On Saturday I went for a medical checkup. The company I’m planning to work for is pretty anal about not paying for my impending cancer, regardless of body parts. My Dad dropped me off at the clinic, which was located in a dodgy area of downtown KL.

The clinic itself was a house of labyrinth, complete with winding stairs, long corridors and unlabelled rooms. It was more nerve-racking being at the clinic than at the job interviews; the place was seriously spooky. After asking a few members of the staff, I finally found the receptionist.

Anyway, I handed my documents to the surprisingly pleasant-faced lady and was asked to take a seat. But I went to the loo instead, courtesy of downing two big glasses of chinese tea at breakfast while watching my Dad devoured his delicious pork noodle. After that, I was called into a room and a girl handed me a small bottle reminiscent of Brand’s Chicken Essence. I told the girl I would try my best.

Trying to collect my pee after I’ve peed, while squatting, would go down in history as one of the most unpleasant things I’ve done. After shifting the weight on my feet for about 10 minutes, I finally got the tap going. It came in trickles, yes, trickles and even my hand wasn’t spared. Ah shut it, Kim, at least you got the bottle half filled I told myself. And the pee was clear so I was deriving some perverse pleasure fantasising about showing off my pee to the man with his bottle of sunshine yellow whom I saw earlier.

Handed my pee to the girl, had my blood taken and was told to wait again. Minutes later, I was asked to