adelaidemedblog

I have decided that sitting on the toilet while reading about defacation is a stimulating exercise. In fact, I have been doing it for a few days now, but since I have been very stressed lately, the coincidence didn’t hit home. Thinking about it now, it’s probably not really a coincidence, because a) I should have understood that one day this would happen anyway, and b) having having regular motions means that it would be impossible for the minimum time to be studying one particular system (i.e. one PBL case four sessions 8 days and 8 nights) to pass between the time it took for food to pass through my system once and once again.

Wait some people find reading on the toilet weird, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that.

Oh well. Something unrelated to medicine is that this morning I discovered that Ubisoft used Lonely Soul by UNKLE to accompany the latest trailer for their XBOX360/PS3 game “Assassin’s Creed”. Colour me nerdified; I officially listen to music to program video games by. Check out the trailer here: http://www.gamevideos.com/video/id/11735. Of course to fit the trailer they had to chop up the song, which is to be expected.

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Meanwhile, in medicine-land.

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I’m inadequate. Immature and stupid. No common sense. Lack of experience. My life is a battle against my conscience, is it for you, too?

But for what reasons are we discouraged? They all might be different. I don’t know if different people could be connected along a string the shape of giant, accusing, finger. But no matter what, I’ll always find myself getting into trouble for the things that happen in the world because of me. Sometimes, there’s a period when I can relax. I’m happy with what I am, for what I do, and in where I live. I can tell myself that there’s no use in thinking too much. About what others know but I don’t. About what lives others live but I don’t. About what it means to be myself.

My life takes different pathways, and all I can do is keep on lifting my feet off the ground, without a sound. I don’t like sounds when walking. People who drag their heels when they walk are lazy rich stuck-up private school boys. Like me. These aren’t things I take too seriously, but they make for fascinating introspective exercises. Self-control, choosing my friends. They are the things that are for keeps. I thought I stayed in Adelaide for NLCC… but I was wrong. God, forgive me, I have tricked myself. And Jesus said that it’s harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God than… and that is where I stop, because I can’t read on any further. I’m a rich man, and I’m aiming for heaven. There are so many problems, just too many.

Regrets and worries are weighing on my mind like an elephant on my T1. So, what if I had gone to Melbourne? What if you had gone to Melbourne, T? And how about your friend, G? What do they think about it now? How about NSW, would things have been different there? Would I have been able to start again?

There are so many things that, neatly, folded, as if the most dainty and fragile origami, that are coming together. More like the Big Bang, actually, rather than a paper crane, or a jumping frog, or flying aeroplane. There is a way out, I can’t think of any other, but at least it’s a way. One way out - what’s that? How come only one la… of coz la… you dono how to handle stress one. I hope I do… I thought I did actually!

I feel so tired. It must be the fever. I got sick during my second term of moving out. This is terrible for my confidence. I argued with G so bad today it hurt, physically, emotionally, and even physiologically ><, it all hurt terribly. But what do I know about what hurts? Those people who truly suffer, or those who went through hardship (when I have none), what do they think about this matter? Will they look at me and say "You're not a doctor, because you don't know how I feel"? They would be right, too. And usually I can't even try. Sometimes, although I feel miserable, sometimes I wish that tragedy would come, that I might know people better. I would feel better, too, like G, who lost a cousin. Like A, with however many still-births. Like my parents, who were so poor. How can any of us know people better when no one gives us a chance? I am truly a blessed boy - Jonathan, meaning “gift of God”.

But, I digress. There is one thing that is coming. I only noticed it lately, and it bugged me. Talking with my mum, I discovered that her memory is not what it used to be. Last time, I remember, this time, it’s more vivid.
“D’s first word? Papu: it -”
“It was for apple? Dad couldn’t pronounce it properly, right? No, that would have been you… so D copied you? Saying apple.”
“No… it was from the childcare. She went there and they using their gibberish to talk, she copy them. You, for you, more. More.”
“And my second word? A lot?” (I laugh)
(laughs)”No.. don’t know… you said ‘more’, D said…”
(pause)
(me) “Papu?”
“…yes, that’s right. Are you sure you are eating properly, you look thin, so thin?”

The conversation continues, but in the back of my mind, I know what I’ve seen. No matter how big or how small, it’s there. Tragedy. It begins with Papu, but where will it end? And when it reaches the end, will I feel it counts at all? Is it a gift? A gift to break me out of this cycle, something to set me apart, something to say “I know what suffering is”? There’s no use in telling people I care if I don’t really. I won’t tell anyone, though, I won’t. It would take years. I’m tired… so tired. My fever has broken, and I’m going to sleep now… is this tragedy-enough…?

So, I don’t know if I want to swear on it yet, but I am still wishing tragedy would come, that I might know people better.
I really have to sleep now.