sporadic thought bubbles

Frenemies

Since I missed out on the college experience due to the “wonderful innovation” that is the INTARMED program, I was quite the late-bloomer in the partying scene. While my other (normal) friends were already “so over” the passing out in public places thing, I covertly had an unhealthy level of curiosity. I practically only started drinking in my mid-twenties, bashfully hiding my girlish giggles behind those tiny cocktail umbrellas. So forgive me for being 26 years old, and having only learned these crucial life lessons over the past few months.

Alcohol is the perfect alibi. It absolves you from anything: the ten missed calls from your mother and/or boyfriend, the tangerine-colored drink you spilled on that new girl’s micro-minidress, and best of all, the drunk-dials you made to your grade school crush, your fifteen ex-boyfriends, and everyone in between. It allows you to (1) rip off your saintly image (if you actually have one), (2) do your nasty bad girl deeds, and (3) blame everything on Pareng Jose, who poured himself down your throat.

However, alcohol is the biggest traitor of all. It never gives fair warning. One minute you’re being your fun, flirty and uninhibited self, and the next thing you see is the funky-scented inside of a plastic bag. Or the bright glare of sunlight bouncing off the parking lot pavement, spearing your tired eyes and reverberating in your head like a toddler with a bad sugar high and an extra-bouncy Pilates ball. No heads-up, no warning bells. Just one silly girl who can’t hold her liquor -- the very archetype of the ditzy sorority girl you never thought you’d be.

So I blame you, alcohol, you backstabbing bitch. I blame you for one million bad decisions, for incurable day-after headaches, and probably half a dozen incriminating pictures. But we have a love-hate thing, you and I. We swear off each other time and again, but like in any dysfunctional friendship, when the going gets rough we always find ourselves in each others’ arms.

“I wish I knew how to quit you…”

Roadkill

Today I had my final driving lesson. As with all other learning activities I’ve had in my life, the approach to the finish line feels somewhat premature and undeserved. I simply cannot accept that, at this point, I am supposed to know everything I should know about wielding the monstrous machine that is the automobile. My instructor says it’s just nerves – he thinks I suffer from a severe lack of confidence that makes me NEED someone in the passenger seat to watch out for me, to nudge my steering wheel every so often, to pull on the handbrake if necessary. I think he should be a psychologist instead of a driving instructor.

It’s a little weird to hear that I am not confident in myself. I always thought I had the world fooled. Because by all appearances, I’ve managed to look like I know what I’m doing. Somehow I am able to get through life simply by “winging it”, and I’ve led people to believe that this is how it’s really done. I’m the master of facades, the queen of faking it. But I’m the worst possible kind of “all-bark-and-no-bite” because I’m in a profession that does not allow for errors of idiotic presumptions. And while I’ve gotten this far without causing any serious damage, I’ve said it before and I still feel that it holds true now: that sometimes I feel like I’m a catastrophe waiting to happen. And by perpetually, quasi-confidently, smiling my way through life, I manage to raise the expectation bar to a level that makes my potential, almost inevitable, failure a massive, gut-wrenching disappointment.

But I’m in the driver’s seat now, in more ways than one. And my deeply buried inadequacies are about to surface once and for all. I feel like hurtling too fast onto a highway of professional racecar drivers who will secretly snicker and/or curse at me behind their shiny spotless windshields. I feel like my ineptness is about to manifest itself in a colossal way, because truly, I am out of my league.

I want to tell the world I’m new at this. I want to keep putting that “student driver” sign on my license plate, to warn everyone in my path that I’m not who they think I am, that I just might be the biggest mistake they’ll ever meet. I want someone to sit beside me and stress me, second-guess me, and hold my hand so that I won’t have to suffer through this alone. But I kind of know that it’s not going to be like that anymore. It’s going to take a number of embarrassing stops and starts but we’re gonna get moving, my life and I. And this time I’m taking the wheel.

“Whatever tomorrow brings I’ll be there, with open arms and open eyes…”

Beatles' Night on Idol

My anticipation for American Idol Beatles' Night had been building up for over a week. I grew up listening to some of the Beatles' big hits after an accidental channel switch led me to watch a Fab Four documentary one lazy afternoon when I was about ten years old. Recently adding fuel to the fire was the movie musical "Across the Universe", which I tragically missed in theatres but thanks to my uber-thoughtful BFF i was able to get on DVD for my birthday.

That said, here were my favorites last night...

Jason Castro, because I'm heavily infatuated with him. It took tremendous amounts of maturity to prevent myself from saying I LUUURRVVV him. It's that whole no-way-you-think-im-cool? schtick that totally gets me. And the nuances in his voice, the way it cracks just when it should, these things set him apart from the traditional Idol contestant. Granted, his "If I Fell" wasn't the most spectacular of the night, but it was a simple song to begin with, a song that is powerful in its simplicity. It suited his voice and personality perfectly. But then I guess you could argue that he could've sung Kumbaya and I still woulda loved it. And you would be right.

Brooke White, because she is the female Jason Castro. Hahaha. She gives off this Carole King folksy vibe, it's lucky she's been consistently able to find songs that complement her image well. "Let It Be" never fails to give me the shivers, it's uncanny. And again, there's something in the way her voice cracks and falters at all the right places, it just made the song sound all the more pure, all the more sincere. Kudos, White girl.

Carly Smithson, because her "Come Together" was sooo bad-ass. She definitely has the confidence of a professional (probably cause she already was?), and confidence is the key ingredient to doing this song without sounding like a lame growling rocker wannabe.

These guys were not as bad as the judges said they were...

Michael Johns, because "Across the Universe" is the one of the best songs ever written and he did an okay job with it. When he was singing that first verse with his earnest Aussie eyes looking straight at me (yes, me) I felt actual ripples under my skin. Ripples, people! But his chorus was pretty average. Then again there's only so much you can do with "Nothing's gonna change my world" repeated four times, unless you're...um, the Beatles. Or Fiona Apple. I liked her version too.

Ramiele Malubay, because her voice was amazing in "In My Life". Simple, clear, and controlled to every last inflection. (David Hernandez you should really take notes) If it had been Pinoy Idol or some other lame third-world imitation she woulda won the whole thing there. But since this IS American Idol and ADHD is an epidemic over there, I get how they could've been bored by that. I seriously wanted to kick Randy Jackson when he hesitated on whether our homegirl was good enough to survive elimination, though.

And these people, they needed to go, like yesterday.

Kristy Lee Cook. WTF??? Where are the one-toothed, banjo-playing cousins in denim overalls? Why didn't she do the jig? How the hell was that a Lennon/McCartney song? Are you high, girl? Sniff too much hay?

Amanda Overmyer. Because every song she sings sounds the same as the last ones (like she's choking on something), and the blond streaks are nas-ty! And why is she wearing the same outfit over and over again? If they really need a token rocker, keep David Cook instead. Sure he has some irritating hair preferences too, but he can at least sing.

David Hernandez, because he's too pretty and they miss him at the strip club. And he has an awfully old-fashioned way of belting out big songs.

Everyone else, I forgot. But the judges are right, this is shaping up to be the best AI Season ever. Here's hoping they sing "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Hey Jude" tonight.

Anatomy Group 24

I was cleaning my room when I stumbled on two pieces of paper with the funniest covert conversation ever, from six years ago. (Uh yeah, I haven't cleaned my room in six years, so what?) Hahaha. This must've been some pretty intense note-passing in a second-year med class...Patho i'm guessing?

Purple ink - Ting Tanega

Blue ink - Pat Tejada

Green ink - Natz Tan

Red ink - Ela Taruc

Brown ink (kulay jebs) - JP Tan (hehe ubos na ang colors e sorry)

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Grp. 24 Boys,

Plano? Ela bought gift na. Anymore? She's inviting us for lunch on Wed. Or baka ako lang ang sinabihan? Ako lang ata invited? - Ting

Grp 24 Baby Girl, O? Ininvite ka sa Wed.? Kami daw bukas e, sa Fridays. Kami lang ba invited? Hehehe. - Grp 24 Boyz

Bumili na si Ela? Para sa buong Grp ba yon?

(Points to Natz's reply) Pwede rin bili ka sarili mo!

Sama ako! Dalawa lunch ata ako invited! Special ata ako e!

But we'll buy pa whatever. So what will we buy and how and when wil we give it?

Grp. 24 SPECIAL baby girl,

Cge, Wednesday na lang Kawawa naman si Kai kung masyado mapagastos. La pa kami maisip, pero we're planning to buy na later. If you like, you can make sabay so we can get something kaka, right?!

Hiwalay na lang parang 2 sets. Hindi ko alam papaano. Kaw na bahala! Ok?

(Encircles HIWALAY) ??? Wala tayo pera!!! Isa gift na lang! Flower? Balloon? How?

(Underlines TAYO)

Grp. 24 special POOR baby girl,

May pera kami. Madami. Kaya nga we're willing to share! O di ba?! Punta na lang tayo Rob later. Manlilibre daw pamangkin ni Lucio Tan.

Ok, e di ba bumili na si ela? hindi pa ba yn yon? Sino pamangkin ni Lucio Tan?

NATHANIEL TAN!

Plus JP Tan - anak sa labas!

Alam ko na, i-gift natin tong paper na to! At least we have effort diba?

Huh? Bibigay natin tong paper lang?! But Kai deserves better!!! Imagine, she has gone out of her way to surprise each and every one of us on our birthdays --> plus, mabait pa sya, matalino, maganda, well-liked... how on earth do you think matutuwa sya with what she will see here?!

(Underlines MABAIT) Pwede na to! Masaya na siya for sure!

Ano ba ang budget natin?

Ako mga 20 pesos. Ikaw natz mga 500? Okay! Pamangkin ka naman ni Lucio Tan!

Huh? Hingi na lang tayo ng donation sa kanyang mga suitors. Ok ba?

Natz and Pat,

I have to leave agad pala. Be fetching my sister at Assumption at 5. Pano yan? What can I do? I can buy anything outside Rob. - Ting

What can I buy? Cake? Ano bilin nyo?

Feb 18, 2002

Pat and Natz,

So what did you guys get for Kai? We'll go to cafe d'angelo sa lunch to give everything. Then, alis na. - Ting

We got her a stud. Hehehe. We couldn't find a boyfriend kasi e. Kukunin namin sya during lunchbreak.

Kai,

Ang hirap mong hanapin.

- Ela

Kai,

La lang.

- jptan

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HAHAHA! I miss you guys! =)

The Marshmallow Test

I cannot believe that I’ve been preparing for exams for close to two years. It has been such a lazy, nerdy, sedentary existence that I can almost feel my saggy, sport-repellent butt developing pressure sores. Add the 14 hours/day I spend in front of the laptop and the disgustingly massive American food portions to the mix, and you’ve got one potentially obese, unemployed single girl with the beginnings of carpal tunnel syndrome.

So I’m trying not to get fat. Yes, this is a shallow post, you can stop right here if you feel your IQ dropping. Or if you have a legitimate eating or body dysmorphic disorder. I have such a brazen disregard for feelings other than my own that I can’t exactly be depended on for political correctness.

Anyway. How do you not get fat when you’re sitting for hours on end, doing nothing but reading, writing, and clicking away at a computer + the thought of exercise makes you want to crawl between the covers never to see the light of day again? It sounds simple to most normal people. Diet, right? So I’ve been trying to get by on leaves, fruits and good old agua but thoughts of ice cream keep lasciviously creeping into my hypoglycemic mind. I function for a grand total of twenty minutes on the precious 200 calories that my salad provides before I start craving that chocolate-covered cookie, that slice of cheese, that frigging orange soda. I cannot bear it, the thought of having my white chocolate mocha without whip. It's such a…crime.

I guess I’ll just have to accept that I will always, ALWAYS fail the marshmallow test. I simply have no concept of delayed gratification, which is why I must always get what I want, when I want it. Food, love, grey’s anatomy…they NEED to be there, at a moment’s notice, within an arm’s reach. Because when they aren’t, I flail around like a fish out of the toilet bowl, slowly, painfully, dying.

I’m giving up on the starvation, and taking a fresh new approach. I’ve decided to do my work in bed, turning every 2 hours to prevent the decubitus ulcers. Might not help keep the weight off, but at least I get to keep my baby-soft skin. Haha.

Things to do with your ERAS application

If you're a 2009 residency match applicant looking for a step-by-step manual on how to work with ERAS, this has absolutely nothing to do with that. Stop wasting your time and go do something more productive than reading some slightly hungover, ditzy semi-doctor's blog.

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So I'm back in California, supposedly studying for my last exam which I scheduled for Valentine's Day (hell yeah!). But then my cousin KG's dear friend Aimee is getting married in a month, so a kick-ass bachelorette night out is warranted, right? =)

KG drives us down from Long Beach to San Diego, a good 2-hour road trip. When we finally get there, it's 10pm and the girls are antsy to get out. And then, HORROR. I realize that I left my IDs and passport in LBC. Tempers flare. Haha. Idiot third world resident who keeps forgetting that carding is SOP over here. I think think think about anything I could possibly produce to prove my over-21 identity. I go online, and it hits me.

ERAS!

Oh wonderful electronic residency application service, which has my CAF (common application form), which is my resume-like thing that contains my birthday! Fingers crossed, charms in tow, I bring my 4-page CAF and my credit card to the bouncers.

Surprise surprise, after minimal questioning by the supervisor, they let me in! Mwahahaha! "Good luck with your studies" he even says!

So there goes my story, about how one ghetto Filipina kid with no picture ID manages to get into a swanky club thanks to her CAF. I would like to lay claim on that as The Most Imaginative Thing one can do with her residency application. Thank you very much. Bow.

I promise to be a responsible adult. Starting tomorrow.

Feet Freedom

I know this is far from the most original statement I’ve ever written, I know there have been many before me who’ve claimed that men are like shoes. But as I sit and stare at the overworked, dilapidated three pairs of boots that have seen me through this adventure, I cannot help but resuscitate this sad old simile.

Men are like shoes.

When we are out shopping, we think we want just about every pair, but we know we only need one.

Sometimes we try them on and think they fit perfectly, think they complement our feet so well, think they’ll be able to sustain our weight and crazy walking patterns. But when we take them home they end up hurting us. Wounding us, covering our feet with nasty corns and calluses, forcing us to wonder how long we can suffer through this torture.

But we hurt them too, put them through hell and high water, until they are mangled and scuffed versions of themselves, rewarding their loyalty with eventual abandonment.

So I don’t know if I really deserve good shoes. I tend to choose the wrong ones for me, the ones that are obviously more suited for someone else. And I’ve always been so afraid of going barefoot that I hop from one pair to another, with my classically myopic foresight neglecting to remind me of the endless repercussions, the inevitable discomfort, the telltale scars.

I think it’s time to kick them off and put my feet up.

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

a little something i came up with recently...enjoy =)

I hate it when people make themselves out to be victims. When the biggest predators claim to have been oppressed, torn down, heartbroken. Don't they get back spasms from the weight of the lies that they carry?  Were they not taught other ways to catch prey beyond licking their pretend-wounds in hopes of attracting sympathy from innocents? It is low, gutless, and utterly disgusting.

We all have our roles to play in life. So to those who've chosen to play villain, i say, own up to it. Stand tall and revel in your malevolent glory. 'Cause to cower in a corner and claim suffering while the entrails of your conquests languish in your digestive tract is plain shameful.

Just say you needed to eat.

Just say you wanted to taste.

Just say you didn't know how it died.

Just don't say you were the victim.

I mean, COME ON!

At Least 25

This list came to me while I was tossing and turning at 2 am, so forgive me if it's a little incoherent.

You know you're at least 25 years young when...

1) You bring a granny-sized payong to work/school/the palengke, and you couldn't care less. You, who once would rather stew peacefully in acid rain than carry an umbrella that wasn't fashionable, foldable, and fully automated can now wield this cane-like contraption a la fifth ninja turtle: stopping traffic, poking innocent bystanders, and (OMG) opening it to shield your fragile skin from getting the sun spots and age wrinkles that no Olay Total Effects could ever truly cure.

2) Your ipod is updated for you by a much cooler younger sibling, because you just can't, for the life of you, sit there downloading songs that you'll eventually learn are so 3 years ago. What, laos na ba si Billy Joe Crawford? This screamo stuff really hurts my ears.

3) You occasionally get low back pain. Unlike your parents, however, you still get horror-house images of being trapped inside a baul at the strong menthol-lola smell of Salonpas. So you suffer in silence, discreetly stretching from your neck to your pelvis when no one's looking. Personally, I like to claim it's the scoliosis (which is still an acceptable young-person-back-disease).

4) You do frantic face-name association rundowns whenever you bump into someone you know from somewhere, sometime. When the database comes up with zip, you are accustomed to flashing a mega-watt smile OR doing a semi-interested half nod and making a beeline for the nearest exit. Must've been in that brain cell you fried while downing that last shot of tequila.

5) You have more exes than prospects. Some of us have gone through the eligibility list so efficiently that prospects = exes. The real reason the world seems smaller when you're older is that you've dated half of it.

6) You can talk about once-ballyhooed topics such as sex, drugs, and rock and roll without the necessary girlish giggle or pre-practiced disclaimers. Sometimes, you are amazed at how Carrie Bradshaw you've become. Or at how crazy the world really is once you've taken off your rose-colored glasses.

7) "See you soon" means "see you within this year", and "we should really go out one of these days" is actually "maybe once more before I die". You have so many sets of friends that it seems impossible to actually keep in touch while trying to hold down a steady job OR trying to watch pinoy big brother every single day. Then again, maybe that's just cause I've always been horrible at keeping in touch. =)

and finally, (i'm getting to the point)

8) You just can't be apathetic anymore. You've grown a conscience, (against all odds, I know) and you suddenly care about what life's gonna be like 5, 10 years from now when you're raising a family, juggling responsibilties, and shedding strands of hair. It's got to get better. It's got to get better.

I don't wanna bore you so I'll just lay the cards down right away.

Dr. Martin Bautista for Senator.

Dr. Dorothy Delarmente for QC District 1 councilor.

And AGHAM as your Partylist of choice.

Because you shouldn't be wasting the next 25 years not caring.

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For more information on the above candidates, email me at kaipatoots@yahoo.com. I'll be glad to fill you in. =)

Criminal Intent

As soon as new friend and fashionista-lawyer-of the-future Leana mentioned those two words, I knew it would make for an interesting blog post. Unfortunately, the creative juices were just not flowing. Dunno, maybe it was the sadly slow pace of my studying, or the lack of exciting events in my usually Lindsay Lohanesque party life, but i just couldn't come up with anything to write about beyond the catchy title. After sitting here the past couple of minutes, though, it hit me. Feb 14 soon. You all know what that means. Say it with me, it's Kris Aquino's birthday.

Hah. Am slightly ashamed that i can rattle off celebrities' natal days at the drop of a hat when i can't, for the life of me, remember the different types of dyslipidemias. (Shut up, inner nerd.) Well aside from Miss Kris, the rest of the world has cause to celebrate since Feb 14 coincidentally happens to be a little pagan holiday we like to call (Ate) Vi-day. Yes, it's that Hallmark time of the year once again. Time to pull out all the stops, time for Holland Tulips to rake in millions, time for mommy to pull out her good old black lacy underwear (oh dear, i sure hope not). Time for cheesy balladeers and overpriced chocolate fondues, for freakingly ubiquitous red plastic balloons and teeth-gnashingly redundant romantic comedies (what, no Kate Hudson?). Time for David Pomeranz to romance the squealing matronas, and the squealing matronas to take home their personal trainers for a night of rarr-rarr-romansa. Can hardly wait till i stroll down the Baywalk at sunset with my sweetheart, putrid wind in my hair, bad canned band music in my ear, with couples positioned all around me in various states of fornication. Oh yeeeeahhhh.

Don't know bout the rest of you, but I'm feeling a little of that criminal intent right now. (Hence the title. Yesss!)

*****

Note: If you actually go looking for me at Baywalk on Wednesday, then you're a helluva lot sicker than I thought. Happy V-day everyone. And don't forget the more important date that comes 5 days later, Kai day! 

When I'm missing my coffee and antipsychotics.

So I'm smack in the middle of my so-called "intensive" studying for the USMLEs. I'm trying to get back into the zone, where you wake up in time for Mo Twister's morning radio show (is it still 6-9am?), sleep around the time that Conan's on etc (or so you guess because, as we all know, tv is the n-enemy), and make yourself kurot each time you leave highlighter tracks all over the book whenever you fall into a catatonic stupor. Of course, my brain is fried by the time I hit 2 hours of continuous reading, so I spend the rest of the day daydreaming. (See how much I've regressed? Redundancy is now my best friend.)

Anyway, I got to thinking, what if the USMLE was like a Tyra Banks show? Specifically, what if they reformatted the exam process into "America's Next Top Doctor"? And they'd get some uber-hot tv doctor, like say Mcdreamy or even George Clooney, to live with and be a sort of mentor to the 12 fresh young Filipino doctors aspiring to live the American dream. The top prize would be a 3-year residency contract with the Johns Hopkins doctoring agency, a photoshoot with "New England Journal of Medicine", and (in true Pinoy gameshow fashion), a pangkabuhayan showcase!!! In my fantasy, the competition is limited to female and gay contestants. That's 75% of the new doctor population anyway. Of course, Mcdreamy (or in this case, Mctyra) would have to whittle the number down each week by posing certain challenges related to the medical profession. I won't go into detail for fear of alienating my non-medical readers (one out of the three people who've read this far), but suffice it to say, since this IS tv, that there would be a number of physical and anatomical examinations of blond Caucasian male models... There would be a week devoted to dealing with sexy superiors (residents/consultants/whatnot), with these roles being assumed by the likes of Noah Wyle, Zach Braff, and of course, the Mctyra... And an on-the-spot challenge of jazzing up a clinic area using recycled materials (which I will ace due to the PGH experience). It will be rigorous work indeed, rewarded whenever we go to panel and Mctyra announces the names with those sweet puppy dog eyes and a kiss on the cheek. And when I finally win (by virtue of my sheer genius at patient rapport and a "special" co-doctor camaraderie with Mctyra)... I wake up.

This is why the MLE is not a Tyra Banks show. It's really not that interesting.

Snooze button.

Saboteur

Now here's a non-rhetorical question.

Ever feel so brain-numbingly bored that you feel the urge to self-destruct?

I've been wondering about this lately, if it's just me, or if it happens to other, more normal people out there. Have you ever stopped in your shoes, as you're walking down your lovely, yellow-brick, rose-strewn path, and heard this undrownable ringing in your ears? An irritating, high-pitched screaming coming from the depths of your otherwise placid, bordering on frigid, soul?

And it comes around when you're supposed to be happy, when you're supposed to be safely ensconced in a life that many envy, in the arms of a dream that you thought you've always wanted. For all its publicity, sometimes love and happiness aren't all that they're cracked up to be. And the easiest way out is to set yourself aflame.

Sometimes, the temptation to sabotage ourselves is just too much to resist.

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you can not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you 
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open 
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten.

The Pubescent Physician

After 3 months of complete bumhood, during which i gladly let my brain dissolve to mush, i recently decided to (drumroll please)... get a job. Yes, i've gone and done it, i've actually dispensed advice and medications in exchange for money. Oh, the horror. Just when i thought i knew what i wanted to do with my life, which would be to depend on my parents for another ten years, then go straight into semi-retirement by finding a Brazilian supermodel with a trust fund. Preferably a male supermodel.

So anyway, after i went off the deep end and accepted these job offers (like i'm sooo in demand), i realized what this meant. Responsibility. Accountability. Consequences of my actions. Shi-ite.

I guess i'm supposed to grow up now, guess i'm supposed to stop whining like a big baby when i get hungry, or gushing to my friends about the latest brain-dead show that i watched. It's kind of hard to be a doctor when you feel twelve years old inside. It gets even harder when your patients constantly ask how old you are, and you have to respond, with utter confidence, with a number that will satisfy them...a number that may be more than your actual age, and perhaps twice the number that comes to mind when you think of maturity, or credibility, or any other grown-up trait that you're supposed to have acquired. It's almost like playing pretend but with a bit more guilt. The shadows of uncertainty plague me till i fall into blissful sleep...and then i wake up the next day, forced to be less of the shallow, selfish bi-atch that i am in real life, and more of the caring, competent physician that i know i also am, if i dig deep, waaaaay deeeeep...

It's never a good idea to look vulnerable, when you're a doctor. Then again, it's probably not the best thing to be a doctor, when you're twelve years old. Not even Doogie could do that.

The Gym and I

I've been going to the gym on a not-so-regular basis for the past 5 months. I'm sure nobody noticed, cause nothing much has changed in terms of body type or stamina. That's mainly because I've been going an average of 5 times a month, staying there probably two hours, max, each time. Those are the days when I am motivated by sheer guilt over the money I'm throwing away, and feel the need to sweat two thousand bucks worth in one day.

I've tried out a number of different group exercise classes in hopes of finding my perfect fit. Just figured some of youse might be interested to hear about them.

BODY BALANCE - the class I attended the most. It is a little bit of everything: yoga, pilates, taichi...This was fun mainly because I enjoyed the music. Imagine exercising to "Fix You" by Coldplay. Talk about imagination. Sometimes the drama of the music intertwined with the drama of the poses brings tears to my eyes. Hehehe. Not even kidding. Theabelle's favorite class also. May rapport na sha sa instructor.

PILATES - I did this once and thought it was nice, a lot of stretching and contorting into different but not necessarily graceful positions. Might try again if schedule permits. Warning: do not try this on a particularly heavy period day. With the opening of your legs wide and up in the air, the awareness that your perineal area is on display is quite unnerving.

YOGILATES - I thought this would be easier since it's yoga-based, but NO. Aside from the uber-cool name which I would
love to say I'm doing ("I'm off to Yogilates!" --> how much more Newport could you get?!) , I really have no other reason to do it again. Besides, my classmates were just so good at it! I looked like an awkward gosling lost in a sea of amazingly limber geese. Talk about cool similes.

BODY JAM - This is a total dance class, with funky choreography and loud music. I was scared to try this initially, cause when I watched it through the glass it looked super hard and complicated. Surprisingly, it wasn't. I had so much fun! If only I could use the choreography in real-life clubbing without looking like a total dork slash Romy and Michelle wannabe.

BODY COMBAT - Thea and Lia warned me that this might be a little too physical for me, but I liked it! Maybe cause the instructor was this big bald gay man (no, not ilie), with bulging muscles, who, after telling us to jab jab punch kick, would suddenly do a shimmy or a big ala-Fame slide to the floor, the gayest moves ever! It was also fun to watch the two feeling macho guys there, who were SO into punching, down to their Rocky-like facial expressions.

BELLY DANCING - One of the reasons I joined fitness. I really wanted to learn belly dancing. Unfortunately, it didn't feel like much of a workout. It's fun if you feel like just letting loose and making use of your excess flabs around the waist area. But when you look at how the instructor's abdomen isn't exactly how you want yours to look, you might change your mind about making this class your one workout.

I think that's about everything I've tried. The funniest thing about going to the gym is seeing all these people sweating it out around you. Despite my scoliosis and accepted lack of athletic skills, I wasn't the most pathetic-looking, thank God. The saddest thing, though, is seeing all these forty or fifty-something women with smaller waists and toned arms go through their workouts without so much as a huff and a puff. It appears that the only ace up my sleeve, YOUTH, doesn't amount to much after all. With multiple childbirths and at least twenty years separating us, they still manage to make me look like the same old lampa-rita that I've always been. Hahaha.

Someday, I too will don that Nike bra top that the little old lady with 80's style hair regularly wears to the gym. For now, I'll stick to my oversized shirts and jogging pants, true fashion-victim that I am, while getting my father's money's worth of free iced tea and pretending to know how to work the machinery.

I think I've done ten Kai years worth of exercise in five months. I may have to take a five-year hiatus from the healthy lifestyle and resume in 2011.

Anyone interested in a Fitness First account? Hehehe.

it happens all the time...

Since my last blog post, the following events have occurred:

1) My sister gave birth to my very first nephew, Joaquin. He was born exactly 30 years after his mother. When I say exact, I don't just mean same birthday. I mean 2:34 pm, October 11. Freakyyyyy.

2) I have decided to install an anti-virus program. Yes, just now. Why? Cause I'm an idiot. Ilie told me to.

3) And now for the main event. Quite a number of my friends, "trophy" girlfriends, if I may say so myself, have gotten unceremoniously dumped. I pertain to no one in particular, so shame on you, if you, man-who-has-recently-broken-up-with-someone, think that I deem you worthy of blog space. It's just something I've noticed going on over the past few months. When I say trophy, I mean the whole shebang. Gorgeous, smart, kind, stellar examples of womankind, suddenly finding themselves left out in the cold, with no plausible explanation. These are beauty queens with the intelligence to answer "world peace" and mean it. Some girls were left for others (new cows), and some were just left, in general. But when these things happen, the specifics become irrelevant. We are simply mystified by the fact that another seemingly perfect relationship has come to the same unambiguously bitter end. When women like these get dumped, the rest of us are left quivering in fear over the faithlessness of this so-called love.

If they couldn't do it, how could we?

So basically, we trudge along and hope against hope it doesn't happen to us. But when they drop like flies around us, we steel ourselves for the eventual blow.

In this day and age, how often does love, as we know it, survive?

Perhaps as often as a little boy is born on the same day, same time as his mother.

Next to never.

swearing in...and other curse words

Warning: this post WILL offend some of you. These are just my opinions. Feel free to tell me if you agree but scathing comments against MY scathing comments are not welcome. Get your own blog. Hehe.

It was just so damn entertaining.

If you were just some random person who happened to wander into the PICC plenary hall yesterday afternoon, you would've been hard-pressed to realize that it was the oath-taking of the country's newest physicians.

Some highlights:

(1) Endless references to "deal or no deal" made by the emcee and various dignified looking people seated at the presidential table. Kris Aquino will be president one day, i foresee it.

(2) Canned minus-one music accompanying the soprano and tenor through their doxology and kundiman-style intermission numbers (think high school, those programs during linggo ng wika that they force us to sit through). The PRC couldn't fork up the dough for real accompaniment, since we only did pay them 700 bucks a head.

(3) Sad man who sang the national anthem. A capella. None of that patented drumrolling, harmonizing choir music we hear when we watch a movie. Just one sad sad man, singing, not particularly well. Flashbacks to grade school. Up next, Panatang Makabayan.

(4) Attempt at an inspirational speech by the PRC chairperson, a.k.a. "swimming in her sea of angst". Godwin likened it to "communion", mafia-style, where they cement down the poor guy's legs and throw him into the ocean. It was about twenty minutes of sheer bitterness, with the occasional nuggets of "i-still-believe-in-the-philippines" idealisms thrown in for good measure. She was basically telling us, new doctors drowning in her sea of shattered dreams, to "see that island? swim towards that island! go go go!", temporarily forgetting that she'd cemented our frickin feet together.

(5) Teeny-bopper guest of honor patricia evangelista, with almost-impeccable english (with only one "him-her" discrimination problem), flawlessly tying up the vastly important topics of flirting with boys AND political activism. Why would you get a non-doctor to speak at a forum full of new doctors desperately looking for someone to inspire them? Despite her best efforts at flipping her hair and striding across the stage, she could not possibly evoke inspiration in me. She looked at doctors with the same wide-eyed awe as any other lay person, like anyone else who did not understand. She was charming, articulate, but inappropriate.

(6) Being sworn into the Philippine Medical Association, Wowowee style.

(7) Our board topnotcher, the stoic. (I'm sure we all wondered what he looked like when he found out he was #1. Perhaps he grew half a laugh line.)

(8) The stampede. At one moment, my life actually flashed before my eyes and i was amused by the irony of dying in the process of getting your license to heal. I was intimately related to complete strangers for an inordinate amount of time. Worse yet, 2 people stepped on my pretty pretty shoes. I was so glad i dressed down as i watched girls in prom dresses clawing their way through the crowd. I heard crawling was later involved.

And we are doctors. Paragons of society. With stellar reputations and glistening futures. Or so they think. If this is all we deserve, then i fear for the rest.

I can't wait to get out of here.

Static

During board reviews, i listed a few goals for myself, things that i wanted to do as soon as studying was over. I was gonna learn how to drive, go to the gym regularly, buy a whole new doctor-ish wardrobe, register for the usmle asap, and read pathology in my spare time. (yea, i'm so wicked.)

A month later, I'm 0 for 5. I have, however, managed to watch seasons 1 and 2 of lost, shop for everything EXCEPT a doctorly wardrobe, fatten myself up a couple sizes, and go to one million parties. I've visited the usmle site a couple of times, asked a few friends, but haven't actually gotten round to applying. That's about it. I've always been horrible with goals, self-confessed procrastinator that I am. But this is just shameless.

To make matters worse, it seems I am surrounded by people who know what they want and how to get it. Everytime I check my email, there are job openings, and people scrambling to take them. I hear of classmates moonlighting in various hospitals, and even braver souls starting their pre-residency at PGH. And here I am, completely satisfied with watching top model. Is this what I went to school for seven years for?

I'm standing on the edges of my tomorrow, and I'm not in the mood to jump.

Push, anyone?

Disclaimer: Don't expect this post to make any sense

it's the end of a very long day, and i'm smiling.

it's been 24 hours of pure anxiety, going through various peaks and troughs as we waited. and waited. and waited some more.

it's amazing just how gullible you can be when you're life-and-death desperate.

we had the computer on standby, refreshing the screen every few minutes. almost the entire day.

we went on a wild goose chase from katipunan to prc, and wandered there aimlessly for a couple of minutes until the guard told us we weren't going to find anything.

dejected, we sat in the car quietly texting away our frustrations.

then aicee and annski texted thea and the inevitable happened.

we called bombo radyo.

BEAT THAT! Haha. WE FOUND OUT WE PASSED THE MEDICAL BOARD EXAMS THROUGH BOMBO RADYO! I've never even heard of the station bombo radyo! Now that's a story to tell the grandkids!

i'm saving my thank yous for another entry. now it's just little old frazzled, non-literary me, freaking out over this, this miracle. i'm a doctor! WHO KNEW?

(Bombo Radyo!)

Woohoo!!!

waiting

i am

supposed to be studying but obviously am not...

spending most of my time thinking

bout things i know better than to think of right now.

these days there's a mcflurry of thoughts residing in my head,

taking up the space i'd intended

for the urea cycle,

the muscular dystrophies,

the one million and one foreign names that stand for diseases.

i'm classically screwing things up,

kai-style.

in more ways than one,

i'm waiting...

for the shit

to hit

the fan.

skirts as short as tempers

sometime last week i was reprimanded by an old lady for wearing a mini-skirt to mass. i wasn't in any way trying to seduce the priest, or attract men, boys and lesbians to accompany me on my journey to hell. it simply slipped my mind that i was wearing a relatively short skirt, since i had gone straight to the mass from somewhere else. i realize now that it was inappropriate, and completely my fault, but the shame i felt was proportional to how pissed off i was at being humiliated. i no longer go to that church. i don't think that was the point she was trying to make, but it's the message i got anyway. i'm sorry my skirt wasn't as long as your pashmina, lady. i'm sorry the sight of my bare calves offended you.

but i wasn't there for you. in any case, i'll go speak with my God in another place, another church, or maybe just in my head again.

i know i'm not always right, and that there are probably a million arguments against what i just said. i don't really care.

throw your stones.

ounces of dignity

We frequently find ourselves in situations where the dictates of the heart conflict with the lessons of the mind. Times when, it seems, we must dissociate thought from emotion if only to preserve the frayed edges of our sanity. We, as humans, are unique that way. Next to opposable thumbs, these endless conversations with ourselves perhaps compose the fabric of our humanity; the 2 1/2 inches of functioning synapses that separate our race from the rest. It is the perpetual questioning, the birth-to-grave debate between basic primal instinct and the ever-evolving intellect, that serves to set us a notch higher than the average primate.

And when this is put to the test, when we begin to wonder which layer of self to follow, it might be wise to recall basic anatomy. Brain over heart, gut, and genitalia. It is with thinking that raise ourselves to a plane above the murderer, the wife-beater, the cheater, the dog, the spider on the bathroom wall. It is with thinking that we scrape together whatever ounces of dignity we can recover just to make ourselves close to whole.

Note to self: Next time thoughts and instincts collide, go with mind.

EQ is overrated. Think.

the guru speaks

First let me explain.

This is my theory on relationships. It isn’t based on fact or experience, it’s probably just my brain going wacko after a prolonged period of sanity. Forgive the bitterness and political incorrectness, no one chooses to be born this way.

So they all pretty much start and end the same.

Throw in any particular brand of complication in the middle, but your relationship will more or less reliably follow a certain formula. Swallow your argument against my wonderfully hasty generalization, as I am a relationship guru. (insert awkward silence followed by rollicking laughter when audience realizes I’m kidding)

We meet, size each other up, and play the flippancy game until someone gets tired and/or desperate and dares to take things to a higher plane. Boy usually plays aggressor with his trademark decisiveness and irritating nonchalance. Girl counters with coy smiles, timed hair flips, and irresistible flirtation. Both manage to contain their individual “crazies” for a while, and they happily hold hands into the sunset.

Until one of them trips and lets the “crazy” loose.

After that, it’s every man/woman/girl/boy/gay/lesbian/hermaphrodite for himself/herself/you get where I’m going here. No matter how long it took to get to this point or how much you think you knew each other, someone usually ends up getting screwed.

Cause the only logical end (save for death) to a modern-day relationship is, to be Bridget about it, emotional fuckwittance.

So it doesn’t matter how morally upright you were to begin with, or how much love and understanding once existed between you two. The higher the horse, the harder the fall. In the end someone’s gonna get emotionally fucked, and the most you can do is pray hard that it isn’t you.

(Sweet innocent Kai smile. Hair flip, hair flip.)

insights from a sedentary position

After about a week of bum-hood, i have come to a number of realizations.

1) It is so hot in the pilipinas. Body heat ang room temperature. I'm never coming out of my room again. I miss the good old airconditioned pedia ER. Not!

2) You may end up watching the same show four times if you watch tv for far too long. I have my tyra banks impersonation down pat.

3) There are one million excuses for drunken debauchery when you're a fresh graduate. And two million little people kicking inside your head the morning after. Stay away from moving vehicles.

4) Moving out of an apartment is medieval torture: painful and slow. Especially if you've just spent the last five years NOT picking up after yourself. Renting smokey-mountain-diggers to segregate my waste (i mean, stuff) is starting to look good.

5) Being a bum gives you 24 hours a day to be introspective...to think about life and what it means...and to feed yourself quasi-philosophical reasons for putting off board review till tomorrow.

Okay, that's the most electrical activity that my brain cells have engaged in since April 30. I'm gonna need to rest. Atchays! My eye pads, please!

More to come as my never-ending summer progresses. Wink, wink.

shameless sack of sap

It is taking all of my willpower (yes, all 5 cc of it) to stop myself from going sentimental yet again. Date today, April 29, 2006. Just finished the last of our final exams. Heading to PGH for the last time tomorrow as an intern. Pigil, pigiiiil....

Pigil...

Hay, psshh. Naubos na willpower ko, what's new?

I was at the supermarket the other day buying iced tea (isn't it amazing how many new kinds of iced tea are available these days? with my patented indecision, it takes me ten minutes to decide...) so anyway there i was standing in front of the giant cooler thingamajig, grabbing bottle after bottle of mysterious flavored, carbonated, house blended, fresh-squeezed iced tea (what exactly do you squeeze? beats me.) when i realized that this may well be the last time i shop in good old robinson's supermarket. Sniff sniff sniff. I'll miss you, good old express counter na di pala tumatanggap ng credit card (shame on me)...

I walked past chef d'angelo, house of my favorite pesto... bayo, my favorite store... BTIC with my bubble gum frozen yogurt... oh, the memories. TLC (thea's little circle) pa lang yan. Never thought i'd fall in love with a mall. An ugly one at that. No offense, rob.

As i lugged my shopping bags to the apartment, i couldn't help but feel sad about leaving my second (almost first) home... oh yes, good old 29M, with its unlimited supply of floor hair, its elephantiasis-like freezer, its non-working shower, doorbell and periodically disco-crazy fluorescent light. An apartment that's just as klutzy, messed-up and defectively lovable as me. Haha.

Funny how we suddenly appreciate the little things we have when we're at the brink of losing them. OR when they're gone.

(Guness kai, who knew you were such a cheesehead?)

Last day of internship ahead, and then it's the rest of my life.

I have a feeling i've been waiting for this a long time.

But the waiting feeling's fine. ;)

signs

I must have it bad. Memorized my horoscope for the day, and that's never a good sign. No pun intended.

Pisces. April 11, 2006.

What will make you happy? What will it take? Think about this today. If you don't define these goals, how will you know when you reach them?

I have spent the past hour trying to post song lyrics that should help me answer these stupid psychic questions but i keep mucking up the fonts by cutting and pasting. SO i figure that must be a sign in itself. Stop using other people's words to answer your own effing problems kai.

I think I think too much. Or maybe it's just cause I can't sleep. Either way, feel free to laugh at me but i was stunned by my horoscope. Goodness, the depths i've sunk...

I'm not happy. Not today. Not on April 11, 2006. I've thought about it, but I still don't know what it'll take, mr. horoscope man. Maybe you can tell me?

It's twelve am. What time does the paper arrive?

like, what?

i just started reading love in the time of cholera by gabriel garcia marquez, and i don't know if it's just me, but the book is making my head thump. i mean, i sat through one hundred years of solitude just fine a few years ago, so i can't figure out why it is such a chore to read this book. am i getting dumber?

the signs are all there. my favorite shows at the moment consist of laguna beach and america's next top model. i simply cannot figure out why stephen (the hottie) keeps picking kristin (the bitch) over lauren (the slightly less bitchy one). and i can't wait to see who finally wins tyra's elusive approval as the next supahmodel... it's just so funny how she insists that being a model is tough work, y'all. with sacrifices and consequences as earth-shatteringly important as, say, kofi annan's daily duties.

heavy emotional material now equals one tree hill. oh, how my heart broke when nathan rejected haley... but my faith in love was restored in the last scene, when he delicately put his hand on the small of her back while walking through the school hall... on, that show, that show... i am an emotional wreck every time. can someone please explain why a show about high school and basketball can wreak such havoc in my personal life?

there must be something about all this tv that's getting into my head and shrinking my already tiny brain one duh moment at a time. right now i have the attention span of a five year old (flip, flip, flip, oh mtv!), the vocabulary of a teenager from the OC (d-rah-mah!), and, on the upside, the fashion sense of paris, mischa, LC AND janice dickinson (like, is that really a good thing?). i'm in the middle of figuring out if i'm the beauty or the geek, and am deathly afraid that i'll eventually find out i'm neither. que horror!

will someone please return my mojo?

kai now returns to her daily 5 minutes of "love in the time of cholera".

Estimated number of days before completion: i can't count that high.

this is gonna be long...

so its april.

who knew a year could slip by so fast?

with four weeks ahead till the circle of internship is completed, i can't help but be amazed at those 525,600 minutes. (thank you rent.)

how do you measure a year?

in nights we spent awake and longing for the comfort of that callroom bed...

in days we spent drowsy, waiting to crawl between the covers of that bed, my bed, any bed.

in meals that we skipped...

and the junk food we ate in between to make up for it.

in the pounds we pretended to lose by staying up late and working through the night...

and in the tight uniform waistbands that told us otherwise.

in papers we made (oh all those trees, all those trees!)...

in veins that we lined (all that blood!)...

in big books we used as pillows...

and in the ways that we faked it, bluffed it, charmed our way through it all.

in tears that we cried (at least once, i'm sure)...

and the crazy stories behind those tears.

in jokes that weren't very funny

but we laughed our heads off for anyway.

and in patients...

the whiny ones, the grimy ones, the ones who screamed in our faces...

the ones who cry, the ones who die (i'm a regular dr.seuss here)...

the ones we think about, at night, when we want to sleep but just can't...

(isn't that about all of them?)

in family that had to be pushed to the side most of the time...

till we were too broken and tired

and we needed to come home.

in people...

that we've loved

and lost

and routinely have to learn and unlearn

how to love again.

in the best-laid plans

that change every single effing day.

and in friends...

who've gotten us through every single effing day.

this is our happy ending

though it's not as perfect as we thought it would be.

five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes...

who knew the space between hello and goodbye

would be so, so short?

dana reeve

i read in the paper that christopher reeve's wife dana has passed away. she survived her husband by only a year and a half.

call me unforgivably sentimental, but those are the stories that make me turn to mush inside this cold cynical shell. (am i an M&M? that's another story...)

imagine this-- you are a young couple at the top of the world. newly married, successful actors, with the rest of your lives ahead of you. then superman goes and gets his spine broken. the perfect picture is shattered. from trophy wife, you become nurse, physical therapist, personal cheerleader. the future is bleak, your handsome young husband will never hold you again. you are struck by the fragility of human life...how someone so strong, so alive, bordering on perfection even, could transform into this needy, dependent, broken man-child.

if you can stand by this man, and watch him suffer, and feel your own heart break each time he asks for help in bathing, eating, or washing himself...if you can forego your dreams of that glittering future as a star, a cinematic princess, a world-changer, to make room for his wheelchair, neck brace and porta-potty...if you can hold his hand as he slowly dies his sad death, all the while forgetting that you too may be facing your own, then THAT IS LOVE.

she died of lung cancer at age 44. wasnt even a smoker. life is full of bitter ironies.

then again, it is also full of opportunities for grace.

sometimes, people amaze me.

lyrics i like

love love love

It’s 4 am, the paperboy’s at it again
But I can’t get no sleep
I mean what’s the point?
If I can’t even dream up a dream
That’s worth the keep

And so there’s no need in even going
Cause I’m better off never knowing
You know the media’s getting
Really good at lying
And this time around
I’m not buying

Cause this life is a beautiful one
And though I seen it comin undone
I know most definitely
That it’s gonna be you
It’s gonna be me
So baby keep your head up
Keep it on the up and up
Cause you got all my…
Love love love

Cause we’re all just lovers and takers
Breaking hearts to make the papers
She wants love I told her to stop trying
Cause the reasons for her tears
Aren’t worth crying

And this life is a beautiful one
And though I seen it comin undone
Well I know most definitely
That it’s gonna be you
It’s gonna be me
So baby keep your head up
Keep it on the up and up
Cause you got all my
Love love love

Loving all around me
I think that love has found me
Loving all the time

And when the summer’s here
The waves are crashing
No time for thinking
Don’t even ask me
I’m gonna let it all roll right past me
Cause when I’m here
I’m always happy

And this life is a beautiful one
And though I seen it comin undone
Well I know most definitely
It always works out the way it’s meant to be
So baby keep your head up
Keep it on the up and up
And know that you got all my
Love love love

-- just sharing...

8 weeks to go, tutawsix!

Just a thought

A pretentiously profound thought that i entertained over drinks and conversation...

Love is nothing but a series of happy coincidences. (Yes, you can quote me on that, Monica...and add it to my 8-year old "Things change, people change, feelings change.")

It is our dogged pursuit of that one true thing that drives us to make connections between the most unrelated events, to see signs where others see blank walls, to read l-o-v-e into that which is familiar, comfortable, and merely satisfying. And it works, for a while, for as long as our happy minds are numbed into believing that it is real. The challenge begins when someone wakes up, smells the coffee, and realizes that love is only real for as long as we are dumb enough to believe. It is not a separate entity that we can depend on, hold fast within our hands or use to buffer our volatile souls. It is fiction, it is myth, it is the sum total of our childhood hopes and dreams that can only exist for as long as we can convince ourselves of its existence. It is the urban legend of emotions, and the saddest reality is that sometimes, someone debunks it.

Song in my head

You need a friend

I'll be around

Don't let this end

Before I see you again

What can I say to convince you

To change your mind of me?

I'm gonna love you more than anyone

I'm gonna hold you closer than before

And when I kiss your soul, your body'll be free

I'll be free for you anytime 

I'm gonna love you more than anyone.

Look in my eyes, what do you see?

Not just the color

Look inside of me

Tell me all you need and I will try

I will try.

I'm gonna love you more than anyone

I'm gonna hold you closer than before

And when I kiss your soul, your body'll be free

I'll be free for you anytime

I'm gonna love you more than anyone

Free for you, whenever you need

We'll be free together, baby

Free together, baby

I'm gonna love you more than anyone

I'm gonna hold you closer than before

And when I kiss your soul, your body'll be free

I'll be free for you anytime

I'm gonna love you more than anyone

I'm gonna love you more than anyone.

=(

code code CODE!

One thing about being in the ER all the freaking time is that you start to become numb to that particular word. In my third year as an ICC brimming with wholesome naivete, i would palpitate, convulse, and eventually lose consciousness upon hearing someone call a code, and thus BECOME a code myself. I was never in the vicinity of a code back then, hence my being alive today. In my fourth year, as an overworked but still code-less clerk, i managed to make myself scarce whenever a patient's vitals began to drop, and was thus successful in avoiding codes for yet another year. But in my final year of medical school, as an intern with no excuses left in the book, i had no choice. Yes, i finally had to do chest compressions. I have finally, hesitatingly, with the tiniest voice possible, called codes myself. I have stared death in the face and said, DAMMIT, HE WILL LIVE! Of course they rarely do, but hell, i've always wanted to say that.

That's mostly what they do at the ER, these patients, their hearts abruptly stop beating and they die. Or they are revived for a few more minutes, and then they die again. Back in the day, this would have fazed me-- looking into the open eyes of a dead man, feeling his wrist for traces of a pulse, asking his loved ones whether resuscitation will be stopped or not. But now it's all in a day's work. I hear it left and right now, that urgent, tight-lipped call for "CODE!", and no longer freaks me out. It only makes me stand up from my pathetic little footstool, begrudgingly walk over to the patient, and participate. Wondering, hoping, asking God, if this is the one who'll beat the odds.

grumble grumble toil and trouble

So it's been a month since i last wrote here...and what a roller coaster ride it has been. found out my mom was sick, and she's just had a very successful surgery. thanks so much to everyone who prayed and visited. =) there's still a long way to go before we can breathe easy though...so please continue praying for her if it isn't too much trouble. =)

am neck-deep in Med wards, and it's whizzing by, actually. it's half-fun and half-nerve-wracking. Been trying to study but it is once again becoming apparent that the gap between my "actual" knowledge and my "dream" knowledge is growing wider every day. Sometimes i feel like i am a catastrophe waiting to happen. but i hope against hope that everyone goes through this feeling of know-nothingness. that someday i just might be competent after all.

So good night everyone, it's off to dreamless abbreviated sleep for me. Will be up at daybreak to do my best physician-impersonation once again. One day, when i'm licensed and people pay me to treat them, please do not use this post to blackmail me.

another blog entry with a title that's too long to remember

am on duty right now (teehee), supposedly researching for a case discussion, but whadaya know, i'm suddenly logged into friendster! talk bout a serendipitious turn of events! haha. wazzzzuppp everyone?

so it turns out i haven't congratulated all of you amazing 2005 board passers. CONGRATULATIONS! =) i'm quite brain-dead at the moment (am in a mind-numbingly benign rotation) so you must excuse the lack of originality. the marching band will emerge at any given moment to brighten up your computer screen. wait for it, wait for it...

and so i am struck by another uncomfortable silence with myself.. for lack of anything better to say i'll shut up.

nooneenoo...

noo noo..

silence has never really been my forte...

more high fidelity for you

One of the most amazing things i've ever read in a book, cause i'm exactly like that:

"It seems to me that if you place music (and books, probably, and films, and plays, and anything that makes you feel) at the center of your being, then you can't afford to sort out your love life, start to think of it as the finished product. You've got to pick at it, keep it alive and in turmoil, you've got to pick at it and unravel it until it all comes apart and you're compelled to start all over again. Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as a consequence we can never feel merely content; we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to achieve within a stable, solid relationship."

-Rob Fleming the pop-culture/modern-relationship prophet in High Fidelity by Nick Hornby

books, rant, rave, bitch

Hey last two days of boards coming up, God bless everybody! (read: everybody but Jason slightly more) After that shamelessly public declaration of affection, let's get back on the cynical downward spiral. No time to lose.

Been reading a lot lately. Finished the lovely bones (made me cry like a big baby, highly recommended for catharsis in the absence of an enema), and virgin suicides (haven't seen the movie but i can't wait to, anyone have a copy?). Am in the middle of high fidelity, which is so full of self-consciously cool music references that i am simultaneously suppressing the urge to run to tower to update my miserable cd collection, AND the urge to run to astrovision OR any pirated dvd mecca (ruins, anyone?) to purchase every john cusack movie ever made. i saw snippets of high fidelity on hbo a couple of times, hence john's irrepressible jumping into my subconscious every half-paragraph or so... all this reading makes my head thump. Or that could be because i accidentally bought contacts that are 0.25 higher than my real grade. Overcorrection is a bitch. But the person who stole my ENTIRE backpack from the interns table in ward 16 two weeks ago is the lowest form of scum on this rotting, putrid, malodorous world. It's because of YOU, asshole with all my things, that i had to buy new contacts and thus curse myself with these occipital headaches and nape pains. I hope you enjoy my toothbrush, my facial wash, and my old contact lenses. I hope you look good in baby pink, as in the semi-new pink jacket and pink floral scrub suit that i kept in the bag you stole. I hope you're able to use my scrub cap and mask in your next thieving adventure. And I hope you got pleasantly frustrated when you realized that there was ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WORTH ANYTHING in that bag. No money, no phone, no credit cards, NOTHING you could ever use to scam me or anyone else further. NOTHING except my perfume, my toiletries, and my clothes, which i have soaked with the scent of my being, which will haunt you, daily, just as soon as i die.

Unless you go first. (evil diabolical laugh)

Whew. Now that's a lot of bitter. Tootles! =)

movie lines to memorize

was watching a jennifer love hewitt-pretending-she's-british movie (not "if only"--i liked that one).. some quotes to ponder:

guy says that the ideal woman is a blind nymphomaniac heiress living on top of a pub, with huge tits of course.

woman says men naturally have smaller brains so they can fit in their penises.

just sharing. haha =)

slipping through the cracks

we grow up so fast, don't we? like those mongo seeds we planted when we were in first grade.

i didn't see that coming.

i blink and suddenly i am an adult. i stare into space for ten nanoseconds and suddenly i am a doctor. well, almost.

it's just weird, this whole med school thing. we enter with our flagrant misconceptions, our childlike curiosity, our fresh-out-of-highschool cheery good dispositions. and in a matter of minutes, i am a world-weary, sleep-deprived, full-on bitch with a penchant for alcohol. slight exaggeration but you catch the drift.

how did i get from point A to point B?

my seth-cohen-themed theory is this. med school is a secret warp zone. i just zipped through 3 levels of the video game by slipping through the cracks.

did everyone slip through the cracks or was it just me?

i blink and suddenly another person's life is in my hands. well, almost.

but i'm just a little mongo seed...

i think i've used too many metaphors...

or maybe i just think too much.

random thought imported from phone archive # 3

pre-LR duty again! my insides are teeming with excitement (not.)

it is time for random thought imported from phone archive # 3:

And when the storm clouds have settled, when the last droplets of salt water beneath her lids have been swallowed by the wind, only friendship remains.

Men will move on and never understand but the women will wallow, and learn, and grieve until the sorrow is overcome by the comfort of one's friends.

random thought imported from phone archive #2

the irony is this. the more you feel, the less you know. the more you put out, the less you have to show for it. the fiercer the love, the larger the shadows of doubt. it is man's infinite capacity for emotion that reveals his equally limitless vulnerabilities, and allows him to be struck down, fatally, by a single halfhearted blow.

random thought imported from phone archive #1

Sometimes i wish i could die, just to see if my life was worth anything.

It's the end of the world as we know it.

Whoopee doo kai! This blog is brought to you by salmon-stinky fingers and a pre-LR-duty state of mind (must do something productive within the next 12 hours!).

So i figured, instead of storing my random and pretentiously profound thoughts in my phone archive (for future reference), why shouldn't i just succumb to wiles of friendster-powered technology and create me a blog? It doesn't matter that i used to have gastroesophageal reflux whenever i read the stuff that other people wrote online. I shall not be ashamed to join the ranks of the sell-outs, the wannabes, and the geeks. I will hold my head high and spew self-conscious witticisms your way, my way, or the highway. Who cares if no one reads it? At least i'll have my puny mind digitalized for the rest of the world to laugh/gawk/stare at in open-mouthed awe! This is the start of my computerized takeover. Literacy here i come!