I just came back from an ortho tute at the hospital, where I literally knew nothing.
I almost got away with saying and knowing nothing, until the end where the consultant noted that I hadn't contributed. I was supposed to do an ulnar nerve examination, and I'm not going to lie, I couldn't remember anything about the ulnar nerve, including where it runs or what it is. He was cool about it and I fluffed around a bit (which always looks so much worse than straight-out saying 'I don't know'). And then I didn't understand what he was explaining either.
I think I felt the need to pretend that I knew what I was doing because everyone else knew the answer to every question the consultant had asked/has ever asked and I don't want to give away how stupid or slack I am, even thought it's the truth. I don't even know why I'm so slack or why I don't remember anything I learn.
Anyway, point is, I nearly cried in tute, and I sort of got teary on the way home, and I'm struggling not to cry now.
And this is not what I want my life to be.
TD has pointed out a few times that happiness doesn't last, just like any other feeling, and I know this now and I knew it before she said it, but the problem is that I don't want my lows to be so very low and I don't want to be sad for so much of my life.
On the way out of the tute, I was already contemplating ways to quit med or alternative careers or what I'm going to say to people once I've failed this year.
I go straight to catastrophising every thing that goes wrong, and I can't stop because things have been bad for so long that there's no way anything good can happen ever again.
(See what I mean?)
Sometimes, in the imaginary conversations in my head with imaginary people I will never come across (their faces are of the people who I know now since I can't actually imagine them), these people observe that I seem very depressed, and my response is, 'How can you not be?' and this makes me feel more sad because it's true. How can you live in any form of society, seeing how terrible people can be, seeing the worst parts of yourself in everyone around you, and still find some level of contentment? How can you exist and not see the pointlessness of it all? You're born and you die and in the space in between you reproduce or contribute to society in some other way, and for what? What is the point? So your genes survive and the human race continues, but so what? What is this end point that we're running towards and what is the point of running to it and why does anyone care about anything? What is stopping everyone from just curling up in a corner and letting death take us?
When I'm feeling more positive, I say to these imaginary people that you're born and you die and the best you can hope for is some form of distraction in between to take your mind off the inevitable darkness that will come with death anyway, so there's no need to give in to it now. What stresses you out will eventually kill you, and life is pointless but if you want your death to hold meaning, find something worth worrying about and let that kill you instead.
Sometimes I try to compose poetry and pretend that the poetry of misery is the most profound song the universe can strive for. In 'Not Another Happy Ending' the main character is accused of worshipping her own pain, and I can see how I'm doing that to myself - trying to build my misery into a shining throne from which I can judge others and put my own ego on a pedestal.
I know the reasonable words but I don't feel them. Even when I say them to others, I'm just throwing out the buzzwords in an effort to maintain this facade of an intelligent and hard done by innocent, to somehow absolve myself of any responsibility for my own failures and weaknesses.
I wonder when it will end, and how it will feel to pay penance for the lies I tell myself.
S.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Procrastination and personality and problems.
Currently at med school we're learning about the brain and it's multitude of roles and possible dysfunctions. Obviously, I am drawn to diagnosing myself with every new disorder I learn, even though I know I don't have it.
Knowing alone isn't enough to rest your worries, though.
I'm not quite sure how you learn or teach someone else to go from worry to acceptance and calm. For example, people with OCD know that their thoughts and actions are not reasonable, but they are still compelled to continue with them. How do you tell your brain to switch off? How do you join the hard facts of knowledge with the feelings in the now and present?
One of my biggest struggles is with procrastination and stress - I know that they are neither productive nor fun, and yet I am forever in their mess. It's not like I don't know how to study, or that I should study. I just can't. And more to the point, don't.
Fixing this sort of chronic battle with myself is exhausting, and small steps take the longest of time. I know I am better today than I was 7 years ago, and that I will be better still in 7 years time, but that is a total of 14 years to get to where other people were at right at the beginning. Again, I know that comparing yourself to the average/others is unhelpful, that everyone has their own journey etc. etc. But I have no excuse for being the way I am now, except for laziness and lack of control over my own mind.
And I don't know how to fix it. There's no pill to fix a rubbish personality. I am responsible for chaos in my life, not some underlying illness or external monsters. I know this. But I don't feel it, because if I did I'd be changing it.
Maybe my problem is a disconnect from reality?
As I write this I am in the library, supposed to be studying for an upcoming test. I know that it will take me ages to get through the 6 weeks of examined material. And yet I'm on here, writing mediocre melodrama.
How.
Do.
I.
Make.
It.
Stop.
???
Peace and love,
S.
Knowing alone isn't enough to rest your worries, though.
I'm not quite sure how you learn or teach someone else to go from worry to acceptance and calm. For example, people with OCD know that their thoughts and actions are not reasonable, but they are still compelled to continue with them. How do you tell your brain to switch off? How do you join the hard facts of knowledge with the feelings in the now and present?
One of my biggest struggles is with procrastination and stress - I know that they are neither productive nor fun, and yet I am forever in their mess. It's not like I don't know how to study, or that I should study. I just can't. And more to the point, don't.
Fixing this sort of chronic battle with myself is exhausting, and small steps take the longest of time. I know I am better today than I was 7 years ago, and that I will be better still in 7 years time, but that is a total of 14 years to get to where other people were at right at the beginning. Again, I know that comparing yourself to the average/others is unhelpful, that everyone has their own journey etc. etc. But I have no excuse for being the way I am now, except for laziness and lack of control over my own mind.
And I don't know how to fix it. There's no pill to fix a rubbish personality. I am responsible for chaos in my life, not some underlying illness or external monsters. I know this. But I don't feel it, because if I did I'd be changing it.
Maybe my problem is a disconnect from reality?
As I write this I am in the library, supposed to be studying for an upcoming test. I know that it will take me ages to get through the 6 weeks of examined material. And yet I'm on here, writing mediocre melodrama.
How.
Do.
I.
Make.
It.
Stop.
???
Peace and love,
S.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Republic of My Heart
Oh Republic of my Heart
Don't falter in the breaking dawn
The sun will rise
And the blood in your streets
Will transform from seas of black
To warm ruby glow
Stand tall!
Stand tall
And take what is yours
But take care!
Keep at bay
the wolves of your past
with the fire in your depths
And the walls around your softness
Republic!
No one owns you
And you are uncaged
Step forward from your past
And know that I alone
Will hold you
And defend you
S.
Don't falter in the breaking dawn
The sun will rise
And the blood in your streets
Will transform from seas of black
To warm ruby glow
Stand tall!
Stand tall
And take what is yours
But take care!
Keep at bay
the wolves of your past
with the fire in your depths
And the walls around your softness
Republic!
No one owns you
And you are uncaged
Step forward from your past
And know that I alone
Will hold you
And defend you
S.
The questions that keep us up at night.
The heaviness and warmth of instant sleep - the perfect example of you don't know what you had till it's gone.
Keeping a stable and regular routine - just keeping up with life - is exhausting. Fitting in enough sleep is a struggle, and even more so when you can't turn off your consciousness. Here I will expound on some of the thoughts that keep me up at night. Often I think I am alone in my thoughts, but we are never as special as we think we are - millions before us and millions after have the same thoughts, and sharing them is a comfort in its own way. So here goes.
1. Where do tears come from? Does your body make them on demand? Or is there a reservoir full of tears, just waiting to me shed? Is this why you feel so heavy sometimes, like you haven't cried in a while and you really need to?
2. Why do we have feelings? Emotional feelings, I mean. How does this feeling take place? Where do feelings come from, and where do they go when you forget about them for a while? How do you make the connection between a good thing and a good feeling in yourself? Pain, hunger, etc is easy enough to comprehend, because it has evolutionary and survival value. But what about jealousy? How does your body make the connection with something so abstract?
3. What is a thought? How exactly are opinions and memories stored? I understand the parts of the brains involved and so on, but I don't get how something abstract is stored in a physical location. Kind of like typing on a keyboard and letters coming up on the screen. It's basically the sort of stuff that you can't explain to your grandparents.
4. Why do people feel the need to explain Australian-ness to me? Why do they feel the need to say, 'Well, I'm Australian and this is how/what we say/do?' When you raise the point with them they get very defensive about their racist tendencies, or their white privilege, but their actions are very hard to ignore.
5. Why do people feel the need to look at me, say sorry, and then continue to say something very racist? Does prefacing it with an apology absolve them of their sins? Basically, why are people so sh*t?
This took a downwards turn, so I might stop for a bit. As important as it is to express strong feelings, the majority of mine seem to be angry on a massive scale. I don't want my sense of self to be tied to this. Deep breath.
Peace and love,
S.
Keeping a stable and regular routine - just keeping up with life - is exhausting. Fitting in enough sleep is a struggle, and even more so when you can't turn off your consciousness. Here I will expound on some of the thoughts that keep me up at night. Often I think I am alone in my thoughts, but we are never as special as we think we are - millions before us and millions after have the same thoughts, and sharing them is a comfort in its own way. So here goes.
1. Where do tears come from? Does your body make them on demand? Or is there a reservoir full of tears, just waiting to me shed? Is this why you feel so heavy sometimes, like you haven't cried in a while and you really need to?
2. Why do we have feelings? Emotional feelings, I mean. How does this feeling take place? Where do feelings come from, and where do they go when you forget about them for a while? How do you make the connection between a good thing and a good feeling in yourself? Pain, hunger, etc is easy enough to comprehend, because it has evolutionary and survival value. But what about jealousy? How does your body make the connection with something so abstract?
3. What is a thought? How exactly are opinions and memories stored? I understand the parts of the brains involved and so on, but I don't get how something abstract is stored in a physical location. Kind of like typing on a keyboard and letters coming up on the screen. It's basically the sort of stuff that you can't explain to your grandparents.
4. Why do people feel the need to explain Australian-ness to me? Why do they feel the need to say, 'Well, I'm Australian and this is how/what we say/do?' When you raise the point with them they get very defensive about their racist tendencies, or their white privilege, but their actions are very hard to ignore.
5. Why do people feel the need to look at me, say sorry, and then continue to say something very racist? Does prefacing it with an apology absolve them of their sins? Basically, why are people so sh*t?
This took a downwards turn, so I might stop for a bit. As important as it is to express strong feelings, the majority of mine seem to be angry on a massive scale. I don't want my sense of self to be tied to this. Deep breath.
Peace and love,
S.
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Finding my way.
I'm trying to write more often when I'm happy, so that it feels more real and also so I have record of this happiness.
The summer holidays at the end of first year were kind of stressful. I didn't do much and just felt weirdly depressed all of the time. I was apprehensive about starting another year of med like that, but alhamdulillah, things have improved massively. Sometimes it's not about life working out, but about reminding yourself of all of the good already in it.
My new housemates are basically awesome. My room has a view of the lights across town so at night it's like the stars have doubled. And it's easier to be happy.
Not that anything has drastically changed - apart from less time around the toxicity of last year - but I feel good. Not that I don't have bad moments - but they are easier to forget. There are times when I'm around old friends and it feels like being around a frenemy. But it's no more than I deserve, considering how miserable and grumpy I am in general. Insha'allah that one will sort itself out as well.
The aim for this year is to be less intimidating and more nice, and so far, it's going okay. Slow, but okay.
The most important lesson from the last year is tawakkul 'alallah - trust in Allah, that it will be okay no matter how bad it seems, and that there is a reason for everything and that every problem has a solution. It has helped me calm down in the face of set backs and know that it's not the end of the world if I fail a test or have a problem with someone. It's not the same as not caring and not stressing - because I still care, I just don't get as wound up about it. Less panic, more action.
I am amazed (woops I wrote that as 'I am amazing' lol) over and over again at how much better my life is. The phrase that keeps going through my head is 'good things come to those who wait' - and I thank Allah every time the reality of my good fortune hits me. As with tawakkul, it's a little phrase that holds a lot of meaning and is worded perfectly enough to hit home every time.
Home is a good place.
Peace and love
S.
The summer holidays at the end of first year were kind of stressful. I didn't do much and just felt weirdly depressed all of the time. I was apprehensive about starting another year of med like that, but alhamdulillah, things have improved massively. Sometimes it's not about life working out, but about reminding yourself of all of the good already in it.
My new housemates are basically awesome. My room has a view of the lights across town so at night it's like the stars have doubled. And it's easier to be happy.
Not that anything has drastically changed - apart from less time around the toxicity of last year - but I feel good. Not that I don't have bad moments - but they are easier to forget. There are times when I'm around old friends and it feels like being around a frenemy. But it's no more than I deserve, considering how miserable and grumpy I am in general. Insha'allah that one will sort itself out as well.
The aim for this year is to be less intimidating and more nice, and so far, it's going okay. Slow, but okay.
The most important lesson from the last year is tawakkul 'alallah - trust in Allah, that it will be okay no matter how bad it seems, and that there is a reason for everything and that every problem has a solution. It has helped me calm down in the face of set backs and know that it's not the end of the world if I fail a test or have a problem with someone. It's not the same as not caring and not stressing - because I still care, I just don't get as wound up about it. Less panic, more action.
I am amazed (woops I wrote that as 'I am amazing' lol) over and over again at how much better my life is. The phrase that keeps going through my head is 'good things come to those who wait' - and I thank Allah every time the reality of my good fortune hits me. As with tawakkul, it's a little phrase that holds a lot of meaning and is worded perfectly enough to hit home every time.
Home is a good place.
Peace and love
S.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Seven Hundred and Eleven Words of Whinging.
I know I start a lot of my blog posts with the 'I meant to update earlier but somehow didn't' sentiment, and I have come to realise that this is just another manifestation of what is wrong with my life.
I make plans and lose track of where I'm going or what to do to get there.
But it's okay, because it's a new year, and therefore an opportunity for a new adventure.
Well, I say that, but what I actually mean is I'm getting tired of muddling along and not really getting anywhere.
In Freudian theory, discord between what you are and what you want to be gives rise to psychological and emotional problems, and once again, I am a textbook example of a common problem. Aged 14, I had grand plans to travel the world, marry Daniel Radcliffe (after he converted of his own accord, of course), go to an Oxbridge university, and just be an amazing person. I was going to be supreme empress of the universe and the world was going to be great place with no pollution and lots of dolphins.
Ten years later, life has worked out in a roundabout way so that I am at least studying medicine and living out of home, if not at Oxford or in Spain. I suppose 10 years isn't that long, in the scheme of things, to achieve a life goal, but I can't help feeling like I've been a very passive part of the process. I somehow forgot to make anything happen. I didn't study hard in undergrad to get into med (I don't think I ever really expected to get in, I just had this image of me leading Medicines Sans Frontier to save the world with an adoring crowd and massive posters of my face everywhere). I didn't do much extracurricular stuff to help my development. I didn't properly try to get into med, and there's no way I would have without the sincerest prayers of my grandparents.
Not that I'm not happy to be here - it hits me every now and again that one day I will have a solid understanding of something amazing. It's a privilege and an honour to be trusted with someone's health, and to have all of the resources and opportunities in the world at your fingertips.
But the idea of myself at 14, an activist and a humanitarian, has crumbled a bit in the intervening period. I haven't eradicated poverty or corruption or AIDs or cancer. I don't speak a million languages. I am not a leader (I'm less of a leader now than I was at my most passive moment in school). I haven't run a marathon. I don't have prize-winning paintings hanging in the Louvre. I haven't solved any of the great mysteries of the ancient world (sometimes I can't sleep because I don't understand how the pyramids were built). My writing isn't being used as teaching material in High Level IB English.
This discrepancy between what I was and wanted to be, and what I have turned out to be now - it's what holds me back from fixing my situation. I spend all of this time dreaming and reminiscing and saying 'I totally could have' and then I realise that I've just wasted another year I could have used wisely. It's a vicious loop and I know the reason I can't get out of it is because my ego is too big to accept that I failed, and to move on.
Of course, this is the perfect opportunity to learn humility. To accept and be happy about the fact that I can do my best and that my best is good enough. Instead, I make a half-assed, panicked attempt and then try to justify my failure by making excuses.
Finally writing about this instead of just whinging to friends is a lot more productive, and a relief. I can be more methodical and see where I'm just bullsh**ing. Once you pinpoint a problem you can focus on fixing it. From where I stand now, I need to quit complaining and start doing.
And with that note, I am off to write some world-class poetry on the subject of my angst.
Peace and love,
S.
I make plans and lose track of where I'm going or what to do to get there.
But it's okay, because it's a new year, and therefore an opportunity for a new adventure.
Well, I say that, but what I actually mean is I'm getting tired of muddling along and not really getting anywhere.
In Freudian theory, discord between what you are and what you want to be gives rise to psychological and emotional problems, and once again, I am a textbook example of a common problem. Aged 14, I had grand plans to travel the world, marry Daniel Radcliffe (after he converted of his own accord, of course), go to an Oxbridge university, and just be an amazing person. I was going to be supreme empress of the universe and the world was going to be great place with no pollution and lots of dolphins.
Ten years later, life has worked out in a roundabout way so that I am at least studying medicine and living out of home, if not at Oxford or in Spain. I suppose 10 years isn't that long, in the scheme of things, to achieve a life goal, but I can't help feeling like I've been a very passive part of the process. I somehow forgot to make anything happen. I didn't study hard in undergrad to get into med (I don't think I ever really expected to get in, I just had this image of me leading Medicines Sans Frontier to save the world with an adoring crowd and massive posters of my face everywhere). I didn't do much extracurricular stuff to help my development. I didn't properly try to get into med, and there's no way I would have without the sincerest prayers of my grandparents.
Not that I'm not happy to be here - it hits me every now and again that one day I will have a solid understanding of something amazing. It's a privilege and an honour to be trusted with someone's health, and to have all of the resources and opportunities in the world at your fingertips.
But the idea of myself at 14, an activist and a humanitarian, has crumbled a bit in the intervening period. I haven't eradicated poverty or corruption or AIDs or cancer. I don't speak a million languages. I am not a leader (I'm less of a leader now than I was at my most passive moment in school). I haven't run a marathon. I don't have prize-winning paintings hanging in the Louvre. I haven't solved any of the great mysteries of the ancient world (sometimes I can't sleep because I don't understand how the pyramids were built). My writing isn't being used as teaching material in High Level IB English.
This discrepancy between what I was and wanted to be, and what I have turned out to be now - it's what holds me back from fixing my situation. I spend all of this time dreaming and reminiscing and saying 'I totally could have' and then I realise that I've just wasted another year I could have used wisely. It's a vicious loop and I know the reason I can't get out of it is because my ego is too big to accept that I failed, and to move on.
Of course, this is the perfect opportunity to learn humility. To accept and be happy about the fact that I can do my best and that my best is good enough. Instead, I make a half-assed, panicked attempt and then try to justify my failure by making excuses.
Finally writing about this instead of just whinging to friends is a lot more productive, and a relief. I can be more methodical and see where I'm just bullsh**ing. Once you pinpoint a problem you can focus on fixing it. From where I stand now, I need to quit complaining and start doing.
And with that note, I am off to write some world-class poetry on the subject of my angst.
Peace and love,
S.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Outlets and Disappointments
I think everyone needs a side-project to help them get on with life. A sort of outlet, something different to do, totally unrelated to work or study. I used to read a book a day, update my blog, paint and draw, and over the past couple of years I've found less and less time for it all. I started a vlog this year, a weekly update/summary of my life, and it was going well until the fiasco with my grandpapa's health etc. I keep meaning to get back into but for some reason I never do.
Which brings me to my main point: why is it that even though these things make me happy, and I know they make me happy, and I'm capable of doing them, I have so much trouble actually doing them? It's not like I can't find the time - I procrastinate enough to know that I can find time for any little distraction. So why do I spend so much of my time lying on bed or sitting on ebay getting frustrated and not enjoying any part of it? What sort of person willingly forgoes activities that make them happy when they have no excuse to do so?
I know a part of it is to do with my laziness. I'm not sure how accelerate my progress in this area. I know that I have improved over the years, that I have a system that seems to work for me, but it doesn't feel like enough. I know I shouldn't compare myself to others, but I literally have no excuse for not being at the same level as everyone else. I've had every opportunity to learn, a great upbringing and family life, the perfect genetic background (both of my parents are brilliant) and yet I'm such a disappointment. All promise and no delivery. And I'm so pretentious! Sadface.
Okay I know I'm waffling here in order to put off listening to this lecture I missed. I'd much rather listen to Ed Sheeran and play Candy Crush and write bad poetry, but I have a test in four days. Adios!
Peace and love,
S.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Driving, Drama, Ham.
Well, that was an eventful few days.
I finally took my Hazards test (so I can take the final driving test now). Hurray! I've only had my Learner's permit for 5 years.
Saturday was the next grand event. Med ball, Alice-in-Wonderland theme. My long green dress made me look like a big, beached green whale. I've gained too much mass to wear the silver blazer with it. It was still fun getting dressed up, though, glittery heels and plum coloured lipstick.
I was a little apprehensive about the whole thing. I don't like being around people when the alcohol has been flowing. I don't like seeing them say or do embarrassing things, revealing the defects in their character like it's a hilarious pride-worthy quirk. I also found out that it's very stressful being the sober person in a group. Not that it wasn't fun; I was with an awesome group of people, the food was okay and free soft drinks - kinda hard not to be happy with that much sugar and fizz in your system.
The night did end on a slightly less celebratory note. We needed two taxis to get all of us back home, and managed to hail one. One member of the party was really anxious to get home, so me and another female friend were left behind to wait for another taxi. It was dark, the middle of the night, and the centre of a not-so-friendly city. We waited ages on the roadside and on-hold to the taxi service, and eventually just walked into town to find a taxi. I know that I am a strong independent woman of colour who don't need no man and all of that, but you don't leave people alone in the middle of the night. It's not nice.
I am trying not to remember that as the defining event of the night. On the night I felt like I'd had a really good time hanging out with some fun people, but now I'm not too sure. I wasn't comfortable with some of people's activities, I don't drink alcohol and so witnessed everything with the clarity of a sober mind, and the heels made walking a tad difficult.
Anyway. Sunday was over in the blink of an eye. I walked down to the shops and splurged on yoghurt and pasta. The longer I am away from my family, the easier it gets to become caught up in my own world. But it also means that the moments I miss them are even harder; it's literally the little things, like asking my sister's opinion on an outfit, getting my youngest brother to help out when I'm cooking, hearing the sound of my family as they go about their lives, seeing their books in the living room.
Sigh. My brothers are growing up and my sisters are progressing through life and my parents are busying themselves and I'm alone in my room. I know I shouldn't waste my time day-dreaming when I could be living in the moment and making things happen. I catch myself every now and again, and I do try. But there seems to be some fundamental flaw in my character that stops me from being proactive and productive. And I know that the flaw is my fault and that I need to accept it and address it. And I don't know why I'm not.
And finally, last night's drama with meals from the residences' cafeteria. We get three compulsory meals a week (can't opt out of it), and there was drama earlier in the year because the uni advertised halal food but there was none available so my housemate and I had to resort to eating salad three nights a week. They assured as that the situation would be rectified, and since then halal food is available every now and again. The food isn't great, but it's food.
Anyway, so I get take-away meals, and I always write down 'halal' under the options, and last night was some sort of lasagna thing, and when I took it home I found a huge slab of ham in it.
That's right.
Ham.
Not cool. I understand that it's the staple diet of a large portion of the world, but I'm a Muslim and pig products are big deal in the forbidden list. I emailed the lady in charge of our residences. I wish I'd used stronger language. Like, of all the things to give, why would ham be okay?????
Blah. I hope I get out of the meal plan. I'm tired of eating over-priced salad (the food is basically less than acceptable) and being iron deficient and feeling yucky. That's right, I, a 23 year old educated woman of science and learning, just used the word 'yucky' to describe my feelings.
I think that's all for now.
Peace and love,
S.
I finally took my Hazards test (so I can take the final driving test now). Hurray! I've only had my Learner's permit for 5 years.
Saturday was the next grand event. Med ball, Alice-in-Wonderland theme. My long green dress made me look like a big, beached green whale. I've gained too much mass to wear the silver blazer with it. It was still fun getting dressed up, though, glittery heels and plum coloured lipstick.
I was a little apprehensive about the whole thing. I don't like being around people when the alcohol has been flowing. I don't like seeing them say or do embarrassing things, revealing the defects in their character like it's a hilarious pride-worthy quirk. I also found out that it's very stressful being the sober person in a group. Not that it wasn't fun; I was with an awesome group of people, the food was okay and free soft drinks - kinda hard not to be happy with that much sugar and fizz in your system.
The night did end on a slightly less celebratory note. We needed two taxis to get all of us back home, and managed to hail one. One member of the party was really anxious to get home, so me and another female friend were left behind to wait for another taxi. It was dark, the middle of the night, and the centre of a not-so-friendly city. We waited ages on the roadside and on-hold to the taxi service, and eventually just walked into town to find a taxi. I know that I am a strong independent woman of colour who don't need no man and all of that, but you don't leave people alone in the middle of the night. It's not nice.
I am trying not to remember that as the defining event of the night. On the night I felt like I'd had a really good time hanging out with some fun people, but now I'm not too sure. I wasn't comfortable with some of people's activities, I don't drink alcohol and so witnessed everything with the clarity of a sober mind, and the heels made walking a tad difficult.
Anyway. Sunday was over in the blink of an eye. I walked down to the shops and splurged on yoghurt and pasta. The longer I am away from my family, the easier it gets to become caught up in my own world. But it also means that the moments I miss them are even harder; it's literally the little things, like asking my sister's opinion on an outfit, getting my youngest brother to help out when I'm cooking, hearing the sound of my family as they go about their lives, seeing their books in the living room.
Sigh. My brothers are growing up and my sisters are progressing through life and my parents are busying themselves and I'm alone in my room. I know I shouldn't waste my time day-dreaming when I could be living in the moment and making things happen. I catch myself every now and again, and I do try. But there seems to be some fundamental flaw in my character that stops me from being proactive and productive. And I know that the flaw is my fault and that I need to accept it and address it. And I don't know why I'm not.
And finally, last night's drama with meals from the residences' cafeteria. We get three compulsory meals a week (can't opt out of it), and there was drama earlier in the year because the uni advertised halal food but there was none available so my housemate and I had to resort to eating salad three nights a week. They assured as that the situation would be rectified, and since then halal food is available every now and again. The food isn't great, but it's food.
Anyway, so I get take-away meals, and I always write down 'halal' under the options, and last night was some sort of lasagna thing, and when I took it home I found a huge slab of ham in it.
That's right.
Ham.
Not cool. I understand that it's the staple diet of a large portion of the world, but I'm a Muslim and pig products are big deal in the forbidden list. I emailed the lady in charge of our residences. I wish I'd used stronger language. Like, of all the things to give, why would ham be okay?????
Blah. I hope I get out of the meal plan. I'm tired of eating over-priced salad (the food is basically less than acceptable) and being iron deficient and feeling yucky. That's right, I, a 23 year old educated woman of science and learning, just used the word 'yucky' to describe my feelings.
I think that's all for now.
Peace and love,
S.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Changes and feelings.
So much has changed in the last year. I don't know where to start.
The beginning is probably a good place. I applied for medicine last year, got a interview, and then a spot. The summer holiday was a long one in many ways - it was at least 8 weeks long, I was eager to start my new degree and terrified at the same time, most of my stuff was already packed because I was so nervous and it sort of made day-to-day living a bit difficult but whatever. I started uni in February this year, living on campus with eight classmates. I really struggled with homesickness. In a major way. My grandpapa fell ill(er), was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, deteriorated rapidly, fell into a coma about a six weeks before semester one exams, and passed away about two weeks later. It was a Monday night. I had applied to defer a test I had on the Monday morning, but was denied, so I came back to uni on the Sunday night. My sister called to tell me at about a quarter past 9 on Tuesday morning. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop crying. I didn't know what to do. In hindsight, I'm a little angry with the faculty for not letting me take the test at a later date, though I know anger is futile and exhausting. I could have been with my family through a terrible, terrible time. I went home that afternoon, and stayed until Friday morning. I missed out on a lot of uni, I couldn't cry at home, surrounded by an entire family falling apart, and kept forgetting what I was doing. It felt unreal. It was awesome seeing almost the whole family, but also terrible. I felt like I had to keep my wits about me, driving instead of mum (she was in no fit state), holding so many members of family as they cried. We saw my grandpapa's body at the mosque before the janazah prayer. He was tiny. I saw my dad cry. One of my little cousin's had a panic attack, his whole body shivering, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop crying. Death affects everyone in different ways. I just wanted to close my eyes and wake up. I wanted to fix the hurt in everyone's hearts. I wanted to run away. I felt guilty for wanting to get back to my room on campus, to sit alone and cry. I wanted someone to hold me as I cried, but I couldn't do that to my family.
My family didn't call me the night he passed away. They didn't want me spend the night worrying and alone. In some ways it was a blessing. I was super stressed about uni, people at uni, my own health; when I did find out and manage to stop crying, my first thought was to let my lecturer know that I couldn't make it to prac that afternoon and that I still wanted to see the agar plates. Why? I was bewildered and hurt, and trying to find some order and think sensibly. I'd be missing out on uni so I needed to be responsible. What's wrong with me? Why didn't I run home straight away? Grief does weird things to us. Throughout the next few days at home, my cousins, siblings and I swung between laughing hysterically and then remembering what had happened. In some moments, it was as if nothing had changed. We were together, stress-free, happy. And then someone was crying again.
I normally stay in my room a lot, once I get home from classes. This was a bit different. I just cried constantly. I had nightmares of a sick and dying grandpapa, to wake up to a reality a thousand times worse. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to sleep because I kept seeing him in my dreams, and then waking up knowing that I'd never see him again. But I was so tired.
And the guilt. The last time I saw my grandpapa conscious, he was home from hospital but quite poorly. He was sitting on his bed in my auntie's house. My mother spent the day with him. I was keen to leave with dad; I think I wanted to go somewhere. I wasted my last opportunity to see him alive. I was caught up with some stupid worldly distraction. The next time I saw him was maybe a week or two later. He was in a coma. I didn't believe the doctor's saying he wouldn't wake up. You never see death as something real. I thought that if I prayed hard enough, he'd wake up whole again, and live forever.
Back at uni and going through the motions. I fell apart each day when I woke up, and again when I came home after class. Certain people - a certain person - said some insensitive and ridiculously awfully things to me, as if their pain and wisdom was all that is important and right. I don't hate them, but it'll be hard to forget their words. It made me realise that words can never help, and though my friends were sympathetic, their kindness was again of little comfort (though at least not detrimental). A friend I went to school with passed away last year. I hadn't seen her in a couple of years, but I always meant to get in touch with her again. This was the first time I'd known someone who'd died, apart from my dad's dad, who I hadn't seen since I was about three years old. My instinct was denial. I cried a bit, but mostly I just couldn't believe it. She'd pop into my head during lectures weeks later, and I'd hold back the tears. But it got easier very quickly, and soon it was just a distant fact.
With my grandpapa, I knew all of the rationalities and realities of life and death. I had the safety net of religion. I had the support of an amazing family. But it didn't stop the pain. Even when you know that all it takes is time, it hurts like crazy. It was awful then, and it's still awful now, though it doesn't occupy my thoughts all of the time now.
The week at home after exams was glorious. Back at uni for a fresh start, and the beginning of Ramadan. This was our first Eid without my grandpapa. We didn't go to my grandparent's house. We didn't kiss his hand. We didn't steal fruit of his cherry trees. We didn't tiptoe in the hallway during his nap time. We didn't see him dressed in his best white clothes for the five daily prayers at the mosque. Mostly I worried about my grandmama. She's a restless soul at the best of times, constantly busying herself with gardening, cleaning, visiting her kids. It's been three and half months since he went, and the reality of death is far away. I know that one day we will all die, that it is the way of the world, that life only has value because it one day ends. But the terrifying reality isn't so fresh in my mind. I thought it would change me. And yes, it has changed my world in a painful way, but I have not changed. I am in better spirits than I was at the time, but when I see his grave now, for a moment I forget what I'm looking at and when it clicks I feel sick. It doesn't feel real anymore. If I think about it, yes, it will all come back to me. But the whole thing seems to have just left an ache in my heart. And I have this sick heavy feeling even when I'm not thinking about his death. The pain makes me feel less guilty. It's a reminder that I am capable of normal feelings.
I often forget about how terrible it must be for everyone else. People are resilient, our capacity to forget and be distracted is a blessing, but the absence of the core of your family is hard to ignore. They all lived so closely together, visiting constantly, their routine's based around him. My immediate family lived further away for a few years so our routine wasn't so set, but sometimes I remember that my mum has lost her dad, and that she used to phone him all of the time. I am angry with her for working so hard, but then I remember that keeping yourself busy means your thoughts wander less, and it's probably a good thing.
I think I'll stop here, for now. It's really hard to be coherent when you're crying.
Peace and love,
S.
The beginning is probably a good place. I applied for medicine last year, got a interview, and then a spot. The summer holiday was a long one in many ways - it was at least 8 weeks long, I was eager to start my new degree and terrified at the same time, most of my stuff was already packed because I was so nervous and it sort of made day-to-day living a bit difficult but whatever. I started uni in February this year, living on campus with eight classmates. I really struggled with homesickness. In a major way. My grandpapa fell ill(er), was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, deteriorated rapidly, fell into a coma about a six weeks before semester one exams, and passed away about two weeks later. It was a Monday night. I had applied to defer a test I had on the Monday morning, but was denied, so I came back to uni on the Sunday night. My sister called to tell me at about a quarter past 9 on Tuesday morning. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop crying. I didn't know what to do. In hindsight, I'm a little angry with the faculty for not letting me take the test at a later date, though I know anger is futile and exhausting. I could have been with my family through a terrible, terrible time. I went home that afternoon, and stayed until Friday morning. I missed out on a lot of uni, I couldn't cry at home, surrounded by an entire family falling apart, and kept forgetting what I was doing. It felt unreal. It was awesome seeing almost the whole family, but also terrible. I felt like I had to keep my wits about me, driving instead of mum (she was in no fit state), holding so many members of family as they cried. We saw my grandpapa's body at the mosque before the janazah prayer. He was tiny. I saw my dad cry. One of my little cousin's had a panic attack, his whole body shivering, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop crying. Death affects everyone in different ways. I just wanted to close my eyes and wake up. I wanted to fix the hurt in everyone's hearts. I wanted to run away. I felt guilty for wanting to get back to my room on campus, to sit alone and cry. I wanted someone to hold me as I cried, but I couldn't do that to my family.
My family didn't call me the night he passed away. They didn't want me spend the night worrying and alone. In some ways it was a blessing. I was super stressed about uni, people at uni, my own health; when I did find out and manage to stop crying, my first thought was to let my lecturer know that I couldn't make it to prac that afternoon and that I still wanted to see the agar plates. Why? I was bewildered and hurt, and trying to find some order and think sensibly. I'd be missing out on uni so I needed to be responsible. What's wrong with me? Why didn't I run home straight away? Grief does weird things to us. Throughout the next few days at home, my cousins, siblings and I swung between laughing hysterically and then remembering what had happened. In some moments, it was as if nothing had changed. We were together, stress-free, happy. And then someone was crying again.
I normally stay in my room a lot, once I get home from classes. This was a bit different. I just cried constantly. I had nightmares of a sick and dying grandpapa, to wake up to a reality a thousand times worse. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to sleep because I kept seeing him in my dreams, and then waking up knowing that I'd never see him again. But I was so tired.
And the guilt. The last time I saw my grandpapa conscious, he was home from hospital but quite poorly. He was sitting on his bed in my auntie's house. My mother spent the day with him. I was keen to leave with dad; I think I wanted to go somewhere. I wasted my last opportunity to see him alive. I was caught up with some stupid worldly distraction. The next time I saw him was maybe a week or two later. He was in a coma. I didn't believe the doctor's saying he wouldn't wake up. You never see death as something real. I thought that if I prayed hard enough, he'd wake up whole again, and live forever.
Back at uni and going through the motions. I fell apart each day when I woke up, and again when I came home after class. Certain people - a certain person - said some insensitive and ridiculously awfully things to me, as if their pain and wisdom was all that is important and right. I don't hate them, but it'll be hard to forget their words. It made me realise that words can never help, and though my friends were sympathetic, their kindness was again of little comfort (though at least not detrimental). A friend I went to school with passed away last year. I hadn't seen her in a couple of years, but I always meant to get in touch with her again. This was the first time I'd known someone who'd died, apart from my dad's dad, who I hadn't seen since I was about three years old. My instinct was denial. I cried a bit, but mostly I just couldn't believe it. She'd pop into my head during lectures weeks later, and I'd hold back the tears. But it got easier very quickly, and soon it was just a distant fact.
With my grandpapa, I knew all of the rationalities and realities of life and death. I had the safety net of religion. I had the support of an amazing family. But it didn't stop the pain. Even when you know that all it takes is time, it hurts like crazy. It was awful then, and it's still awful now, though it doesn't occupy my thoughts all of the time now.
The week at home after exams was glorious. Back at uni for a fresh start, and the beginning of Ramadan. This was our first Eid without my grandpapa. We didn't go to my grandparent's house. We didn't kiss his hand. We didn't steal fruit of his cherry trees. We didn't tiptoe in the hallway during his nap time. We didn't see him dressed in his best white clothes for the five daily prayers at the mosque. Mostly I worried about my grandmama. She's a restless soul at the best of times, constantly busying herself with gardening, cleaning, visiting her kids. It's been three and half months since he went, and the reality of death is far away. I know that one day we will all die, that it is the way of the world, that life only has value because it one day ends. But the terrifying reality isn't so fresh in my mind. I thought it would change me. And yes, it has changed my world in a painful way, but I have not changed. I am in better spirits than I was at the time, but when I see his grave now, for a moment I forget what I'm looking at and when it clicks I feel sick. It doesn't feel real anymore. If I think about it, yes, it will all come back to me. But the whole thing seems to have just left an ache in my heart. And I have this sick heavy feeling even when I'm not thinking about his death. The pain makes me feel less guilty. It's a reminder that I am capable of normal feelings.
I often forget about how terrible it must be for everyone else. People are resilient, our capacity to forget and be distracted is a blessing, but the absence of the core of your family is hard to ignore. They all lived so closely together, visiting constantly, their routine's based around him. My immediate family lived further away for a few years so our routine wasn't so set, but sometimes I remember that my mum has lost her dad, and that she used to phone him all of the time. I am angry with her for working so hard, but then I remember that keeping yourself busy means your thoughts wander less, and it's probably a good thing.
I think I'll stop here, for now. It's really hard to be coherent when you're crying.
Peace and love,
S.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
For when it hurts.
Sometimes, things hurt.
No matter how small, insignificant and meaningless in the whole scheme of things, they hit you and at first you think you're angry, but actually you're hurt. It can be as small as a group of friends walking to class ahead of you, or someone taking longer than usual to respond to your message, or just the slight change in expression - the briefest of looks - when they see you or talk to you.
Sometimes, you tell yourself you're imagining it. But what's the point in this? Regardless of whether the event is real or imagined, it still jabs you in a sore spot. You tell yourself to toughen up, get over it. But how? What do you use to plug the hole?
And then you're alone in your room at midnight, crying over thoughts you can't stop from racing across your mind.
In the morning, you've forgotten about whatever it was. But you're not quite back to normal. You can't shake of this strange feeling. And when someone doesn't return a greeting, you're back in the slump. The day drifts by, but now you are acutely aware of all of the painful things in the world.
And it sucks.
Yeah, you're never alone, and yeah, it'll pass. But right now, in this moment, it hurts.
And you need to know that it's okay.
It's okay to feel hurt. It's okay to take your time bouncing back. It's okay to worry about what people think of you. It's okay to cry because you're upset. It's okay to need a kind word or gesture. It's okay to deal with your hurt in your own way.
Peace and love,
S.
No matter how small, insignificant and meaningless in the whole scheme of things, they hit you and at first you think you're angry, but actually you're hurt. It can be as small as a group of friends walking to class ahead of you, or someone taking longer than usual to respond to your message, or just the slight change in expression - the briefest of looks - when they see you or talk to you.
Sometimes, you tell yourself you're imagining it. But what's the point in this? Regardless of whether the event is real or imagined, it still jabs you in a sore spot. You tell yourself to toughen up, get over it. But how? What do you use to plug the hole?
And then you're alone in your room at midnight, crying over thoughts you can't stop from racing across your mind.
In the morning, you've forgotten about whatever it was. But you're not quite back to normal. You can't shake of this strange feeling. And when someone doesn't return a greeting, you're back in the slump. The day drifts by, but now you are acutely aware of all of the painful things in the world.
And it sucks.
Yeah, you're never alone, and yeah, it'll pass. But right now, in this moment, it hurts.
And you need to know that it's okay.
It's okay to feel hurt. It's okay to take your time bouncing back. It's okay to worry about what people think of you. It's okay to cry because you're upset. It's okay to need a kind word or gesture. It's okay to deal with your hurt in your own way.
Peace and love,
S.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Who Hurt You?
Dearest,
Who hurt you so badly
That you can't forgive?
What terrible deed
Did they inflict upon you
That you can't move on?
Did it mean so much
To you?
Did you care so much
For them?
Did your tears change
A thing?
No.
Water wears away at stone,
And so your tears
Will wear you
Down.
And yet,
As you stand
And face them again,
The fierceness of your fire
And the strength of your
Dreams
Will
Heal
You.
S.
Who hurt you so badly
That you can't forgive?
What terrible deed
Did they inflict upon you
That you can't move on?
Did it mean so much
To you?
Did you care so much
For them?
Did your tears change
A thing?
No.
Water wears away at stone,
And so your tears
Will wear you
Down.
And yet,
As you stand
And face them again,
The fierceness of your fire
And the strength of your
Dreams
Will
Heal
You.
S.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
A little eulogy to my 22nd year.
So I am in the final hours of being 22 years old. My last palindromic age for 11 years. That's literally half of my life at this point.
I'm kind of numb and overwhelmed with feelings at the same.Also I'm really tired from yesterday's hard labour - moving stuff (LIKE WARDROBES) from one house to the other. I have muscle-ache in places I didn't know muscles existed.
The last year has been a brilliant one, and in so many ways. I loved uni, the change of atmosphere, learning so many things (most of which revolve on how little I know, and the insipidity of 18 year old kids), meeting so many awesome people, and figuring out my life bit by bit. I'm learning to be more proactive, to dream big and take pride and joy in what I'm learning and doing every single day. All in all, 22 has been a great year.
Of course, everything is rosy in hindsight - there were several weeks in which I didn't sleep and could hardly breathe, with assignments and essays and such. But as cliched as it sounds, it's all a part of the journey. Good things are only good because there are bad things with which you can compare them. And who can say no to a bit of adrenaline?
Okay, the pizza's here. I'm going to gorge myself and then regret it, and plan my day for tomorrow. I'm looking forward to hanging out with myself, meandering around and looking at pretty things. At the end of the day, all you are is you, and while other people come and go, you are still you. And that doesn't have to be a bad thing.
Peace and love,
S.
I'm kind of numb and overwhelmed with feelings at the same.Also I'm really tired from yesterday's hard labour - moving stuff (LIKE WARDROBES) from one house to the other. I have muscle-ache in places I didn't know muscles existed.
The last year has been a brilliant one, and in so many ways. I loved uni, the change of atmosphere, learning so many things (most of which revolve on how little I know, and the insipidity of 18 year old kids), meeting so many awesome people, and figuring out my life bit by bit. I'm learning to be more proactive, to dream big and take pride and joy in what I'm learning and doing every single day. All in all, 22 has been a great year.
Of course, everything is rosy in hindsight - there were several weeks in which I didn't sleep and could hardly breathe, with assignments and essays and such. But as cliched as it sounds, it's all a part of the journey. Good things are only good because there are bad things with which you can compare them. And who can say no to a bit of adrenaline?
Okay, the pizza's here. I'm going to gorge myself and then regret it, and plan my day for tomorrow. I'm looking forward to hanging out with myself, meandering around and looking at pretty things. At the end of the day, all you are is you, and while other people come and go, you are still you. And that doesn't have to be a bad thing.
Peace and love,
S.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
To Remind You
The thunder
In every heartbeat
Rumbles
And gushes
Like a tidal wave
Of Life
And when it
Stops
Death
Is come
And gone
And the rain
And the sun
No longer
Are
But the thunder
The echo
The distant shudder
Of mountains
And stones
Grainy and hard
In blended softness
Stays behind
S.
In every heartbeat
Rumbles
And gushes
Like a tidal wave
Of Life
And when it
Stops
Death
Is come
And gone
And the rain
And the sun
No longer
Are
But the thunder
The echo
The distant shudder
Of mountains
And stones
Grainy and hard
In blended softness
Stays behind
S.
Friday, November 16, 2012
A Conversation.
He said,
'I want to live in your world with you
The little boy in me
Wants to know the little girl in you
My heart wants to beat
With the rhythm in you
And my hands want to hold together
The best and the worst in you.'
I said,
'My world is in my head
And nowhere else
I have no comrade and no leader
I'm alive and yet
My pulse doesn't dance
And my fire and my rain never quite meet.'
He said,
'I want to be on your mind always
Like you are on mine
I want to be your playmate and your companion
And you can be mine
I want to listen to your breath
And for you to hear mine
And I want to warm by your heart
And you can calm by mine.'
I said,
'You're expecting too much of my thoughts
With their chaos and their order
How can you be friends with the friendless -
What will become of this loner?
What happens when I want peace
And can't silence the drum?
What if the tidal waves never quell
And we're all tossed out to sea?'
And he said,
'I've seen your world
And I want to be your friend
I want to take the loner into my soul
And make it okay
I want to stand at your shoulder
And between and within each hurricane and firestorm
I want to say to you as we get older
That you live in my heart
And I by your side
That I hear you thoughts
And speak your language
That we are kindred spirits
Like two pearls from two oceans
That I can hold your vastness and give you mine
If you let me into your world.'
And I said,
'Okay, then.'
S.
'I want to live in your world with you
The little boy in me
Wants to know the little girl in you
My heart wants to beat
With the rhythm in you
And my hands want to hold together
The best and the worst in you.'
I said,
'My world is in my head
And nowhere else
I have no comrade and no leader
I'm alive and yet
My pulse doesn't dance
And my fire and my rain never quite meet.'
He said,
'I want to be on your mind always
Like you are on mine
I want to be your playmate and your companion
And you can be mine
I want to listen to your breath
And for you to hear mine
And I want to warm by your heart
And you can calm by mine.'
I said,
'You're expecting too much of my thoughts
With their chaos and their order
How can you be friends with the friendless -
What will become of this loner?
What happens when I want peace
And can't silence the drum?
What if the tidal waves never quell
And we're all tossed out to sea?'
And he said,
'I've seen your world
And I want to be your friend
I want to take the loner into my soul
And make it okay
I want to stand at your shoulder
And between and within each hurricane and firestorm
I want to say to you as we get older
That you live in my heart
And I by your side
That I hear you thoughts
And speak your language
That we are kindred spirits
Like two pearls from two oceans
That I can hold your vastness and give you mine
If you let me into your world.'
And I said,
'Okay, then.'
S.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
The secret's out.
Words unspoken
Truths unsaid
Best kept so,
Perhaps,
Or maybe...
Just...
Too late -
They're out!
Take back every thought
Undo every verb
And unmake every noun
Unsee and unhear
But it's
Too late -
Unspeak! Quick!
Unsay these things!
Too late -
The atoms and waves
Have collided
And formed a new world
In the open.
The secret's out.
S.
Truths unsaid
Best kept so,
Perhaps,
Or maybe...
Just...
Too late -
They're out!
Take back every thought
Undo every verb
And unmake every noun
Unsee and unhear
But it's
Too late -
Unspeak! Quick!
Unsay these things!
Too late -
The atoms and waves
Have collided
And formed a new world
In the open.
The secret's out.
S.
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