Trying

Today, late at night, I happen to stumble upon a website that figuratively shoves facts of why not to be a doctor into your face and their opinions are backed up by the statistics provided by MMC (Malaysia's Medical Council)

I've known that there is an overpopulation of doctors but I did not know that this issue was serious to an extent that my future, if I am able to successfully graduate, will hold so many uncertainties such as uncertain job security.

The main reason I left everything behind to pursue this is because I wanted to help people. I wanted to change the world, make it a better place, even if it was for just a person. I am in no way insinuating that other professions can't help people, I am just pointing out that for me, studying medicine seems to be the best way, at least that's how I see it.

I wish I could be selfless and say that money doesn't matter or that as long as I had my passion I will be fine. A lot of doubts are swimming in my mind and I am really frustrated. What if my passion isn't enough? What if I'm not enough? Just because a person got into med school does not mean that person is suited to become a doctor.

I am really trying to stay positive, to stay strong and be courageous. I really am...

What I want isn't what I should want.

What I should want isn't what I want.

Complications, confusions and frustrations. That's what I am dealing with.

Shoulder back and head high, I wish I could walk like that.

A thousand sorry amounts to nothing as faults are continued.

A tear filled face is but an act without a contrite heart.

Yet, I continue as I am.

Bite off more than I can chew

I recalled the agent pointing out that I was a bit late for my application since she had two students and both of had their interviews already. I was intrigued about who they were and wondered we could maybe meet up so I would at least know someone before I got there. That's why I asked my dad a few days ago if he knew the other students since he was in contact with my education agent.

My dad called the agent today, unbeknownst to me and told me that none of the other students under the education agent were accepted besides me while I laid there watching tv mindlessly. The first reaction I had was 'What the crap?' because I honestly did not think it would be that competitive. After that came the dreadful feeling of inadequacy, in complete contrast to the feeling I got when I was accepted into vet school.

I was saying 'crap' multiple times to myself while wondering if I bit off more than I can chew. It's freaking medical school and I'm just me. The 'What the heck were you thinking' came into mind yet again and my self-confidence plummeted albeit it wasn't that high to start with. I felt like I fooled someone into believing that I could do it but inside I was rocking in a fetal position. What if I took the place of someone more deserving than me like what I did in vet school...

All the doubts came crashing in and within the span of 5 minutes, I was reduced the walking husk, intentionally blocking all thoughts and just focusing on the images flashing from the magical box we call tv.

Crap. Utter bugger.

Writing

Once upon a time, a kid was bored out of his mind as he had nothing to do in his mother's office except spinning on the chair which earned him glares from his mother.

He had just finished the Spongebob Squarepants movie's novel and then a thought came into his mind. He could write his own Spongebob Squarepants' movie! Evidently, he didn't know about things such as copyright. Yeah, those were the good times.

That day was the first time he remembered that he like writing and also spinning while sitting on a chair. He wrote a page long of the story and printed it out to present it to his mom with a proud smile. He created the magnificent adventure that Spongebob and Patrick was going on and it felt like he was with them, tagging along. His mom smiled and the rest was history.

Years later, he found himself sitting on a chair nearby a hospital bed, staring at this grandpa lying on the bed. It was a bit hot and humid and truthfully he preferred to stay at home but he knew that he had to be here, not only because his parents told him to. He knew he was going to stay there for quite a long time before his aunt or uncle came to take the next shift. Holding only a pencil and a pad of foolscap, he was set. That was all he needed and the rest depended on his imagination. He composed a story that was since long forgotten but the act wasn't.

It was around that time he figured that he liked writing. He wasn't talented nor did he fully grasp the grammar skill needed for it but he felt good so he kept on.

During his teenage years, he found out that penning his frustration and angst of his daily life actually helped so he did it. Words wouldn't judge him like the world did, he was the puppet master and the words were his puppet for the show, a show of his true feelings and no one could take that away.

Writing was for him and is still is until now.

Hurts so good?

I was at the bookstore the other day and the reviews on the back of a book caught my eye. It was along the lines that guaranteed a heart wrenching experience. No doubt the reader of this book would need to brace themselves for an emotional wallop.

I was very hesitant on buying this book although the synopsis rendered me interested. With time to kill, I decided to flip a few pages to note the writing style and see if I could decipher the plot-line. I couldn't focus on reading it since I was looking around and feeling guilty that I'm reading this book like I would in a library, it felt illegal somehow. After a couple of brief glances, I flip to the final pages of the book and then it came.

The feels came back with a vengeance after I read a letter that the main male character wrote to the female before he died after insisting that he be pulled off the life supporting machine. I immediately closed the book before it got too much like the time I read the ending of Marley and me in the school bus. It wasn't a pretty sight.

It was that kind of book that hurts but in a good way. I don't know how to explain it in more detail than that. I've read books with tear inducing endings and boy does it pack an emotional punch. You'll feel like a soulless husk and wander around at least for the remaining day. At night, you'll look up on the ceiling, illuminated by the faint glow of the moonlight, thinking about how you would feel if you were the one being left alone like in the book.

I have a hate love relationship with these kinds of stories and for now, I'll stay away from them and gravitates towards the funny, fluffy ones. Maybe one day I'll return to them. One day...

Regret?

The production of the documentary about the Vet school in Murdoch is now showing on ABC1 in Australia.

I won't lie, my felt like a soft punch in the gut when I saw the pictures, sneak-peaks and news about it. Was that regret? In 4 years that could be me. It is not that I wanted to be in that documentary but I wonder what my life would be as a veterinarian.
And that's how I remember why I chose to pull out of that awesome school.

To put it simply, it just wasn't for me.

I've been so sick of explaining to people, seeing pity and confusion on their faces. I know it is not their fault but it still hurts when I was reminded of what I had.

I was in one of the best vet school in Australia and I gave it all up... Sometimes I wonder about my choices. I want to feel that I made the right choice without an ounce of doubt but I can't.

Uugh!! Stop it! Stupid feelings.

Friends from ages 4-9

I was at my neighbour's house during the Raya when I noticed two children who just met playing harmoniously together. They didn't utter any words but when one walked up to the other, with a wave of his tiny hands, she was his friend. It was that easy.

This cute scene motivated me to walk down memory lane and think of the friends that I made when I was just a kid with proportionally large ears.

In kindergarten, I remember sitting beside a boy with immaculately gelled hair. I forgot what his name was but I knew it started with a B (Benedict, Brendan?). I don't remember much about interacting with anyone else except him so I think he was my closest friend there.

Then came primary school and my memory capacity increased (well I like to think it did) so I remembered quite a lot about the friends that I made.

When I was in Year 1-Year 3, I was best friends with a boy named Michael and a girl named Adeline. We weren't the three musketeers. They hung out with different groups (the boys and girls were very segregated back then, mostly hung out with the same sexes) and I fleeted between their groups. I remember Michael and I would play in the classroom during recesses whereas Adeline and I were co-class monitors so we interacted quite frequently and got on superbly. However, I can't for the life of me remember any distinct memories, just snippets of us hanging together.

Outside the classroom, my closest friend was Victor. Both of our moms were good friends and our houses were close to each other so play dates were often. He had a better game console so more often than not, we were at his house. I remember more about our time together because we talked for hours on end. Sometimes my mom would even send me to his parent's workplace (a garage of some sort)so that we could play together. I considered him my best friend and I thought I was his.

Then came that one fateful night that changed me. I know it sounds very dramatic but it's true. That night changed about my perception of what the word 'friend' meant and the distinction between 'friends' and 'acquaintance'.

It was his birthday party and he had a party at his house. I was so excited because play time with my best friends combined with cake and chicken wings, what boy wouldn't? I think he started playing badminton a while before this and he had a badminton practice that day so he was late (or I was early, I'm not really that sure).

I waited eagerly for his arrival so we could go play on his game console and munch on unhealthy fried foods. I remember I saw him approaching his house (I was on the sofa and the front door was open)and some of his badminton buddies was with him. The next part was a bit fuzzy but I remembered that he didn't stop to talk to me and just went into the room with the game console.

My mom urged me to go inside and join them but I was a bit apprehensive because I didn't know anyone else except Victor. But then I thought about it. I was his best friend so it would be fine right? So I fidget my way into the room and found most of them engrossed in the game even though only two could play at a time. My unexpected entrance earned a few brief glances and nothing else. No introductions or other acknowledgement of my existence. I just sat on the side and watched them play, feeling a funny feeling in my gut. I didn't like that feeling. Needless to say, I went out of the room after a few minutes.

I went outside and sat with my parents, thinking to myself 'What just happened?'. I think that was the first moment that remembered of ever feeling like I was growing up, like someone shove me onto a step towards the cold hard truth of real life.
That night handed me a revelation that friends don't last forever and friendships need mutual efforts to stay afloat.

Then after that...