought we were building together.

And when it had to come to an end, it felt like an inconvenient ultimatum; like I was being discarded because there was no other choice. That part hurt more than I expected.

But healing has a way of softening the narrative.

What I now see is this: I didn't ignore my instincts. I simply allowed my values to lead.

I stayed because I believe in loyalty. In building things with care. In not abandoning people or projects the moment things become complicated.

That is not foolishness. That is character.

The ending forced me to face this difficult truth: sometimes, people are not building the same kind of thing you are. Some are creating a future. Others are protecting an income. And when those two visions collide, something has to give.

This time, it was the story I thought I belonged to.

I recently came across a line from Ejae that stayed with me.

Rejection is redirection.

At first, it sounded too philosophical. But the more I sit with it, the more it feels true. Not every closed door is a loss. Some are quiet course corrections, i.e., life intervening before your integrity is slowly worn down by compromises you were never meant to make.

I didn't lose a chapter. I was released from a version of the future that could no longer hold who I am becoming.

And I'm choosing to carry that lesson forward, not with bitterness, but with clarity, self-respect, and a deeper trust in my own voice.

Sometimes, the bravest thing you do isn't staying. It's knowing when to leave without apology.

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My 2026 Reading Reset

Restarting My Physical Book Reading Habit in 2026

Somewhere between work, deadlines, milestones, and life's many tabs open in my head, I stopped reading physical books.

Well, it wasn't done intentionally. Nor did it happen dramatically. The habit just kind of fizzled slowly... as I moved on in life, especially after giving birth.

As I said, the habit slipped away. And it was replaced by scrolling, skimming, saving things I never returned to, and telling myself I'd "get back to books when things calm down."

But things never really calm down, do they? Haha.

Returning to Physical Books

So in 2026, I'm choosing something small, old-fashioned, and deeply personal: I'm returning to physical books.

The rule of thumb: No e-books and audiobooks, articles, summaries, or even content for work. They should be real books with covers, pages, bookmarks.

I'm looking forward to real moments of being unreachable because there's something grounding about holding a story in your hands. There should be neither notifications nor multitasking. Just me myself and a world that unfolds one page at a time.

This shouldn't be about productivity. It isn't about finishing X number of books. It's about reading for presence, not speed.

It's about reclaiming attention, rebuilding patience, and remembering how good it feels to sit with a story and let it stay with me.

The Peculiar Children Series by Ransom Riggs

I've already gathered the books I want to begin with a full Ransom Riggs collection of Peculiardom waiting on my shelf. I've collected them throughout the years.

Now, I plan to re-read the first three books slowly, intentionally, and with joy:

1) Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

2) Hollow City

3) Library of Souls

Then, followed by the next three books.

4) A Map of Days

5) The Conference of the Birds

6) The Desolations of Devil’s Acre

Finally, I'll complete the universe with these two companion books:

7) Tales of the Peculiar

8) Miss Peregrine's Museum of Wonders

Then I'll blog about them, not as a critic, not as a reviewer. Just thoughts, feelings, moments.

Maybe this is a midlife thing. Or a healing thing. Or maybe this is just me choosing to spend my time more gently.

But I know this: 2026 is the year I return to books. And I'm excited to begin again.

Wish me luck.

And if you've been thinking about doing the same, maybe this is your sign too.

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A Quiet Promise to Myself for 2026

For 2026, I find myself thinking less about resolutions and more about direction. Not what I want to achieve but who I want to be while I'm achieving it.

The older I get, the clearer it becomes:

Success without peace is empty. Achievement without alignment is exhausting. And ambition without joy is not the life I want.

 

So here's my mantra for 2026, not as a list of goals, but as how I want to show up in 2026.

Wake up early. Drink coffee.

Not because productivity culture demands it, but because there is something grounding about starting the day with intention, in quiet, before the world asks anything of me.

Work hard. Be ambitious.

I still care deeply about building meaningful work. I'm not done growing.

There are still opportunities to do more as I head into midlife; not from a place of proving myself, but from building, creating, and contributing in ways that feel deeply aligned with who I am now, not who I used to be.

Keep your priorities straight, your mind right, and your head up.

Because life will always throw curveballs, but how I respond, that's my responsibility.

Protect your peace. Honour your energy. Choose calm as much as you choose success.

I do not want to glorify burnout and confuse exhaustion with importance. I want a life that feels steady, spacious, and kind to myself.

Don't ever give up.

But know the difference between giving up on yourself and giving up on what no longer serves you.

Some days, persistence looks like pushing forward. Other days, it looks like resting. Or changing direction. Or choosing something kinder for your body, your mind, your life.

Do well, live well, and dress really well.

Because how I show up matters. Not just in meetings and milestones, but in the quiet moments too. Self-respect is a daily practice.

Do what you love. Love what you do.

This used to sound idealistic to me. Now I see it as essential.

Photo taken at The Coffee Department, Level 4, Pantai Hospital Kuala Lumpur.

2026, I'm ready.

Happy New Year.

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