Showing posts with label angry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angry. Show all posts

Not so fantastic

I had hopeful thoughts. Instead of scribbling sadness and anger, for the first time in ages, I started to jot down some positive things, about our interactions. I thought you were learning, being supportive, patient, thoughtful. I thought this semester started well, and unlike the last, maybe it will even end well.

Maybe, there will be less of these days. But nothing has changed. The forever standing conflicts over communication haven't improved. We laugh about it, but it's really not very funny when you can't start a chat without starting a fight. Just masked when we are in the same place more often and not required to demonstrate that extra effort. It's not like you're short of time these days or doing something important that you can't actually be attentive. Just lazy. For the millionth time - when I share my concerns, I want to talk to an alive, thoughtful, empathetic, normal, human, being. Not a wall, not generic answers, not robotic replies. Out of sight out of mind aye? Good to know before next year.

I hate optimistic thinking, it sets you up to be disappointed.

A: What do you think happened when the Prince found Cinderella?
Little girl: Uh, they got married and lived in a castle?
A: And... lived unhappily ever after! *evil laugh*

Crack

When I heard that sound, I raised my eyebrows, and boiled inside. I didn't come here to be reminded, I didn't miss this at all, and I have no interest in dealing with it again.

(By the way, it wasn't a crack sound.)

It all came back. The incredible hate. No matter how much patching happens, this pulls out each thread, undoing any progress. Like my fake grandma described, it's never the same after the crack. It never quite fits again.

But I suppose I shouldn't for several reasons.

Reason one: incredibly annoying and troublesome as this is, the core issue lies elsewhere.

Reason two: I want to be able to have fellowship with God.

Reason three: if you can, there's no reason that I shouldn't too. I'm touched by your forgiveness, however incomplete and tainted. And meeting that time, I was surprised once again by your gracious manner, especially knowing just how deep the murderous venom ran within you.

Difficult relationships - part one

I haven't been subtle in writing about my distate for particular friendships.

As I write, I know the sentiments are not very loving. Too much unwillingness to forgive and hate, especially for someone who claims to follow Jesus (and reflect his image).

As I write, I do half expect someone to confront me and say - hey, you can't just love those who love you, and be a friend or care for those who "deserve" it. Do you remember and practice the instructions to love and forgive as God has loved and forgiven you, don't you remember what Paul tells the early churches to love each other and be united in one purpose, don't you recall the first Corinthians passage on love.

Well, I did receive the rebuke and correction I anticipated, and needed. Through a book I bought, not for myself, and for a different purpose altogether.

It spoke of the difficult relationships which I would much rather ignore and avoid.

Love and hate

"Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you." Matthew 5:44

I hate with intensity. I hate those who hate me, the liars and cheats, those who bask in or misuse their power, the unjust, those who are selfish and cause problems in my life, the two faced individuals who pretend to be a friend but are gossipers. Praying for my enemies - a fellow believer prayed that the person would know God and be saved, and I paused for a long time wondering if I could say amen with sincerity. If Jesus, in his life, dealt with people worse than these individuals, I can't imagine what motivation there would be to love.

The Pharisees hated him, were jealous of his miracles and popularity that they even tried to kill the man Jesus raised from the dead. The Pharisees were self important, love to be praised for their piety, but really, they were hypocrites who loved money and power.

Then, there were his disciples who didn't understand who he was, or what he came to do after being by his side everyday for three years. Worse, one was disappointed that he didn't come to establish an earthly kingdom, and sold Jesus for thirty pieces of silver. The others fell asleep when Jesus asked them to pray for him before he was executed, and ran away, even openly denied to have known Jesus, because they were afraid to be associated with him. Good friends to have, aye?

There was the crowd, by the influence of the religious leaders, hated him, mocked him, and wanted him to be whipped and crucified. Pilate, the judge who knew that Jesus was innocent, but wanted to keep his job and the crowd happy at the expense of a man's life. And finally near his death, the insulting thief who taunted and challenged him.

Is it for people like this (and the people I hate) that Jesus came to Earth, to live and die for? What did God see in these people? If I had every authority to judge, like the disciples I would call on fire upon the people who treated me unfairly, and strike them to their destruction. Make sure they had the humiliation and punishment they deserved. Meekness and majesty.

O what a mystery
Meekness and majesty
Bow down and worship
For this is your God

It's easy to see their failings but I guess, we've also hated you God, hated each other. Like the Pharisees, aren't we often more concerned about feeling good, and having a good status in society, even in church, rather than being devoted to God or caring for the poor? Doesn't our jealousy for the talents of others lead to hate and snide remarks? Like the disciples, how easily is it for us to claim to know Jesus but quickly exchange him for other priorities of this world? Faced with death, would we also deny our God? Like the crowd, doesn't our society also mock God and make all sorts of disrespectful jokes about him? Given the same situation, maybe we would have easily been the unlovable characters.

Surely, it's love that prompted him to respond with patience and forgiveness in life, and an offer of eternal life in death.

"This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins." - 1 John 4:9-10

How about my hate? I try, and ask for help. Try to remember how Jesus loved. That judging others, I will also be judged. That I can't say I love God and "curse men, who have been made in God's likeness". That love is a command. Today I read ODJ and came across an article on forgiveness - praying "as we have forgiven those who sin against us" (Lord's prayer) is an implicit prayer for God not to forgive us, if we harbour unforgiveness.

Puzzles

Hello, fellow night owls.
We all love a good mystery.
Playing detectives is fun.

In my profession, and in your profession
Aren't we the experts in thinking about history,
Collecting signs, and sifting through differentials?

Own up and explain why you're prying.
Tell me, is it genuine, friendly interest
Or are you just being sneaky and intrusive?

(I mean seriously, what are you looking for? Psychiatry? - you're in the wrong field. God? The daily happenings? Thoughts and feelings? You want to see how the story unfolds? Are you trying to annoy me? Are you just waiting for a not-so-subtle message like the one that's right here?)

I am cracking the code.
You know who you are,
And I know where you are.

I am watching like a hawk.

On that last point

More on the last point. If you have a hunger for information, have an issue you need to sort out, find me in real life, give me a buzz, write to my inbox, instead of creeping like a coward under the shadows of anonymity.

Rare sighting

In a way, I was mourning and burying the dead all these years. But you are actually alive. I know because I caught a brief glimpse of that ghost after almost three years. Almost like the dream where I saw you through the window of an apartment.

It didn't make me freeze, or cry, at least not at the time. And amazingly it made me walk straight past for the sake of not stirring the brewing bubbling pot. I would have never have pictured that to be my response. Certainly I never responded like that in those recurrent dreams.

I've labelled you these years, said you're emo and weird. But no matter what I felt or what anyone said, I never presented a one sided picture - that is, I've often spoken about both the beautiful and the ugly, spoken about the stupid things you did, and the stupid things I did. In these years I never hated you or had any malicious thoughts. In fact, though I'm a pseudo stranger, I probably have more understanding and compassion of where you're coming from than most. And I guess, that's only natural after what was shared. Ha, and especially able to empathise, when history repeats itself - in that, you are partially right.

I wished so, so, so much that animosity would be replaced by healing and a normal friendship. I haven't completely given up. But with this, I've learnt to be more patient than I could ever have imagined myself to be.

Finally I want to address the friends. All that gossip. Does it make you feel special having knowledge about the secret lives of others? But hey, you know what, it's not a secret. I dare you to ask me to my face, and I'll tell you the story from beginning to end. There's nothing about it that I'm ashamed of - though that's not to say there's nothing in it that I don't regret.

The way we're taught

The medical curriculum

The only part of our university medical curriculum I remember having strong opinions about is the lectures in preclinicals where highly respected professors or academics in the field would get up and whiz through a topic we have never heard of with heaps of technical terms we (okay, more specifically I) didn't understand. Which, combined with my own bad sleeping habits, made me fall asleep almost every single day. Which didn't inspire my interest in medicine. Worse still, I realised that they would give the same talk in the first week of first year, compared to several semesters later. Actually, some of them never seemed to care who their target audiences were - the lecturer sometimes stopped in the middle and asked, so what year are you guys in? Hmm, tailoring your talk to the level of your students? Learner centred education?

Aside from that, I actually respect the way the university reviews and revises its curriculum, having a dedicated education unit, and constantly updating and comparing its curriculum with other institutions around Australia and around the world. I liked how the weekly problem based learning correlated with practicals and lectures for the week. How in the microbiology and immunology semester, we learnt about the laboratory tests relevant to the case of the week. In clinicals, I enjoyed the mix of clinical time and tutorials, the focus on long cases to help us learn how to take a good history and examination.

Aboriginal health, racism, and on being Asian

Then recently there was an orientation for the rural health module, where we spent three days having talks and doing cases about rural and Indigenous health issues. Having a real interest in the area, and having spent a weekend at a national rural health conference several weeks ago, I was looking forward to the sessions. And gee, they were bad. At the national conference some students commented that even though they've heard about Indigenous health year after year, this was the only time that they began to take an interest in the area. In their experience, Indigenous health has always been poorly taught at their universities - an Aboriginal person would talk about the stolen generation, in an accusatory tone towards a room full of students, over half of whom were Asian or International students. They thought to themselves, umm, neither we nor our ancestors were even here back then.

I had fairly neutral experiences with Indigenous health teaching until recently. This time, we had a panel of Indigenous healthcare workers, half of whom were of Aboriginal descent, speaking to us about Aboriginal health. The first thing I noticed was that everyone on the panel looked at us without a smile. The talk itself, well it was condescending, it showed a lack of respect towards the medical profession. The very thing you told us not to do - that is, to be disrespectful or talk down on an Aboriginal patient, you did it to us. Whilst most of my classmates mentally or physically zoned out, I was busy jotting quotes down as examples of the tone in which we were spoken to:

"One thing I tell you students when you work with me..."

"I always tell the students, the Aboriginal workers can get so much more out of the patients than doctors ever can." Yes we respect Aboriginal liason officers for their insight into culture and community, but Aboriginal healthcare workers also need to respect non Aboriginal doctors and nurses for their medical role.

"Some have the luxury of having me (Aboriginal liason officer) in the consult."

"I don't like taking no very often."

"We are different to everybody else." How about the refugees from Africa, or the elderly grandfather from South East Asia. Do they not need the same patience and cultural sensitivity as an Aboriginal patient?

"Aboriginal people have a sixth sense, they can pick up when people don't like them because of their race. They (the Aboriginal patients) immediately think - I don't like that person, they are looking down at me." Okay, I can make instant (often erronous) judgments about others too.

I understand that they may have had bad experiences with mainstream nurses and doctors. I respect the work that you do. But talking down to future doctors isn't going to help improve Indigenous health. And yes there are challenges Aboriginal people face that other Australians may not face, such as the trauma of the stolen generation, family and community issues. However, when is it your own perception vs real racism?

What would you say if I were to say, hey I don't like the way I'm treated, people are always treating me different. Do you know, when I go to the shops in the supermarket, as I wait in the deli or seafood section to be served, I always feel that other (white, middle aged) Australians are served before me. And my first thought is, it's just because I'm Asian. Or even when I talk amongst a group of Caucasians, and when some people exclude me from the conversation, I think, it's because I'm Asian. Or when tram inspectors come on the train and scrutinise my ticket carefully I think, look, you only chose to come up to me because I look Asian. At times the racism is real, conscious or subconscious, but at other times it's just the way I perceive people's actions.

This is the scenario we're often given - a nurse or doctor said something insensitive, and the Aboriginal patient never trusted medical staff or hospitals again. I'm sorry if you (the panel) or your patients have had bad experiences. But you can't label the whole healthcare system as racist and evil, or avoid healthcare altogether because of the action of some individuals. When I went to a school camp in year five, a group of us went swimming at the local pool. I vividly remember an Aboriginal kid saying rudely, "Chinese, go back to where you came from!" I was upset. How about if I say, I had a bad experience, I'm not going to a public swimming pool again. Or alternatively, I don't want to have anything to do with Aboriginal people because they're racist.

It's unfortunate that we face racism. We need to respect others. Yet only you (and I) can choose how we respond to unpleasant experiences, and how we move on from those feelings you described of worthlessness, anger, alienation. On a similar note, we need to provide appropriate healthcare for Aboriginal patients, and have resources and funding allocated to close the health gap. But, only patients themselves can choose not to drink and smoke excessively, or to break out of the unfortunate cycle of abuse and unemployment (and that must be difficult if that's all someone has ever known, but whilst people can support these patients, no one else can make that decision on their behalf).

We don't deliver babies

The next day we had a group discussion with a midwife. We've heard and continue to hear all the horror stories about the hostility between midwives and medical students (and especially to females). About how medical students spend hours and hours waiting for the woman to give birth, and in the last minute the midwife gives the medical student a task and ushers in a midwifery student to delivery the baby. I'm sure midwifery students have similar stories about medical students. Ah, the midwife vs medical student rivalry.

The midwife tells us about a woman who chose to give birth "naturally" at home, surrounded by her family. But the evil GP or obstetrician advices her against it, and wants to take her away from her family to the local hospital. And she was upset that the doctor was not supportive of her decision, and even called her birth a delivery ("never say delivery - pizza are delivered, not babies," said the midwife). According to the midwife, he (the doctor) said "oh I delivered your baby," thereby not acknowledging her hard work over the last 9 months.

I hope you don't egg patients on to feel that their decisions aren't respected by their doctors. I believe in patient autonomy, yes it's my body, the birth of my child, and I can choose where it happens. But we are such a self centred society. The world revolves around me. If you choose to have a baby outside of well staffed, well equipped hospital where emergencies can be attended to, please don't complain that the doctors aren't bringing all that to your house. Doctors can be arrogant, dismissive, but they aren't the only evil ones. Patients can be selfish, and have unreasonable demands.

I wish I could say that I learnt much in those few days, but I feel that the sessions have taught interprofessional (unprofessional) hate, and portrayed patient selfishness instead of giving me tools to be a better doctor, or work well in a multi disciplinary team. Do you know why I was angry after the sessions? Medical students are prone to tune off when the topic isn't direct clinical, or science content. I care that we learn about rural and Aboriginal health in a way that inspires myself and my classmates to help, and not to dismiss social and healthcare issues as a "complete waste of time."

Solitude

By Lord Byron

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude, 'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled.

But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel and to possess,
And roam alone, the world's tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
None that, with kindred consciousness endued,
If we were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued;
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

A beautiful poem, a memorable poem. One that comes to mind from time to time. I pasted it on my last blog too.

Entropy - 1

The most vibrant petal falls, decays.
The sturdiest building collapses.
Carefully carved candles are set ablaze.
Winter always overcomes summer.

The darkest hair turns white.
The smoothest skin scars.
The liveliest baby sleeps in a coffin.

Even the closest friends we forget.
Memory becomes a blurred silhouette.

From dust we came, to dust we return.

Thoughts triggered by the first line - where I saw these bright red petals scattered onto the muddy ground underneath the tree from which it grew.

The paradox

Do we carelessly toss what we have,
Then lament for what has been lost?

Only in turmoil is peace so dearly cherished,
And amongst tears that laughter so precious.

Does the same peace become monotony,
To which we forget to be grateful for?

Bound as brothers in storm; calamity!
Then becoming strangers in silence.

Cold is...

(yup it's a long and totally pointless post, because you all know what cold is)

an unfamiliar, large empty room with high ceilings. An eerie line of light from a gap where the blinds don't quite meet the width of the windows. The deepest winter night, wrapped up in a thick blanket with the heater on full blast and all windows closed; but still freezing.

chilling winds gently rocking a lift chair suspended high above the slopes. Sitting with no assurance that the heavy skiis attached to your boots will not plummet into the (deceptively soft) white snow below. Hands numb from wet gloves, clasping tightly to the metal rails.

sitting on a lone bench in the middle of a park with stretches of grass on all sides. A park from which, in the distant horizon, a row of high rises can be seen. Not believing that the vast spaces are empty, wondering if anyone hides behind the night cover. Shivering uncontrollably inside a fur coat.

breathing out a magical ball of mist with every puff you let out. Marvelling at it like a child; knowing it's condensation but being fascinated nonetheless.

Who are you?

Children dressed in white,
Twirling hand in hand,
Innocently at a park.

A woman with painted lips,
A silky silhouette
Moving in the moonlight.

An addictive needle,
Painful and destructive;
Yet unable to live without it.

Best friends whispering secrets,
Sitting side by side,
Sharing and giggling.

A thirsty, weed-filled garden,
Unable to tend to itself,
Draining a lake.

A warm, cozy blanket
Sheltering another,
In true selflessness.

Are these faces all yours?
Or is love one name
For many distinct things?

Love is not an excuse to be possessive, to not let go, to act without thought and rationale, to not see others and the world around you, to be trapped in hopelessness and not pick yourself up. To be like this is not sweet, and is not to love too much. It is to not love at all.

Twinkle twinkle little star

Every evening the sun falls and slams into the horizon. Light turns to dark. Droplets of tears hidden behind the blue day sky begin to appear as thousands and thousands of shimmering stars, forming a stream. The tale of a star is only unveiled to gazing eyes, patiently track her journey. Their mysteries are forever hidden from indoor eyes, busy eyes, eyes that see yet quickly forget - indifferent eyes. At the break of dawn a wave of energy sweeps the little stars away; faded and forgotten until night rises once more. The cycle is constant, never ending, eternal.

But today the sun died. The splendor of the stars will hang, not with joy, but shyly and with great sorrow.

Letting go

I understood this before. When I missed my childhood I reminded myself that they can never return in the same way. Whether it's those holidays in China in 1998 with my cousins and family, the way reading novels could transport me to a magical world, or the fascination I found in computer games. My dead relatives cannot come back to life, my little cousin and I can never play like siblings again. Harry Potter can never fascinate me in the same way, I will never wish to go on adventures like the Secret Seven. I can't play make pretend games with my dolls and mice, or have so much fun with playgrounds or sand bombs again. My rats are gone, my dog can't walk with me to the beach again.

This year I often miss high school life. I miss the regular routine of going on the bus in the morning. I miss learning in a classroom environment, doing questions and playing games instead of merely listening to lectures. I miss my favourite subjects, miss having my teachers as mentors and friends. Studying with my friends in study lines, or late at night at the uni library; the food and laughter we shared every recess and lunch. Thinking of it makes me feel lonely now. But like childhood, it will never come back in the same way.

The same applies to friends. My best childhood friend and I will only contact each other a few times a year. I will only have memories of friends who I've lost contact with. My ex and I will never again share that same feeling when we see each other. Mum and I may never be so completely open to each other again. And my best friend in high school may never again share so much in common and understand me in quite the same way.

Even the most fun and enjoyable times end. Even the best friendships transform. We can only treasure those memories and be glad that we have them at all. I know I should enjoy and appreciate what I have now before it becomes something of the past. Hard to do though...

For you dear friend, I'm sorry I can't always be there for you in the same way. Here's a poem you will be quite familiar with:


Louise MacNeice

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold,
When all is told

We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.


The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying


And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.
 

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