Post-Failure Processing, Part I

I got feedback on an OSCE station (which I failed) with the words 'Was anxious, asked for water, etc.'

At first I was like what??? and then I was sad and then I got angry because how tf is that adequate feedback and now I've eaten 6 mangoes since last night and now it's just funny.

Life is weird like that. You go through the ups and downs and as long as you're present for each peak and trough, you can step back and see the ocean and not the just the undercurrent you thought was personally targeting you. You see the gentle rocking of this dynamic cocoon, and you see how it carries you when you float, and helps you move and supports your weight including your heavy heart and leaden brain.

I hope I'm learning something.

Peace and love,

S.

Even lateral movement is still movement.

Sometimes you catch yourself routinely watering a dead plant over and over again, like there is some hope that are is some tiny part of the plant is alive deep down, and this tiny part will come out and eventually bloom. I’ve been doing this lately for a fern given out as wedding favours at the wedding of a dear friend, so this anecdote can stop here and be literal, told as a joke.  

But I have many feelings that keep wanting to come out, so there is more. 

I guess that desperate hope is what I find when I keep trying to manage stress and sadness and fears and obesity. I keep plugging away and going through the motions in the hope that there exists a tiny healthy bright part of me that will make it all worth it. Often when you try really hard, your only consolation is that you tried at all. I desperately want to bet better, but maybe what counts - and what really gives value to my person and my life - is the fact that i’m chipping away at this mountain, even if all i have is a butter knife (which i admit i only use to put the right about of hummus on my wafer crackers).

Peace and love,

S.

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.

The middle-aged white man.

Don't read this if you are super sensitive or acutely opposed to statements of generalisation or susceptible to depression about the plight of the world.

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Any time in my life that I have expressed my (grandiose) dreams and plans for the future, the only person who has knocked me down is the middle-aged white man - not the proverbial person, but the actual.

In high school I had an English teacher who, in year 11, called me over to his desk during class and told me that I'm a very bright girl and I just need to keep up the good work and I'll get far. This went on for about 10 minutes. I in turn shared my dreams of studying at an Oxbridge university, whereby he laughed and said, "You can't do that!"

My orthodontist was also one of these. He asked me what I wanted to do and again, I shared the Oxbridge dream. He responded with several reasons why this might be unreasonable, including that the universities are tied to the Church, and given that I'm Muslim, how would I deal with that? Except, um, some of Oxford's most famous scholars include Benazir Bhutto (Muslim), Indira Gandhi (Hindu) and Stephen Hawking (atheist).

More recently, and what really triggered this post, was my Honour's supervisor. In our first meeting he asked me what I wanted to do with my life, and I told him I wanted to learn everything about everything, and he, predictably, responded with a derisive laugh and, "You can't do that!" Literally. And throughout the year he insisted on repeating his mantra of "You can't get full marks, you can never get full marks, it's never going to be perfect, you can never make it perfect". Um, DUH, if I've lost 2% in the first assignment I'm obviously not going to get 100% at the end of the year. And why can't I make it perfect? Just because it's hard doesn't mean it's impossible, or that I shouldn't try.

Clearly, the middle-aged white man, as characterised above, is the bane of our success, the killer of our dreams and just plain mean. (Apart from all the really awesome middle-aged white men, obviously cf. Ian Hislop, Paul Merton, Jon Stuart, Norm Eizenberg, etc. etc.). 

Peace and love,

S.

I was going to call my autobiography (coming to a store near you sometime in the distant future) "Dear Fatty" but then I realised Dawn French has already beaten me to it. Darn her wittiness. And her timeliness.

Stop stealing my ideas before I've had them, world!

Success.

See, the thing I have learnt is that success comes to people who snatch candy from babies and then blame it on the puppy - essentially, people who are not nice.

So why am I not successful? I'm not nice. I'm as not-nice as can be. So what's the matter?

I'll tell you what - it's because I'm passive. I am the puppy who cops the flack in the above mentioned metaphor. I have the thoughts and plans and then I fail to execute. If I were the hangman I'd have been relegated to putting down the straw and feeding the pigs. 


You have to be willing to take success, in whatever form, from whoever has it. You can't just sit around waiting. People don't hand things to you, even if it's their job. 


So, boldly and beyond!

...Once I get some sleep.


Peace and love,

S.

I moustache you a question but I will shave it for later.

From Love is my weapon - This is an awesome theme. Totes loving the moustache cushion and sofa-bed thing.

Honours. (Warning: Mopey)

So Honours is over. Totally and completely. Thank God.

Last I wrote here, I was only a couple of days away from my thesis defence. Needless to say it was disastrous. I'd asked The Other Guy for the cause of death and pathology databases pertaining to the subjects who donated the tissue I'd used all year. He refused to send either one to me, because of quote, 'ethical issues'.


They were my blergh subjects, I was part of the blergh team, and I was half a blergh hour away from my thesis defence. Did he think I was stupid enough to go and google the names, or something?


The actual defence was an ordeal as well. I'd asked the Supervisor about something, he didn't know the answer, the question obviously came up in the defence, I stumbled around a bit and finally gave the right answer. Afterwards, the Supervisor told me I'd done okay, I'd stumbled around a bit, but I'd done okay. No thanks to him.


At the end of the defence you leave the room for a few minutes and your supervisor talks to the panel about how you went throughout the year, and then the supervisor leaves and you get to do the same. I tried to tell them about all the crap I had put up with, particularly from The Other Guy, but I couldn't stop crying, and the guy running the thing kept trying to shut me up. Boo.


Marks came out a few weeks ago. I did okay; when I think of why I thought I wanted to do Honours to begin with, I'm fairly happy with the mark. But given the awfulness of the the year and the people it contained, the mark did not make up for it at all. I finally got the Supervisor a (meaningless) thank-you present (fountain pen). When I gave it to him he had the nerve to say that the microscopes breaking down might even have given me pity marks. B*TCH. I worked my derriere off, trying to keep things going. If I was going to be given pity marks, I should have well over 90.


I have horrible nightmares about Honours. They have died down a bit in the last week or so, but they were awful. But I think I might be getting over it. Karma will take care of everything.


And this leads me to reflect upon my year. It was great - in parts - but the project was incredibly dull, and the people I was around even more so. If one of them - either the project or the lab group - had been good, it would have been okay. But in this case, each seemed worse because of the other. It took most of my lab most of the year to make eye contact and say hello. The Halloween-themed lab bonding day at the RA's house was incredibly awkward. Thank God the postdocs had brought her little kids, because I had nothing to say to anyone, nor they to me. The other PhD students were really nice in the last two weeks, once my thesis had been handed in. They sat through a practise talk and gave good feedback. The Other Guy was as awful and manipulative as can be throughout the year. The Supervisor could have been worse, but the passiveness, and constantly telling me that I can never get full marks or get anything perfect really wasn't great.


When you are going into Honours, people tell you to choose the lab group, not the project, so I did. I knew at least half of the lab because they'd lectured or demonstrated in undergrad. The Supervisor was head of department so I thought there was no way he'd make the year a waste. Everyone spoke so well of them. And how wrong they all were. I should have known better, too. You always get this vibe on first meetings, and then ages later you ask yourself why you were such a persistent fool. Sometimes you just have to accept that people are awful, and stop trying to find the good in them. In the first month or so I was still excited and in denial, but reality has a way of punching through, and you realise that you should have run when you had the chance.


So basically, I spent the entire year being bored and miserable, and I learned nothing. Actually, I learned three things. These are as follows:

1. Microscopy (taking decent images of crap tissue)   
2. Stereology (glorified counting, in a manner thought suitable by the Supervisor)
3. That the world is full of truly awful people, and these are the people who get places in life. Basically, success requires being manipulative, obsequiousness, putting people down, treating people like rubbish if they're lower than you in the food chain, barefaced lies, and having the audacity to think you are better than someone else such that they should be happy with an outcome you consider far below you.

Of course, there were also some great times. I'm trying to remember them now, but nothing springs to mind. I'm sure I'll remember once the echoes of this miserable year have fallen silent. All in all, it was a character-building, soul-destroying type of year. 


I'm sure aggression and misery associated with this year will burst through for a while yet. While it's true that I'm getting over it, the fact that I have a Bachelor's degree with first class Honours and still can't get a job because I basically did no proper lab work this year is incredibly frustrating. Plus all of that awfulness. 


Anyway, I think this might be enough self-pitying and whinging for one post. 


Peace and love,


S.

Nearly there.

Just over a week until Honours is over. Final seminar in two days, thesis defence in a week from then. And that's it. Thank God.


It does leave room for awkwardness, though. Do I RSVP to the Christmas dinner? What about the department's 50th anniversary celebrations? Do I need to come in ever again? 


Asked the supervisor if I could use him as a referee for job applications. He agreed and asked what kind of jobs. Just the regular soul-destroying retail variety, dude. After this year I need to know that there is worse out there and that what I have isn't the bottom of the heap.


But it's okay. Soon, there will be a lot less to whinge about. I will still be in limbo, but I'll be free to learn things and meet people. I am not naive enough to think that I will meet many, if any, awesome people. This year has taken care of that. But I will at least meet some people who aren't as awful as these ones. And that will be a nice change.


Also, sometimes Arash's voice sounds so beautiful it hurts.

Peace and love,


S.

More on Love, Happiness and Death.

Sometimes, I think marriage and relationships are for a certain sort of person, and I am not it. Some people like to be told that everything is going to be okay, and that they are wonderful. Of course that sort of thing is nice, but I'm not going to be unhappy without it. If I don't really believe something's going to be okay, someone else telling me so isn't going to reassure me. And I know I'm wonderful (jk, peeps, jk). 

I suppose this is somewhat confounded by the fact that the maternal regularly tells me I'm wonderful - so I guess you can't totally live without emotional/moral support from others. But you don't have to be in a relationship to get that sort of support. I think at the heart of it, I like to be far too independent. I want to be self-sufficient of and within myself, and that sort of attitude doesn't leave room for other people. 

Not that there's anything wrong with marriage and relationships - they are a beautiful example of human kindness and love. But is it bad that I don't see myself as being a part of something like that? Will it affect my happiness in the future? If you have unconditional love from your family and friends, do you really need it from anyone else? Am I missing out by not having this other source? I don't think so. Your partner can die at any moment, so there's no guarantee you'll be able to grow old together. 

And of course, there's no point in planning your life and happiness around something that might never happen.

Sometimes, I'm not at all fussed about dying, really. If I were to die now, I'd be dying on my quest for knowledge and perfection, and what better way is there to die? Apart from dying for someone you love or for the good of someone else - but that sort of ending is really bitter-sweet. 

I am by no means perfect - pretty far away, in fact. But I have a purpose and a goal, and dying before you reach your destination isn't bad - it's always the journey there that is most important (sorry about the cliché).

This post is a garbled argument with myself, I think. I'm really tired, the results section of my thesis is no nearer to completion, and I'm just really, really tired. 

Peace and love,

S.

Dragons and Typewriters.

Of the most depressing realisations I have had, the one pertaining to the non-real nature of dragons is by far the worst.


Sure, there are komodo dragons (lizard-type things) and dragonflies (overrated, long, fly-cross-butterfly things). And I suppose you also count frill-necked lizards, and so on. But it's just not the same thing. 


It's not that I ever believed in dragons - it's more that once I found out about them and knew they were mythical, I just felt like crying. Even now, every now and again it hits - dragons don't really exist - and all of that raw emotion comes flooding back.


Anyway. 


I'm nearly at the end of Honours. Nothing is going right, just as it should be. I just thought that all of the things going wrong would be to do with the actual science, not the people or access to the microscope. Supervisor will not be happy with the latest development. And he's just gone to America for some conference. Yay.


I have decided that if I get a H1, I will get a typewriter for myself. When I was very little - about 5 or 6 - my grandparents had a typewriter that was kept at our house. I used to love typing up random stuff. I don't know where the typewriter disappeared to, but I do know I didn't appreciate it enough at the time. There's just something so timeless and beautiful about a typewriter. Computers are great, but the typewriter captures the pure essence of it all. 

In the event that I get a H2A, I will reward myself with a book. 


And if I fail, I will just need lots and lots of cake. 


Peace and love,


S.

LOL.

"Sometimes things go right and fairytales come true. Sometimes our dreams become reality, and sometimes we are given more than we had ever wished for. 

Sometimes such things happen."

~

Sometimes things go wrong so that something else can go right. And the thing that went wrong - it was worth it, for all of the things that happened afterwards.


Sometimes, all you can do is LOL. 


I had an almost 20-hour day yesterday. I stayed back at uni to work on my thesis, and finally crashed at about 3 am. I was asleep by 4 am, with the intention of getting up at 6 am in order to get to Peter Mac in time for my 10 am microscope session (our SP5's 405 laser is being fixed overseas). Of course none of this worked. I woke up in a panic at 9: 09 am, and realised it was light outside. The paternal drove me to the city (after a detour to uni, where I had to pick up the tissue sections and the 40x lens). I tried emailing the lady to let her know I'd be late, but nothing seemed to be working. It was raining, and we were stuck in traffic. Turned out I was about 20, 25 minutes late. The lady who was supposed to help me set up had just gone into a seminar, and wouldn't be back for a few hours, by which time my session would be over. I had to run around to find a payphone to call the paternal to come back and pick me up. He wasn't impressed. 


I'm really lucky I was thoroughly exhausted and slightly delirious from the lack of sleep, otherwise I would have been in full-on panic mode. I could feel my heart trying to beat faster and have a panic attack, but I was way too tired. Breaking the news to my supervisor was the biggest worry, at this point. Turns out I didn't need to, because the other guy had already done it for me (at least, I think it was him - he was the only other person I'd gotten around to telling). The thing with my supervisor is that he will never snap outwardly, or show his anger. It lulls you into a false sense of security. But I know he wasn't impressed - but at least he didn't make me cry! 


LOL. Really, that's all you can do at the end of all of that.


Of course I emailed the Peter Mac people, apologising profusely. The supervisor sent one too. They were really nice about the whole thing, luckily. 


So now I don't have any images to count, and therefore no data. I disappointed not just my supervisor, but my self. I used to be an hour early everywhere I went, I don't know what happened. I caused a whole lot of hassle for the paternal, as well as the people at Peter Mac kind enough to help me out.


But like I said, sometimes one thing doesn't work out so that something else will. If I had made it to the microscope session, I wouldn't have been back in time for today's departmental seminar, to which I was really looking forward. I really enjoyed the talk, and I find the subject of Fragile X syndrome absolutely fascinating, not least because I'm now worried I might have a permutation (I have a symptom - the anxiety issues). Of course I know I don't actually have it. I don't have the family history, and given that it's X-linked and how common it is, something should have come up. But still. It's fascinating. 


I also got to go home and sleep at about 2 pm. I saw my family - usually they are asleep when I leave in the morning, and asleep again when I come back in the early hours of the night. 


Plus I got to have a lunch that did not consist of 2-minute noodles. And it was great.


Peace and love,


S.

What am I doing?

I'm not panicking. Not panicking.

I think I'm having a panic attack. Haven't had one in a while. The problem with anxiety disorders is that the symptoms decided to manifest themselves at the most inopportune moments. Like just before you open your mouth to speak at a seminar. Or just before an interview. Or in the middle of an exam. Or at night when you're trying to go to sleep. Or when you're trying to start your thesis write-up because you only have a week and a half till it needs to be done, after which you will be scrambling like a madwoman trying to finish results and counting. 


The microscope is out of action for about 2 weeks. The immuno on the latest sections will be faded by the time the microscope is fixed, and the alternate sections for this subject have already been used, so I'll have to do a whole other set of IGVs. Which is fine, because I'd be doing it now, if the microscope were working. But I'm having trouble starting my intro write-up, or my methods re-write. I had a nightmare re: confronting the other guy for being so awful and the ensuing drama. I understand that in the overall scheme of things, I'm not that old, I have plenty of time and opportunities ahead of me, and everything will be fine. But right now, I don't feel like I'm making any headway towards any of that. 

I keep telling myself I have a plan for next year - Masters of Reproductive Science, or Arts degree - but do I really? No. And it's freaking me out.Lucky I've been fasting for the past month, it leaves you too drained to get worked up about anything. 

Anyway. There is a whole wide world out there, and I want to experience it. I want to be learning something new every single day. I want to be GOOD at things. I want to avoid feeling bored/trapped/helpless/miserable at all costs. I guess at least I know what I want. Certainly gives me something to aspire towards. And I've learned, throughout the course of this year, that I'm very good at hiding misery and putting on a happy front, which is important when you're dealing with the world. 

I'm listening to "Iran, Iran" by Arash, and I LOVE it - the music, the voice, don't really get the words but those as well. Am also loving "Letters to God, pt. II" by Angels and Airwaves. His voice has this insane sort of beauty. If I could sing, I would do so at every opportunity. I'd sing instead of normal speech, and I would never shut up.

Peace and love,


S.

My Book.

I have felt for quite some time that I should write down everything I know and think. I have been doing this, to some extent, in the various blogs and diaries I have had over the years. But I think it is now time to commit to a book. It will be a never-ending book, with a chapter coming out at a time. There will be no single point I'm trying to make - rather, it shall be a chronicle of my dynamic, ever-changing life, views and events. I may contradict myself or formulate very different views from chapter to chapter, and that's okay. 

A little while ago this awesome lady who is an active member of the community and also teaches at my uni, suggested I write a book entitled 'Lessons In Humility'. It seems to be a very fitting title. Back in high school another girl suggested I write a book called 'My Opinions'. This is also a very fitting name. I have been brainstorming and I think 'The Magnitude of My Awesomeness Knows No Bounds' is also befitting. Or I could use all three? I will also need chapter titles, although numbers would of course suffice. Suggestions welcome! 

That is all for now. Apart from this decision, I think life is pretty dandy. Ramadan Kareem to all of my fellow Muslims (and anyone else who would like to join in)! This month is going to be an awesome one. I can feel the panic creeping up (re: Honours, data, no time!), but for some reason I have felt very good over the last few days, Alhamdulillah. The cell counts are frustrating but sort of fun. Although I can feel the craziness creeping up on me. But that's okay.

Peace and love,

S.

And we start with a quote...

"I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those that makes things beautiful." -- Friedrich Nietzsche.

I think some part of me has come to realise that my goal in life isn't just the jobs and courses I want to get into, the places I want to go. My target is being in a perpetual state of awesomeness, and I think I'm well on track for this goal.

In fact, one could argue that I am already there. In a lot of ways I have/am already achieved/achieving my life goals - I'm learning, (sort of) meeting new people, am reasonably healthy, and totally awesome, if my baking adventures last week are anything to go by (apart from some bits...).

I jest, I know that I am not yet perfect. But what is perfect? Sometimes we covet not the absolute perfection, but the beauty that is in imperfection. The clouds aren't perfectly white or symmetrical, but they are beautiful nonetheless. The rain doesn't fall in straight parallel lines at an equal distance from all other drops of rain - in fact, not all rain drops in the same instance of rain are the same size. But rain is still awesome. Not every petal on a flower is identical, symmetrical and uniform - but the  flower is still perfect. 

Point in discussion being, that yes, a perfectly straight line is beautiful, but so is a sine wave. A straight path is satisfying, but a crooked one is just as fun. My life may not be following the ideal plan, but it's getting there, and it's good. And I'm pretty awesome. Not sure exactly why, but I know I feel good and that's good enough for today, at least. 

Also, I had a dream about Jedward last night. It was weird, in hindsight. And the youngest brother is having a semi-meltdown. He made me promise that he won't fail his science project. And he has had trouble sleeping the last couple of nights. He has also taken over my bed. Ten is too young for this sort of freaking out.

Cell counts! It's going okay, at least I've started on an actual subject. Not too happy with the figures I'm getting, but oh well.

Have yourself an awesome day!

Peace and love,

S.

Drip, drip, FLOOD COMING!

There are times when you want to say something, express some emotion or thought, and you find that you can't. Then you listen to a song, and it makes you feel better. So you keep listening to it. But it just reinforces the awful feeling you had at the beginning, because even though it made you feel better in the moment, it also keeps reminding you of that thing that brought you down in the first place.

Right now I'm counting cells. It's going okay. It's still a novelty, given I've just started. But it also gives me time to think. And thinking when you're tired and/or hungry tends to be a little depressing.

Today's lab meeting was quite entertaining; the supervisor showed us pictures of his holiday in the middle of nowhere. He's an interesting character. Sometimes you see a younger person, and it reminds of you some older person you know, so you can imagine what they (the older person) would have been like as a child or young adult. I am having trouble placing the supervisor. If I make a mistake, he'll correct me and try to teach me, but if I still don't understand/can't fix it after a couple of times, he sort of decides that that must be the best I can do and leaves it at that. He's awesome, but the lack of faith sometimes is a bit of a downer. Or maybe I'm over-thinking it.

Not that my self-worth or estimation of my capacities or happiness or anything should rely on or be influenced by anyone outside of myself. But still. There's this part of me that's human, and it keeps taking over. And I don't know how to tell him that my immuno failed again even though the other guy was there with me the whole time. Well, it's not that I don't know how to tell him. I'm just terrified, is all. Not that I should be, given that I have a plan for next year (Arts degree) if all else fails. But I think this plan would mean admitting failure and therefore is a little hard to accept properly/be happy with. 

I shall stop before I make even less sense.

Peace and love,

S.