I feel selfish for getting the first batch of AstraZeneca — a Malaysian vaccine experience.

At that time, I was already tuning out from most news media to preserve my mental sanctity. I only got through the opt-in* because my husband signed me up on a whim at 3 pm — when registrations had already started by 12 pm. I wasn’t aware there was a vaccine supply delay. I didn’t know about the blood clot incidents. I knew the daily number of cases was going up dramatically, but I didn’t know that the new variants were already on our shores. That more children were starting to get sick with this dreadful airbug. By some miraculous (or to some rather accursed) technical glitch of the system, my husband and I got a slot each for our first dose of AstraZeneca (AZ) vaccine.

In the days approaching my vaccination, I had many uncomfortable conversations with friends and family. I was categorised in the “high-risk” group, as a woman below her 40s, about to receive the blood-clot famous vaccine. At the same time, the probability of suffering a serious side effect from the AZ was still lower than getting hit by lightning or being in a plane crash (disclaimer: these were random comparisons gathered from casual conversations, don’t quote me). It was easy for me, at the end of the day, to simply brush off each concerned inquiry with, “well, no such thing as 100% risk-free in anything lah”.

I vaguely contemplated, as my appointment day got closer, if I should write a will, or drop all my closest friends a voice note of last-minute endearments. But luckily I got too busy to even worry. “Well if it happens, surely, I have some time between the warning signs and final moments to say some last words” I brusquely popped any rising bubble of paranoia.

The day came. I saw the long lines of cars parked and people being dropped off, police and volunteers ushering people into their queues, and felt a surge of courage and hope wash away any residual fear. If I had to be that one unlucky collateral damage: let it be for the cause of science and progress AKA no-hard-feelings — and with that marched on into my first mass gathering in months.

The entire experience was euphoria. I took my jab at the World Trade Center. The venue itself held the nostalgia of times when I was there before. Mostly to haggle for the best deals at the country’s biggest travel fair, MATTA. Cramped halls filled with frenzied promoters and shoulder to shoulder queues at makeshift counters- a strange and distant time. (In truth, it was just two years back.)

This is it. One step closer to “normalcy”.

Yet in less than an hour, my euphoria was short-lived — the next dose is in three months. Would I be lucky enough to be first in line again?

In the weeks after, the second batch of the #cucukmyAZ opt-in was rolled out. Demands went off the roof- the AZ was finally added into the national immunisation program. Only then it occurred to me that getting on the first batch was decidedly a one in a million lottery win on our lives, so much for vaccine equity.

Still, I was glad to have played a part in making up the numbers to reach herd immunity. I am proud to be a catalyst of change in perception towards AZ. I was part of a sample group that proved there is as much express interest as loud naysayers. I am cognisant too, perhaps I have taken away someone elses’ privilege to be protected. Perhaps I should have waited for my turn in the national program. But this is not why I felt selfish — after all, the opportunity fell onto my lap without me asking.

It is the reason why I was so pumped up to get vaccinated in the first place that I felt truly selfish for. While people were busy trying to discern noise from truth and differentiate research from rumours, I made up my mind to get vaccinated, be it the AZ, Sinovac or what’s not- for one. simple. reason:

I wanted to be free. And do whatever it takes to get a vaccine passport.

These were ultimately the driving forces that diverted me from the can of worms surrounding the Covid-19 vaccines. Despite the well-intentioned assertions of experts that vaccine reluctance can be overcome with better and clearer dissemination of information, this wasn’t the case with me. I was lured in by the carrot- regardless if the carrot was genuine, or make-belief. To me, a fake carrot is still better than a whoop in the butt, which by this metaphorical equivalent meant losing out on life and living because of Covid.

*For some context on the opt in: Khairy: Registration for AstraZeneca vaccine volunteers to begin Sunday (May 2) | The Star