I have no fingers to feel with,
no one to reach out for.
My breath comes in little wisps,
pale ghosts telling me
I'm alive.
In the twilight darkness,
my mind is hypaethral,
perhaps even transparent.
Quis operor sequor?
Est is sententia
vel est is flumen in suus tractus??
Lacuna es decessio mihi.
English est haud diutius meus castrum.
(What do I follow?
Is it thought
or is it a river in its course?
The words are leaving me.
English is no longer my forte.)
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Poem
Lights sparkle, fiery and hazy
in lukewarm water jets
pounding my numb skin.
A taste of being almost home.
Back when I was little
and a bath
involved
me and one of my parents,
in a bathroom
filled
with bright plastic buckets,
I'd close my eyes
and enjoy the feel of water
pouring over my face,
warm and caressing.
I didn't know then
what it meant -
I am just beginning
to understand the real meaning
of home.
When the simple sensation
of water coursing down my face
and washing away tears
feels like a caress from all those years ago.
When I can almost smell
the flavors
in my mother's kitchen -
fresh coriander,
tamarind,
freshly-grated tender coconut
for festivals
I can no longer track.
When I dance on the edge
baring my heart
for strangers to read,
trying to find a niche
I can hide in.
When all I want is my freedom
and a kiss, maybe a hug -
so badly that it almost hurts.
in lukewarm water jets
pounding my numb skin.
A taste of being almost home.
Back when I was little
and a bath
involved
me and one of my parents,
in a bathroom
filled
with bright plastic buckets,
I'd close my eyes
and enjoy the feel of water
pouring over my face,
warm and caressing.
I didn't know then
what it meant -
I am just beginning
to understand the real meaning
of home.
When the simple sensation
of water coursing down my face
and washing away tears
feels like a caress from all those years ago.
When I can almost smell
the flavors
in my mother's kitchen -
fresh coriander,
tamarind,
freshly-grated tender coconut
for festivals
I can no longer track.
When I dance on the edge
baring my heart
for strangers to read,
trying to find a niche
I can hide in.
When all I want is my freedom
and a kiss, maybe a hug -
so badly that it almost hurts.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Snow, windiness and a rant about terrorism
I WON NANOWRIMO 2008!
Yes, I wrote a very bad 50,558 word novel in 30 days. Well, I wrote about 30000 in the last five days, but who cares so long as I finished in time to earn my brown winner's badge (look on the right... its there, I promise)!
Its been snowing the last couple of nights, and since yesterday there has been this pretty layer of untouched, inch-deep powdery snow everywhere. Its a beautiful winter wonderland. I love winter, snow, and everything else about winter. Watching snowflakes falling, floating down slowly, dancing on the wings of the wind, soothes and calms my mind no matter how often I see it. Even if I'm on the street and it snows, I love it.
I'm not even from a snowy place - my hometown dosen't even have a proper winter. The only way you can tell its winter is that you aren't sweating when you wake up. So I don't know if it is the mutant gene that made me go into medicine that also makes me love winter.
I was sick on Thanksgiving day - I had a migraine, I threw up twice, lots of fun. Then, I heard about the attacks in Mumbai. Eeek. Mumbai. My hometown. YIKES.
Thank God my family is okay, they arent hurt or anything. But seriously, who creates the indoctrination that killing is right? For any reason? How insane does someone have to believe that doctrine? How heartless do you have to be to knowingly orphan a child? How freakin insane do you have to be to torture a human being - a person - to death?
What ideology, what holy grail could possibly inspire young people to kill and be killed in such a bloody manner? What sort of faith is it that teaches its followers that they would go to heaven for killing others? There wasn't even injustice involved - these don't seem to be revenge killings - I mean, look at the destruction, the bloody remains, the indiscriminate shootings at CST.
Mumbai is resilient, and we're all sick of the repetition that we hope will aid the recovery of this beautiful, historical, wonderful, warm city by the sea. But how do you deal with wounds that scar the psyche of a people?
Seven years ago, I sat transfixed as I watched the twin towers fall in New York. I couldn't believe my eyes, I couldn't believe that one of the places on my must-see-before-I-die list was no more. Seven days ago, I sat horrified as images of my burning city, my wounded hometown, my bleeding people streamed in front of my eyes live on my computer. And I couldn't believe that this was happening. Both times, I was equally sickened by the loss of life. This time, it was the horror that this is home.
We will heal, somehow. We will move on. But the horror will remain. Forever.
I am medicine because I have this lofty dream that I want to change lives for the better. I want at least one life to be better because I touched it. I want to be heroic and save a life. Several lives. This loss of life saddens me. The perpetrators are probably not the ones who died. They will just come up with more of these brainwashed victims and have them believe that they have "seen the way, seen the light." But these young men who held a city to ransom are not much older than I am, they seemed to have been educated, handsome young men who might have had successful lives. What went wrong, what flicked the wrong switch, is something we might never find out. It grieves me that I, who is training to change lives, am powerless to stop the horror touching my own.
Yes, I wrote a very bad 50,558 word novel in 30 days. Well, I wrote about 30000 in the last five days, but who cares so long as I finished in time to earn my brown winner's badge (look on the right... its there, I promise)!
Its been snowing the last couple of nights, and since yesterday there has been this pretty layer of untouched, inch-deep powdery snow everywhere. Its a beautiful winter wonderland. I love winter, snow, and everything else about winter. Watching snowflakes falling, floating down slowly, dancing on the wings of the wind, soothes and calms my mind no matter how often I see it. Even if I'm on the street and it snows, I love it.
I'm not even from a snowy place - my hometown dosen't even have a proper winter. The only way you can tell its winter is that you aren't sweating when you wake up. So I don't know if it is the mutant gene that made me go into medicine that also makes me love winter.
I was sick on Thanksgiving day - I had a migraine, I threw up twice, lots of fun. Then, I heard about the attacks in Mumbai. Eeek. Mumbai. My hometown. YIKES.
Thank God my family is okay, they arent hurt or anything. But seriously, who creates the indoctrination that killing is right? For any reason? How insane does someone have to believe that doctrine? How heartless do you have to be to knowingly orphan a child? How freakin insane do you have to be to torture a human being - a person - to death?
What ideology, what holy grail could possibly inspire young people to kill and be killed in such a bloody manner? What sort of faith is it that teaches its followers that they would go to heaven for killing others? There wasn't even injustice involved - these don't seem to be revenge killings - I mean, look at the destruction, the bloody remains, the indiscriminate shootings at CST.
Mumbai is resilient, and we're all sick of the repetition that we hope will aid the recovery of this beautiful, historical, wonderful, warm city by the sea. But how do you deal with wounds that scar the psyche of a people?
Seven years ago, I sat transfixed as I watched the twin towers fall in New York. I couldn't believe my eyes, I couldn't believe that one of the places on my must-see-before-I-die list was no more. Seven days ago, I sat horrified as images of my burning city, my wounded hometown, my bleeding people streamed in front of my eyes live on my computer. And I couldn't believe that this was happening. Both times, I was equally sickened by the loss of life. This time, it was the horror that this is home.
We will heal, somehow. We will move on. But the horror will remain. Forever.
I am medicine because I have this lofty dream that I want to change lives for the better. I want at least one life to be better because I touched it. I want to be heroic and save a life. Several lives. This loss of life saddens me. The perpetrators are probably not the ones who died. They will just come up with more of these brainwashed victims and have them believe that they have "seen the way, seen the light." But these young men who held a city to ransom are not much older than I am, they seemed to have been educated, handsome young men who might have had successful lives. What went wrong, what flicked the wrong switch, is something we might never find out. It grieves me that I, who is training to change lives, am powerless to stop the horror touching my own.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
NaNoWriMo! and some other things
Ahhhh November. Glorious fall colors are alive all around, and winter is creeping in one finger at a time. I *heart* fall in the midwest, even if it makes my nose itch and my eyes red so no matter how much my feet itch to go out I stubbornly stay home.
My most recent attempt to get off Zyrtec was pretty disastrous - I ended up with an itchy, runny nose paired with psychopath-red eyes. My insomnia might have contributed to the red eyes, which thankfully didnt hurt or itch.
So November is National Novel Writing Month aka NaNoWriMo, and being the absolutely crazy person that I am, I am participating. I very wisely told a lot of people about it, so now I am working on that 50000-word novel. The target, for those who don't understand, is to complete a 50000 word novel in any genre any story in thirty days, from Nov 1 to Nov 30. Check out the Nanowrimo website, its a cool place. I'm an official participant.
I started off okay, then three days in my story dried up, the words wouldn't come any more. 1700 words a day is a huge word belch for me. But then I switched stories, a random seed, and my chatterbox gene came alive a couple of days ago so I powered up Potential Novel No.2 from 500 words to 10900 as of right now. It is really weird because I have been waking up at 4 without needing an alarm for the last couple of mornings to write uninterrupted for two hours before hitching on the all's-perfect-with-my-world mask and leaving for the hospital. I'm currently doing a full-time elective in Pediatric Cardiology, so I'm also reading and researching for that. I am getting more comfortable with reading EKG's, which is good. I'm also picking up murmurs and the differences between the different kinds of murmurs, that is encouraging. All the earphone listening hasnt damaged my hearing, apparently. That is definitely good news.
I've been hitting atleast 1500 words on my morning word belches over the last couple of days, which is great for me. My personal target is 15000 words by tomorrow morning, since I have to devote a couple hours to grocery shopping and shopping for other essentials, such as toilet paper, today. I'm completely out of stock and eating at Au Bon Pain (which is where I'm posting this from - I'm here for the free wi-fi and a change of scene - and for lunch, because I have no food except dry saltine crackers at home) is pretty damn expensive on my strained student budget.
I attended peds cardio clinic today where I saw a three year-old girl with an irregular heartbeat (she has nothing to worry about - she is fine). I was playing and interacting with the busy, curious little kiddie while gathering information from the mother and grandmother about the history, and it was surprisingly easy to handle. The kid was entranced by my stethoscope, and she wanted to play with it, so I gave to her for a couple of minutes while I scribbled my notes and kept asking grandma questions. I let her listen to her own heart, then mine, (she liked my heart better because I was only wearing a single shirt while she was wearing three layers of clothes). I demanded her breakfast cereal from her, because she was my friend and we were supposed to share everything, and it made her laugh because it was in her belly already... It was a fun interaction with the family.
All this joy in less than seven minutes (I blame the step 2 CS for my obsessive timing of clinical encounters), during which I completed my note as well. I have a natural organizing system in my head, a pretty useful tool for presentation. As I offered my opinion to Mom and grandma (with the understanding that my verdict is not yet gold, just a feather yet) along with reassurance that my "friend" was completely fine, grandma asked me a question out of the blue: "Are you going into pediatrics sweetie?"
I just smiled and nodded, while she continued, "I hope you are, darling, we need more pediatricians like you. This is the first time *** has come to a doctor's visit and not cried - she is actually laughing and playing, when it is usually the other way around. God bless you!"
I didn't know what to say, so I just thanked her and ducked out to get my attending, I was pleased and embarrassed. My assessment was pretty much correct and reaffirmed, and the family left with another "God bless you!"
This is one of the first times that I have been so completely comfortable handling a family on my own, though it isn't the first time I have been told I am good with kids. It made my day and lifted my spirits to hear the lady's words, because it reaffirms that I've made the right decision to devote my life to working with children and their parents.
In my last post where I revealed six embarrassing things about myself, I said that I am not comfortable with people, and kids terrify me. It is true that I am an introvert and by extension, I am extremely uncomfortable with being in the spotlight. But I am good with patients and families, and I have an issue with constantly underestimating myself. My fear of interacting with kids comes from my childhood with several cousins younger than I - they all cried as soon as I entered the room they were in, but they would gurgle and coo and babble with my brother. Their mothers would think I was doing something to their babies, and I often got scolded/chastised for "scaring" them. Needless to say, it made me jealous, and left this lasting belief that I am not good with kids. The things you learn about yourself in med school... seem to be varied and interesting. My reluctance to be around people stems from my nerdy and bookish interests, none of which were common in the environment I grew up in. Sure, my mother shares my love of poetry, but she is my mother, not my classmate. Trying to explain the intricacies of iambs and meter and why writing haiku or sonnets is fun to my friends was a waste of energy and dignity, so I ended up being everyone's friend and no one was truly, really mine. Now, I have a voracious appetite for peopling. Having been denied for so many years, medicine is a banquet for my human-starved writing, and a lot of people find their way into my poems and words.
This has been an incredibly long, incredibly random post. I'm amazed at my wordiness considering I've crossed 2000 words on my NaNo today, plus all the other's I've written and spoken, and there are more bubbling up in my head that I am trying to catch.
Today, life is good.
My most recent attempt to get off Zyrtec was pretty disastrous - I ended up with an itchy, runny nose paired with psychopath-red eyes. My insomnia might have contributed to the red eyes, which thankfully didnt hurt or itch.
So November is National Novel Writing Month aka NaNoWriMo, and being the absolutely crazy person that I am, I am participating. I very wisely told a lot of people about it, so now I am working on that 50000-word novel. The target, for those who don't understand, is to complete a 50000 word novel in any genre any story in thirty days, from Nov 1 to Nov 30. Check out the Nanowrimo website, its a cool place. I'm an official participant.
I started off okay, then three days in my story dried up, the words wouldn't come any more. 1700 words a day is a huge word belch for me. But then I switched stories, a random seed, and my chatterbox gene came alive a couple of days ago so I powered up Potential Novel No.2 from 500 words to 10900 as of right now. It is really weird because I have been waking up at 4 without needing an alarm for the last couple of mornings to write uninterrupted for two hours before hitching on the all's-perfect-with-my-world mask and leaving for the hospital. I'm currently doing a full-time elective in Pediatric Cardiology, so I'm also reading and researching for that. I am getting more comfortable with reading EKG's, which is good. I'm also picking up murmurs and the differences between the different kinds of murmurs, that is encouraging. All the earphone listening hasnt damaged my hearing, apparently. That is definitely good news.
I've been hitting atleast 1500 words on my morning word belches over the last couple of days, which is great for me. My personal target is 15000 words by tomorrow morning, since I have to devote a couple hours to grocery shopping and shopping for other essentials, such as toilet paper, today. I'm completely out of stock and eating at Au Bon Pain (which is where I'm posting this from - I'm here for the free wi-fi and a change of scene - and for lunch, because I have no food except dry saltine crackers at home) is pretty damn expensive on my strained student budget.
I attended peds cardio clinic today where I saw a three year-old girl with an irregular heartbeat (she has nothing to worry about - she is fine). I was playing and interacting with the busy, curious little kiddie while gathering information from the mother and grandmother about the history, and it was surprisingly easy to handle. The kid was entranced by my stethoscope, and she wanted to play with it, so I gave to her for a couple of minutes while I scribbled my notes and kept asking grandma questions. I let her listen to her own heart, then mine, (she liked my heart better because I was only wearing a single shirt while she was wearing three layers of clothes). I demanded her breakfast cereal from her, because she was my friend and we were supposed to share everything, and it made her laugh because it was in her belly already... It was a fun interaction with the family.
All this joy in less than seven minutes (I blame the step 2 CS for my obsessive timing of clinical encounters), during which I completed my note as well. I have a natural organizing system in my head, a pretty useful tool for presentation. As I offered my opinion to Mom and grandma (with the understanding that my verdict is not yet gold, just a feather yet) along with reassurance that my "friend" was completely fine, grandma asked me a question out of the blue: "Are you going into pediatrics sweetie?"
I just smiled and nodded, while she continued, "I hope you are, darling, we need more pediatricians like you. This is the first time *** has come to a doctor's visit and not cried - she is actually laughing and playing, when it is usually the other way around. God bless you!"
I didn't know what to say, so I just thanked her and ducked out to get my attending, I was pleased and embarrassed. My assessment was pretty much correct and reaffirmed, and the family left with another "God bless you!"
This is one of the first times that I have been so completely comfortable handling a family on my own, though it isn't the first time I have been told I am good with kids. It made my day and lifted my spirits to hear the lady's words, because it reaffirms that I've made the right decision to devote my life to working with children and their parents.
In my last post where I revealed six embarrassing things about myself, I said that I am not comfortable with people, and kids terrify me. It is true that I am an introvert and by extension, I am extremely uncomfortable with being in the spotlight. But I am good with patients and families, and I have an issue with constantly underestimating myself. My fear of interacting with kids comes from my childhood with several cousins younger than I - they all cried as soon as I entered the room they were in, but they would gurgle and coo and babble with my brother. Their mothers would think I was doing something to their babies, and I often got scolded/chastised for "scaring" them. Needless to say, it made me jealous, and left this lasting belief that I am not good with kids. The things you learn about yourself in med school... seem to be varied and interesting. My reluctance to be around people stems from my nerdy and bookish interests, none of which were common in the environment I grew up in. Sure, my mother shares my love of poetry, but she is my mother, not my classmate. Trying to explain the intricacies of iambs and meter and why writing haiku or sonnets is fun to my friends was a waste of energy and dignity, so I ended up being everyone's friend and no one was truly, really mine. Now, I have a voracious appetite for peopling. Having been denied for so many years, medicine is a banquet for my human-starved writing, and a lot of people find their way into my poems and words.
This has been an incredibly long, incredibly random post. I'm amazed at my wordiness considering I've crossed 2000 words on my NaNo today, plus all the other's I've written and spoken, and there are more bubbling up in my head that I am trying to catch.
Today, life is good.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Six Unspectacular Things About Myself
Brenda tagged me to reveal six embarrassing things about myself.
1. I cannot wake up in the morning - I think 8 am is early, but I manage to kick myself out of bed by 6:30 during the week. Don't ask me how.
2. I read/write poetry during study time.
3. I cannot sit still in a classroom atmosphere - I zone out, write poetry/stories/journal entries. I'm still able to answer questions and participate in intellectual discussions - no idea how. My multitasking talents are honed to perfection, I guess.
4. I abhor paperwork, but I am entering a profession where it is the be-all end-all. God save my soul.
5. I am not comfortable dealing with other people's kids. Or with people, period. I'm going into Pediatrics. Yikes.
6. I don't have a single picture from a single birthday since my second one. Even though I celebrated some of them.
Terms & conditions!
1. link the person who tagged you: Brenda
2. mention the rules on your blog: (these are them).
3. list 6 unspectacular things about you: (see above)
4. tag 6 other bloggers by linking them: Brenda, do you honestly think I read blogs other than yours? Yikes.
1. I cannot wake up in the morning - I think 8 am is early, but I manage to kick myself out of bed by 6:30 during the week. Don't ask me how.
2. I read/write poetry during study time.
3. I cannot sit still in a classroom atmosphere - I zone out, write poetry/stories/journal entries. I'm still able to answer questions and participate in intellectual discussions - no idea how. My multitasking talents are honed to perfection, I guess.
4. I abhor paperwork, but I am entering a profession where it is the be-all end-all. God save my soul.
5. I am not comfortable dealing with other people's kids. Or with people, period. I'm going into Pediatrics. Yikes.
6. I don't have a single picture from a single birthday since my second one. Even though I celebrated some of them.
Terms & conditions!
1. link the person who tagged you: Brenda
2. mention the rules on your blog: (these are them).
3. list 6 unspectacular things about you: (see above)
4. tag 6 other bloggers by linking them: Brenda, do you honestly think I read blogs other than yours? Yikes.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Wishful
Its a crazy month, stressful and exciting. I love it and hate it, all the guessing. Waiting for residency interviews is nailbiting-scary. And I stopped biting my nails in 1996.
The worst are the would-be-friendly rejection letters, because each of the programs I applied to have been carefully chosen. Of course, I have my step 1 score to thank for the showing so far, and I should get more starting Nov, once the MSPE's are released to programs. I think my MSPE looks good enough to garner me a few interviews more.
Its disconcerting to hear others say things like they have 15-20 interviews already - jeez. You popular, ideal doctor, go away from my life. Really. Stop making me feel inadequate already!
I want to get a good residency; I want it so bad it hurts sometimes. I want to be free of worrying! This whole process is going to drag on for six months, right until March. ITS TOO DAMN LONG!!!
The worst are the would-be-friendly rejection letters, because each of the programs I applied to have been carefully chosen. Of course, I have my step 1 score to thank for the showing so far, and I should get more starting Nov, once the MSPE's are released to programs. I think my MSPE looks good enough to garner me a few interviews more.
Its disconcerting to hear others say things like they have 15-20 interviews already - jeez. You popular, ideal doctor, go away from my life. Really. Stop making me feel inadequate already!
I want to get a good residency; I want it so bad it hurts sometimes. I want to be free of worrying! This whole process is going to drag on for six months, right until March. ITS TOO DAMN LONG!!!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Coelomic Musings 3
{One of a series of poems from the hospital}
My thoughts are imprisoned
outside the window
like moths trying to get in
to burn themselves at the altar
of your bedside reading lamp.
I sit with you,
my body a question mark
dangling on a chair,
you a semicolon curled
in paralysis.
Together we watch
technicolor miracles - a red-blazered witch
speaks of deaths, lives, money.
The quiet ticking of the clock
becomes too loud and long
from eon to eon.
I hallucinate about endless sea,
open cloud and free wind.
Freshly mown grass
and new delivered button roses
offer a moment's glimpse
at Life as we both once knew it.
Your grateful touch
brings my skewered perception
to book, the razor-edge of death
is walkable again.
I dont need caffeine anymore
My thoughts are imprisoned
outside the window
like moths trying to get in
to burn themselves at the altar
of your bedside reading lamp.
I sit with you,
my body a question mark
dangling on a chair,
you a semicolon curled
in paralysis.
Together we watch
technicolor miracles - a red-blazered witch
speaks of deaths, lives, money.
The quiet ticking of the clock
becomes too loud and long
from eon to eon.
I hallucinate about endless sea,
open cloud and free wind.
Freshly mown grass
and new delivered button roses
offer a moment's glimpse
at Life as we both once knew it.
Your grateful touch
brings my skewered perception
to book, the razor-edge of death
is walkable again.
I dont need caffeine anymore
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