Story 1115: Gastric

Life in a palm oil estate was, in many ways, a beautiful and fulfilling experience.

I was surrounded by endless stretches of green oil palm trees, peaceful staff quarters, and the familiar rhythm of life among the mill and estate workers. Some estates, especially those inherited from the days of foreign management, had remarkably well-planned residential complexes with excellent facilities. There were recreation clubs, schools, football fields, golf courses, beautiful gardens, and carefully maintained landscapes filled with trees and flowers.

The manager's bungalow was often an icon in itself—beautifully designed, spacious, and surrounded by a large compound. Usually, the manager would have a cleaner and a gardener to help maintain the house and its surroundings.

Every morning, my daily routine was simple but satisfying.

I would get ready for work and make sure I arrived at the mill before 7:30 a.m. I would park my car and be greeted by staff and workers who were also arriving for the day. After that, I would make my usual stop at the canteen beside the mill's main gate.

I would sit together with the staff and engineers who were having breakfast. The middle-aged lady running the canteen knew me well. She understood my usual order and would often ask, with a smile, what I wanted to eat and drink.

My breakfast was almost always the same: a bowl of curry Maggi noodles stir-fried with onions and chillies, mixed with cabbage and topped with an egg. Alongside it, I would have a cup of Nescafé tarik made with sweetened condensed milk.

While eating, I would chat with and greet the mill staff as they came and went.

That was my breakfast routine for almost 15 years of life in the palm oil estate.

Then, when I was about 36, something strange started happening.

I usually had lunch quite late—sometimes at noon, but often as late as 2 p.m. if I was busy with work inside the mill or attending meetings. But around 11 a.m., I would suddenly start shaking or trembling for no obvious reason.

The strange thing was that I did not feel hungry.

Yet, once I had lunch, the trembling would disappear.

This happened almost every day.

Then came Ramadan.

Because I was fasting, I naturally stopped having my usual caffeinated drinks during the day. Without realising it at first, I noticed something interesting: the trembling did not happen.

That was when I began to suspect that caffeine—especially the Nescafé I had been drinking every morning—might have been contributing to the gastric problems and discomfort I was experiencing.

Once I became aware of the possible connection, I started changing my habits. I gradually reduced my intake of Nescafé tarik and switched between tea tarik, plain tea, and eventually plain coffee without sugar.

As the years passed, I also began to understand that taking care of my body was no longer as simple as it had been when I was younger.

Now, approaching 50, it is not just gastric problems that I have to think about. Cholesterol, body weight, energy levels, and general fitness also need attention.

I get sleepy more easily. My body sometimes feels sore and tired. My bones and joints no longer feel as strong and flexible as they did in my younger days.

Perhaps this is simply part of growing older.

Age has quietly arrived, and with it comes the need to change our lifestyle according to the condition of our bodies. We cannot continue living exactly as we did when we were young.

The body changes. Our habits must change with it.

Looking back, that simple bowl of Maggi and cup of Nescafé at the estate canteen were more than just breakfast. They were part of 15 years of my life—years filled with work, friendship, laughter, and the peaceful beauty of living among the oil palms.

And perhaps, as we grow older, life teaches us a different kind of lesson:

Enjoy life, but learn to listen to your body.

That is my story today.