Current Status: Flossing Like a Pro (And potentially saving the economy? Yes.)

Okay, we need to talk about The Transformation. This year, I have become... A Person Who Cares About Her Teeth. I know, I know! Usually, I treat my dentist appointments like a suggestion rather than an actual date, but things have changed. Big, adult things.

​It all started with a realization. I looked at my salary, did some frantic mental math, and discovered the shocking truth: I am officially a Taxpayer. I have reached the "Grown-Up Level" where the government wants a piece of the pie. Panic!

​But then—lightbulb moment—I remembered that Malaysia is actually quite wonderful. There are Tax Reliefs! And one of them is for Rawatan Pergigian (up to RM 1,000!).

​Suddenly, my dental health wasn't just about "not having cavities"—it was a Strategic Financial Move. I’m not just getting a scaling and polishing; I’m optimizing my fiscal position. It’s basically like being a corporate genius, but with minty-fresh breath.

​I’ve started flossing. Diligently. Every. Single. Night. I used to look at floss and think, "Who has the time for this tiny string?" but now, every time I go between a molar, I think, "Take that, tax bracket!" It turns out, the secret to perfect dental hygiene isn't vanity—it's Accounting. Who knew? My dentist is happy, the LHDN is satisfied (probably), and my bank account is feeling very smug indeed.

​Is it weird that I’m actually excited for my next check-up? Does this mean I’ve finally 'made it' as an adult? Help!

​The "Dental Tax Strategist" Goals:

• ​Flossing Consistency: 10/10 (Powered by the fear of overpaying tax).
• ​Current Mood: Financially savvy and strangely minty.
• ​Pro Tip: If you see me smiling extra wide, I’m just showing off my "tax-deductible" pearly whites.

To strength, sweat, and showing up every day —

Finding power in motherhood and muscle

Current Status: Certified Office Superhero (Cape is currently at the cleaners)

Oh. My. Goodness. If this week were a movie, it would be a high-stakes thriller involving folders, spreadsheets, and a very intimidating auditor.

​It all started on Monday. The ANAB Audit began. And let me tell you, "Audit" is just a fancy word for "Let’s see if we can make you sweat while you hunt for a document from three years ago." We were justifying everything. I felt like I was on trial for a crime I didn't commit (The crime of... filing?).

​But wait! Just as I was about to reach for the emergency Jacob Biscuit, the Plot Twist arrived. HQ called. Apparently, the utility bills are higher than last year. And because I am the Official Utility Officer (a title that sounds much more glamorous than it actually is), my boss asked for a full justification.

​The Deadline: Wednesday.

The Problem: The audit also ends Wednesday.

The Other Problem: I had to finalize the procurement for instrument spare parts by... you guessed it... Wednesday.

​By Monday evening, the Anxiety Monster was tapping me on the shoulder. I was looking at the clock, then at my to-do list, then back at the clock. It was a mathematical impossibility! But then, I remembered the Magic Words a wise person once taught me:

​"No worries. One by one."

​It’s a mantra. It’s a lifesaver. It’s basically a spa day for the brain.

​So, I put my head down. I dodged the auditors, I ran analysis like a woman possessed, and I fetched documents like a champion retriever. And today? On Wednesday? I DID IT. Procurement? Finished. Utility justification? Sent. Workout? Squeezed in! (My leggings are the only things holding me together right now).

​And the icing on the cake? My boss—who is, shall we say, a highly enthusiastic micro-manager—actually praised me! He was confident in my investigation. He trusted me. I’ve literally screenshotted the message and saved it in a folder called "Evidence of My Genius." It is my trophy. My Olympic Gold.

​There are still two days left in the week, but you know what? Those are "Future Me" problems. Right now, I am sitting in the glory of Day Three.

​One by one, ladies. One. By. One.

​The Mid-Week Victory Tally:

• ​Auditors satisfied: 100% (I think they were scared of my determined face).
• ​Micro-manager praises: 1 (Adding this to my CV immediately).
• ​Missing analysis worsheet (and my pen) found during document search: 2 (A secondary win!).
• ​Current Mood: Smug. Intensely, beautifully smug.

To strength, sweat, and showing up every day —

Finding power in motherhood and muscle

Weekly Goals: Operation Stay Alive for Small People

• The Undergarment Struggle: Buy a sports bra that doesn't require a GPS and a team of three people to help me get out of.

• The Green Challenge: Eat exactly one green thing per day. (Note: Parsley garnish on a pizza unfortunately does not count).

• The Stealth Jog: Attempt a "jog"—even if it is just running toward the ice cream van to tell it "No, thank you" (while sobbing internally).

• Strategic Hiding: Find a more sophisticated hiding spot for the "emergency chocolate" because the toddlers have officially cracked the code on the top shelf.

To strength, sweat, and showing up every day —

Finding power in motherhood and muscle

 

The Official Pros and Cons of My "Stay Alive for the Small People" Plan

 THE PROS (The Dream):

• The Spandex Aesthetic: I get to wear leggings all day and tell people it’s "activewear" rather than "I haven’t found my jeans since 2024."

• Superhero Status: My kids might actually believe I have superhuman strength when I lift them both at once without making that unfortunate grunting sound.

• The Glow: Apparently, eating greens gives you a "radiant complexion." (Currently, my glow is just sweat, but I’m told it evolves).

• Future Planning: Staying healthy means I’ll have enough energy to embarrass them at their 21st birthdays. This is a top priority.

THE CONS (The Harsh Reality):

• Kale: It tastes like a recycled cardboard box that once held a much nicer salad. Why is it so crunchy?

• The 6:00 AM Alarm: My bed and I have a very deep, committed relationship. Breaking up with it for a treadmill feels like a betrayal of the highest order.

• Mathematical Exhaustion: Trying to calculate "macros" when I can barely remember where I put my car keys is a cruel and unusual punishment.

• The Vegetable Standoff: It is very difficult to tell a toddler to "eat your carrots, they’re delicious!" while your own face is Twisted in a Mask of Pure Agony.

---

Verdict: The spinach stays. The morning alarm is on probation. The kids are worth it (mostly).

To strength, sweat, and showing up every day —

Finding power in motherhood and muscle