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260118 Diary

Sundays have a way of announcing themselves gently, especially when breakfast is taken at home and no one is in a hurry to declare what comes next. The house eased into the day at its own pace, the sort of morning where the kettle boils without urgency and the table looks briefly like it might stay that way for a while. Rounds began later than usual, which already felt like a small indulgence. The hospital, mercifully, was calm. Not empty, but manageable. Conversations were unhurried, corridors navigable, the sort of morning that allows you to think in full sentences rather than fragments. I was back before noon, which felt faintly rebellious, even though it really shouldn’t. The afternoon belonged to Idlan. We headed out to Sunway University to have a look around and talk courses, the quiet seriousness of decisions beginning to form. We took a Grab, wisely avoiding the inevitable parking drama and the crowds that seem to gather instinctively whenever an event is labelled “open day”. The campus itself was impressive in that confident, well-organised way — clear signposts, helpful people, a sense that someone had thought this through properly. It made the prospect of choosing a new direction feel less daunting, more deliberate. By the time we left, appetites had caught up with us. Lunch was at Sukiya in Pavilion Bukit Damansara. It was busy — properly busy — which still feels slightly novel. I remember when the place was quiet enough to wonder whether it would last. Now it hums along confidently, bowls moving briskly from kitchen to table. Success, it seems, arrives quietly and then refuses to leave. We wandered into the new Marks & Spencer outlet afterwards. Idlan approached the biscuit and chocolate section with the seriousness of someone conducting important research. Arms filled quickly. I made a brief attempt at restraint, then remembered it was Sunday and thought better of it. Home again, the afternoon insisted on a nap. I didn’t argue. There is a particular kind of tiredness that arrives after a day that has been pleasant but full, and it deserves respect. Dinner was simple — salad, eaten without ceremony — the sort of meal that signals closure rather than celebration. By evening, the house settled again. Bags were readied, thoughts gently aligned with the week ahead. Nothing dramatic, nothing unresolved. Just the quiet satisfaction of a Sunday that did what it was meant to do: restore a little order, offer a glimpse forward, and leave enough energy to begin again.