Out of convenience

I was listening to Malachi randomly, at a timely time, on the drive that I sort of wish I didn't go on.

God's people (the Israelites) in Malachi's time failed to give tithe and offerings as required. They saw it as a burden. They knew the requirements of the law but saw nothing wrong with offering blind and lame animals to God, though they had acceptable animals in their flocks. They gave, but out of their convenience. Those animals couldn't have profited them much anyway. Or in Jesus' time, those who were giving out of their wealth - perhaps they were happy to drop in a sum each week, as long as it didn't hurt their lifestyles.

Do we obey God out of convenience?

I have been (am) struggling with how love comes at a cost. Perhaps it costs time when you could use for study, or petrol on a week where fuel prices are high, or significant damage to your personal belongings. Perhaps the cost is less tangible, but very real nevertheless. Less hours of sleep, maybe even insomnia. Not being appreciated, or the sort of friendship where you are only contacted out of the other person's convenience. How about when the person you are helping, in the same breath that they express their gratitude, shock you with how self centred they are. Maybe with something that is not even socially acceptable, akin to refusing a small favour such as, can you please pass the water from across the table.

Sometimes I think, maybe I'm nice you know, I do love my neighbours - thinking about how I can encourage this person, spend time with that person, help with someone else's needs, buy something good to share with another person. I love a little, while it's convenient. Until it costs me something that hurts. Then it turns to hate or pondering whether it is worthwhile to serve God. If this person is like that, why should I ever do anything for them. I wish I never noticed. I should have stayed home, then this would have never happened. God this is not fair, why did this happen when I am trying to be good to others?!

“You have said, ‘It is futile to serve God. What do we gain by carrying out his requirements and going about like mourners before the Lord Almighty?" - Malachi 3:13-14

I guess, when you read the whole story of Israel and how patiently God had loved and blessed the people with everything they had, it's ridiculous that the people would say that. But somehow, it sounds more reasonable coming from my own heart... but it's not.

So no, reality is that I'm selective, and give up easily, and don't love that selfless love much at all. A humbling reminder it is, of how none of us can be righteous before God by our own efforts, and how deeply we need to grasp God's love to continue loving. What a high calling Jesus gave and demonstrated, to love your enemies; and if your enemies, then surely your friends also!

(By the way, I always thought loving enemies was an oxymoronic statement, but perhaps what he was saying was, those who despise you as an enemy rather than those whom you despise as enemies.)

From the other side

The ambulance call

"Can you have a look at her?"

That morning I was awoken by distressed cries and loud bangs on the door. Her tongue was swollen, in pain, and she couldn't speak or eat properly. The ambulance was called.

Sleepily I sat on the couch beside her. Ironically, we had just revised the ALS protocols the previous day. Airway, breathing, circulation. Tongue was mildly swollen but nothing else to suggest anaphylaxis. No respiratory distress. Er, what else would cause this? I sat in silence, watching her cry and struggle in agitation, unsure of what to say or do, not knowing whether it was appropriate for me to examine her further or to try to calm her down. Sorry, I wish I could have been more helpful. Fortunately the paramedics arrived, and I watched in marvel at how they turned chaos into peace; just simple measures of putting on a saturation probe and listening to the lungs, or speaking to her in a calm but authoritative tone.

Greeting the second ambulance that arrived, I stood sleepily on the front steps, with messy morning hair, in my bright stripy pyjamas. Are you the patient, they asked. Is she your sister? What?! Being used to the assumption that I was part of the medical team (even as a student), I was taken aback by the question. Then, I struggled to give a concise briefing on what was happening, especially not knowing how much of her past history to say or omit with her there in front of me. What did I do all those long case presentations for if I can't give a one minute handover?

I reflected, was it the hospital (or clinic) environment, the medical gadgets there, the doctors and nursing staff surrounding me, that bestowed upon me an ability to think and management problems medically? Void of those, I felt that a layperson could have handle the situation more appropriately. Maybe that's why unlike some of my classmates, I'm not excited about the prospect of finding myself in the middle of an emergency on the streets or on the plane. Surely, had I been dressed for work, wearing the stethoscope around my neck, hospital badge clipped to my shoulder bag, walking down the Emergency Department, the same presentation would have been met with a more active response than simply sitting beside her once I worked out that there was no immediate risks to her life, and that she was far from needing chest compressions. Yet it still makes me doubt whether I can be a doctor at all.

The inpatient

"Doctors! They can't make up their minds," she told me in exasperation, about how her elderly mother with rectal bleeding was managed on the acute wards.

One day they prepare and fast her, the next day they say the procedure is too risky. One they they want to do the colonoscopy, next day they decide to do CT instead. Now they scheduled a PillCam for next week. Angiogram was planned and cancelled. She's working but visiting the hospital every day, feeling frustrated with the decisions that are being changed all the time, not certain of how long this will go for.

So that's what it is like from the other side. Not that patients and relatives don't express similar frustrations during their stays, but I guess it's different when someone confides in you outside your medical role, and when the person is closer to you. A reminder of why good communication between the team, patients and their families is important.

Myopic

One day, I was driving along a familiar road. Dusk tinted my vision with its greyish-blue shade. The street and city lights appeared dimmer against a sky which had not yet become completely dark.

Suddenly, I realised that every road sign along the way was blurry. I could barely make out road names, or read the number plates of cars in front. The green and red traffic lights smeared beyond neat round circles. I wondered, how many times had I driven home along this road, assuming that I could read speed signs, when what I was doing was actually relying on memorised speed limits? How often did I walked past these restaurants, without being able to read their neon-lit names?

Was my window foggy or dirty? Was it because I was used to driving at broad daylight or in deep darkness, but nothing in between? Is something wrong, did I sleep too little, were my eyes puffy or blurry from tears, did I need new contacts - but how can that be when I just started wearing fresh ones recently? The more worrying question was, how could I have not noticed the extent of blurriness in my vision, for surely it had been a gradual decline! Did I spend too much time looking at what was directly in front of me, was I too absorbed in singing (screeching) along to melodious emo pop songs while I drove, or too often lived within the landscape of my emotions and thoughts rather than in reality, that I had stopped seeing and noticing my surroundings?

One night, I wore the stronger prescription glasses, and turned off the bathroom lights. By chance my head was tilted towards the window panel above (which I completely forgot existed). I felt a flutter of delight and amazement at the stars above - I could not recall when I last had the acuity to clearly pick out those small, silver dots of brightness in the night sky.

Civilisation

You must be glad to be back in civilisation. A year later the same comment is made and I still don't know how to answer, besides giving a half hearted smile. M freaks me out. M feels strangely foreign, even after being away for only several weeks.

Cars, cars and more cars. Toyota, Honda, Suzuki, Ford. And driving along the same road, an old, perfectly shiny, bright frog-green, 60s style car. Faceless seas of commuters, spending a good part of our day waiting on and standing in public transport. A vintage red train screeching to a halt at a futuristic looking railway station. A whole collection of Plants vs Zombies characters along a dashboard - Peashooter, Sunflower, Walnut, Chili, Cherry Bomb. My little sister would have loved it.

Venturing into the city centre and Western suburbs, I hear snippets of familiar hometown dialects. Middle aged Caucasian men, with tattooed arms, holding a bubble tea in their hand looks strangely out of place. Herds of school children push their way onto the tram, making the squeeze as tight as the subway in Asia. I end up overhearing the conversation of two giggling high school girls and wonder if I was ever like them.

A: OMG we were on the lift right. And there were these really, really hot guys! (looks excited, fans herself with her hands)
B: Yeah?
A: And they were looking over, and I was holding my breath. And C pretended that she didn't see anything!
B: Hey, I hate you! Did you have to tell the wholeeee of year eight that I had a friend.
A: Sure, just a friend eh?
B: Yeah why did you have to tell? He's just a friend. Really!

Haha girl, that's so believable. Not. As a high school student maybe I was more excitable, crazy, and giggled endlessly about things that I wouldn't find funny now. But I definitely wasn't boy crazy in year eight.

Across the road in my somewhat alternative, hipster suburb, a neighbour walks her dog wearing bright orange pants, matched with a red top. Walking to the tram stop, there is a girl with too many layers, and another girl with high boots that are split into half black, half white along the middle - it's like she had stepped straight out of an Anime. Down the other side of the street, tall skinny men with classic Hollywood hairdos wear skinny jeans that are tighter than my stockings. Strutting along, backs stooped, hands in pockets, earphones plugged in.

Hello civilisation. Living in civilisation has given me a deeper appreciation for the lines of Solitude that often play in my mind:

Midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men
To hear, to see, to feel and to possess...

Civilisation isn't for everyone. Maybe that will be my response next time. Yet, on good days M seems to live up to its expectations of a livable city. Diversity is good, artsy is fun, whacko is interesting, the sun shines, the sky is blue, and I welcome back my appetite with open arms as I tuck into a deliciously crispy roast duck on rice before arriving at my tutorial. And on a day like that, I remember that where I live matters very little. The old idea of home being where the heart is - it's the quality of human ties that makes a place livable, or miserable.

Once upon a time there was

A little girl.

What a whirlwind of a holiday it has been. She never failed to rise at sunrise, but was always considerate enough to quietly leave the room and let me sleep in. At camp, trying to put her to sleep early in a noisy cabin of eight where everyone slept past midnight, was a challenge. Meals had to be orderly, not sporadic as it had been during the past month. But, I was pleasantly surprised how she had improved from being picky, to happily eating cuisines with strange spices and flavours. Especially when it was made clear that there would be no other food for the rest of the night.

Everything was slower. We were packing and unpacking for two, making two beds, taking twice as long to get ready every time we went out. We stopped along the way because (although she's much more energetic than me) her little legs tired more easily from long walks through the CBD. Delighted to hear that seeing the magical fresh snow on the ski fields was a "dream come true" for her, but teaching her to ski and carrying all her gear was the most exhausting activity, ever. Then her, falling into a sleep so deep that I literally had to sit her upright when dinner arrived so that she wouldn't leave the restaurant without eating. Thinking ahead of her so I could remind her to use a fork instead of fingers, to not blurt out anything about people (or cats) being fat, to not be too loud on a coach where everyone was trying to sleep. Thinking ahead so that I would have an answer that is not TV or iPad/games, to her question of "what can we do now?" When our plans had to change, when we couldn't go somewhere we had promised, I was surprised to find her to be more understanding than a grown up. Out of our long car trips, came many new or silly variations of Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel, Snow White, Three Little Pigs (or the Three Little Wolves and Big Bad Pig) and more.

Living by yourself is different, and it always takes me awhile to adjust when together with her. I was so excited about her arrival for weeks and weeks. Then felt absolutely exhausted for several days. And eventually, as I do every time, came to the conclusion that though it's a disruption to the usual routine, her presence is something positive and delightful. Perhaps that's what it feels like, to be a parent.

My growing head

I have several long posts in draft that I've been thinking about. But the inspiration to write came like a wave, and faded away today.

Before these few weeks I didn't realise how heavy the head is. I don't think my brain is getting bigger from studying, but it certainly feels more difficult to support each day. Is that a legitimate medical condition? I don't know what to do with it - flex, extend, lateral flexion, neutral position. Sitting, it hurts. Lying down, on my back, on the side, on my face, it hurts. Hello insomnia. Maybe I need a thicker neck to hold up the mass of my growing head.

Time to see a chiro? Or a shrink?

Faces

Photos photos. I must have taken a million but found fault with all of them. It's not that I don't like my face. But the creases, blemishes, panda eyes, the fake or asymmetrical smiles really become quite apparent, and irritating when you stare at the photos for too long, trying to pick a suitable one to work with. Not to worry, you can always fix what you don't like it. Finally, I put my rusty Photoshop skills to use. Why put on make up when you can paint in your make up digitally, for free. Hey, at least I didn't give myself digital plastic surgery.

Yes, how inconvenient, at my age I'm still trying to work out what concealer, foundation, eyeliners, mascara, etc are for, and how to go about painting my face with them, and how can I wear it for a few hours without rubbing them off or onto my face. I've always wanted to be a boy and never worry about these things. And it's sort of embarrasing - guys, it's like being in your mid twenties and not being able to drive a car. Well I suppose my guy friends wouldn't be able to help me out (would be horrified if you offered), and I lack close female friends to consult.

I find it really hard to smile genuinely, taking photos on my own, with a boring white backdrop. No scenery, no mountains, no beach, no cute pets, no cuddly soft toys - just a plain white wall with a grey shadow. But scrolling through the photos, I noticed that in the same place, when we took photos together, my face lit up. Not exactly happier  (okay, maybe on some), but more animated. And literally, the lighting looked brighter in those photos. Or perhaps you're right in saying my face looks prettier because there's something to compare it to, ha, just kidding.

Vanilla, hazelnut, peach

For the first time since preclinicals, we've met regularly with our entire cohort. All the classmates who you thought you would never see again are back. Those who were once acquaintances become something more awkward than acquaintances. Last semester I met a classmate whom I used to sit next to from time to time in lectures. Being polite after a teaching session, I introduced myself and asked for her name before realising that it was the same girl with a changed hairstyle. Oops. Worse still, she answered my question with an unfriendly "names don't matter", or "it doesn't matter". We haven't spoken since.

Then again, these gatherings have also been great excuses for bubble tea catch ups. Vanilla and hazelnut aren't good flavours at Chatime. Peach is nice. It was refreshing hanging out and eating wherever, doing something spontaneous. It's been forever since I've sat on the floor at some public place and not cared how unladylike it looks. And awhile since my last superhero film. Action films make me feel sleepy. All those flashing lights, quick cuts between scenes, people running from impending doom, sparring warriors.

But coming back, I'm tired as I am every night way before it's bedtime. I suppose, at some point, we had to pay for last semester's months and months of free time, for sleeping in for more than half the week. I walk into my room and leave my shoes and coat anywhere, making small mountains here and there. The laundry basket is full and it's too late to do the washing. I realise I've only eaten home maybe once in the past week. I wonder when I will sit and read and pray, when I can write applications, when I will study. Not tonight. Ha, I seem to say that every night.

I write one lined diary entries, and the most recent one is dated but otherwise blank. I haven't touched the food blog. I haven't replied my grandfather's email. I haven't chatted with my cousin on instant messenger for ages. Neither have a bought a replacement tissue box for my bedside dresser. I haven't been to karaoke for awhile, though a few of my karaoke enthusiast friends have been wanting to go. Been eating tasty but not particularly healthy food, haven't walked the dog, gone for a run, played tennis or squash in awhile.

Why? Because there's trips to organise, pointless evidence to gather, applications, hospital information sessions, decisions, too many antenatal clinics and too low yield birthing suite shifts, church and fellowship, group socials, long lunches after church, other ongoing tasks we agreed to at a time when we didn't realise how commitments will snowball. Because the computer breaks down, backing up data and reinstalling the system takes time.

This is a bit exhausting. I haven't been particularly stressed for maybe, years.

But yes ironically, I drove for hours to a seaside town, and back the next day. I do go for lunches and brunches, and did watch a film today. And I did take half an hour or so to write this post.

Just an illusion

Would I have been happier in the illusion of a pleasant, albiet brief, encounter? Yes, if I hadn't asked, I wouldn't have realised that seeing, even acknowledging with a smile, doesn't mean that we really met. In reality, only I did.

A tad disappointing.

And a bit sad.

To echo those words, I don't think anyone, not even you, understand, the effort behind inaction, or minimal action.

I always plan to write when everything is bright and rosy, but those times are easily shared with good company, over good food. Whereas these thoughts are ones that don't make good meal conversations, and invite unwanted responses.

Study life - day one

a) Looking at FB
b) Searching the fridge
c) Thinking about useless things
d) Feeling sad, and a bit annoyed
e) Room is getting progressively messier
f) The house is so quiet
g) It's strange not to meet people
h) No class, I thought I would love it
i) Bored, disconnected from the world
j) At least there's a cat on my lap
k) A 10 minute walk, or run
l) Feel like eating, a lot
m) Three lamb chops, yum should be full
n) Another look at the fridge
o) Two oranges, a nectarine, an apricot
p) Mmm, passionfruit yoghurt
q) Maybe I'll have some of that raspberry yoghurt too
r) A packet of Shapes
s) And some raisin toast
t) Still hungry
u) Where do I eat out tomorrow
v) Check deals, and Urbanspoon
w) Elective forms, insurance forms
x) S & S - who wants to meet up?
y) Bored, tired, the songlist is getting old, screechy
z) Sleep

Furry friend

Why does your breathe smell so bad everytime you open your mouth. It is lovely though, to have your warm body on my lap, and that constant, rumbling purr. Then silence, and lots of ear twitching, as you fall asleep. You're the only cat I've ever really liked. But I'm keeping an eye out on those unpredictable, evil claws that always manages to prod into my skin through my clothes.

Four o'clock

I thought today was an improvement.
I wanted to thank God.
But, tossing and turning in bed.
Thinking about waking up tomorrow.
Getting more and more agitated.
I suppose, no one can be expected to keep you company.
Not at 4am. So I sit here and talk, to myself.
Maybe double digits is a bad year,
I hate birth. Days. Not to be ungrateful to my family.
And the friends who wrote me thoughtful messages.
Or C, who always has a lovely word and card.
But they're distressing. Days.
I hoped for quiet, familiar, company.
Instead I dined and talked with a stranger.
A nice stranger doesn't take away the bitterness.
Really. It's been building up for longer, beyond that day.
M, the city of distant ghosts, cold faces.
A place I loved, or a bad and lonely place?
The cars. Deadly trucks. Angry cyclists knocking angrily.
The closer proximity, the heightened expectations.
The distateful mess. The fatigue. And a poisonous aftertaste.
Pointing. It's your fault. No it's your fault.
The inability to say a caring word. How sad.
Sadness is irritable. And sadness. Is isolating.
The episodes makes functioning. Rather difficult.
And sleep. Rather difficult too. Don't think DSM.
I thought there were old friends and new friends.
On good days there are. Opportunities to love.
But on bad days I see the popular, shunning the unpopular.
And lament that it happens at church. Of all places.
It could be seasonal. You know, summer and winter.
The lense needs a cleaning. Dark in darkness dwells.

A quiet day

Doing. Emergency with ears tuned for ambulances, a free and blissful holiday, conferences near and far, brunch with my favourite B friends, family and talkative toddlers, measuring waists at the "oversize" station, driving in the storm with poor visibility, switching between anger and melancholy, hate and empathy, chilli pork trotters, singing C-pop and drinking milk tea, and writing, taking photos, chomp chomp, and writing some more.

A quiet day, at home. Lovely easy-going people, the perfect lazy purring cat, two funny, occasionally infuriating, hungry hungry dogs. But two or three months later I'm still thinking about the town, the place, the friends, cooking feasts, the badminton tennis footy, the lake, running past black swans, the home baked goods and fellowship. On a quiet day, can I be back there instead? When my calendar is blank, I uncover this uneasiness about being here. First year I used to love this place with a sense of awe at its night lights and deliciously cheap eateries. Love is fleeting, or at least infatuation is. Bigger is not always better. Community over flashiness any day. Maybe I can hope for a second love affair with M.

Maybe a quiet day is time to clear the distraction and know God, realign that compass. And do some study.

Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. - Mark 1:35

The arts students

For years I haven't spent any significant time on campus. Unless you count a quick look around the nightclub-like library, or the trip to buy a bubble tea. But today we were on campus for a conference that involved students from across the faculties, including arts, law, commerce, engineering and us medical students. It's a good time to hear about all those issues like carbon market, global warming, and sustainability that I've never understood. And a good time to learn about other students from my university. I can't help but stare at the arts students. The interesting and elaborate hairdos, the strange clothing, and the ideas.

Mum always said that arts students have a different way of thinking to science students and I didn't quite believe that. But we saw a presentation from a visual artist which really demonstrated the leap from idea to idea, the big picture, the abstract thinking that is baffling to us medical students who are bound to reality (after all, would you really want your doctor to have creative and artistic ways to manage your illness?) The artist's approach to climate change was spreading empathy, spreading empathy is what we need - an empathy virus. Or the sustainable fashion talk yesterday. Sustainable fashion, buying boutique non mass production fashion? Involving the fashion industry to sustainable fashion? To me these ideas are too abstract. How about something practical like stopping clothes production altogether and reusing the plentiful items we already have. Finally, in the afternoon I casually flipped through the student publications magazine with a strong arts bias that is so different from the science student publications. I came across an article elaborately describing the life of pigeons on campus, and another with vivid descriptions of good and bad kissers, and other obscure topics that makes me feel like I'm in a different world.

Their worldview is so different it's fascinating. It's the passionate ideas and visions, without solid grounding in reality or an imaginable mechanism that confuses me. Castles in the air. Innovation? And not to be mean but we're sure some of them take marijuana and the likes to get in touch with their creative side. It makes you wonder, what is the role of our arts students and graduates in society? I guess it's a certain skill set. Ideas and creativity are useful, people who can talk with conviction about something abstract and unclear is useful too. These are some of the more vocal people in society, the activists about current issues, world issues. Any arts students there with a different view?

Kind strangers

I’ve been told about the strangers who can brighten your day. A kind word, a smile, just asking “how are you.” And I didn’t really believe them. Sure they can politely ask “how are you” – but why does it matter, they know nothing about your life to begin with! Yesterday though, the kindness of a stranger did touch my heart.

Recently I’ve been settling back into the city, and there have been difficulties. The long hours on public transport for a trip that should take ideally less than 10 minutes. The cars, oh the number of cars, the limited parking, with complicated parking signs (9am-5pm 2P ticket Mon-Fri, 9:30-12:30 2P ticket Sat, clearway 4pm-6pm etc). So, I finally found a carpark next to the hospital. But it was a 2P ticket zone, sigh. I only needed 5 minutes to drop off a document. I walked over to the ticket machine and deliberated whether it was worthwhile to buy a ticket… or should I just make a dash in and out of the hospital. Then an elderly man rolled down his window and said, “do you need a ticket, for about half an hour?” He handed me the piece of paper, “it’ll only last until 4:30 though,” he said apologetically. I told him that’s great as I only needed to be there for a little while. I thanked him and he gave me a broad smile and drove off.

It was a simple gesture, just a small piece of paper, and cost him nothing but a little thoughtfulness. Yet it was so kindly given that it felt warm. It helped me to view strangers, and patients specifically, with a bit more optimism. It’s easy to be cynical about patients. If a stranger can affect our mood, our views, then the question to ask is – do I show kindness to strangers? Do you show kindness to strangers?

Want to hear one more story? Back in Singapore, I wrote a short story about another kind stranger.

Singapore has temperamental and excessive weather – from glaring, hot sunlight to buckets of rain that begins to flood the grasslands and pavements. The city has an extensive network of deep open drains and wide canals to deal with the rainwater.

I dislike carrying umbrellas because wet umbrellas wet your bag, and are heavy on the shoulders. Besides, droplets of rain don’t hurt anybody. That afternoon I was walking from the bus stop to the hospital. As usual, cars were jammed because of the downpour, though I’m not sure why cars jam when the rain is heavy in Singapore. Anyway, I waited calmly to cross the road. I waited and felt the rain begin to soak my hair and my long flowing skirt. One car was kind enough to slow down to let me cross.

Reaching the underground staff canteen, a couple of impolite men sitting around a table smirked at me. Perhaps I was paranoid, or perhaps they were really staring at my dripping hair. I ignored them and walked on. Then I came to cross the road, so that I could catch the free shuttle bus back to the train station. The walkways are nicely sheltered, but the crossing was open.

I strolled towards the crossing, knowing a bit more rain wouldn’t make much difference to my current state. I gazed ahead and caught the eye of a young man, dressed well, probably a medical student or a young doctor. He was walking towards me, heading for the opposite direction. He walked towards me, smiled and offered me his umbrella, and I was taken aback. Puzzled I mumbled, ‘oh no, that’s ok’ and he replied, ‘no no, that’s ok’ and changed his direction to offer his umbrella and walk with me. The scene was almost funny. I thanked him and he disappeared with his friend.

Did he pity me? I don’t know. But what a gentleman! I thought. A kind stranger who couldn’t have had any ulterior motives because we were perfect strangers and unlikely to even remember each other’s faces. The experience was surreal.

Clinical school

I started thinking about my choice of clinical school during the start of exam prep this time. Every clinical school gives similar but different teaching, different timetables and schedules. We hear of the greater competition in metro hospitals, more tutorials, more assessment preparation, giving their students obvious clues as to what the exam topics are. Then looking around our own group of students in rural, everyone is relatively relaxed, lazy at times. And I was pondering whether we're missing out, whether rural clinical school was a good thing for my learning. People often ask me whether B was my first choice, and why would I want to live in a "small country town" (it's not that small). Well, throughout this past week, I was reminded of some of the reasons that I chose come to RCS.

Studying with other people doing the same thing is fun. There was always someone ready to practice history taking and physical exam during the study break. Asking each other questions and talking med throughout the day after day, I realised I could remember things that I wouldn't be able to remember by staring and yawning at a textbook. Then during our written exam we were given lollies, water, pencils and an eraser. And in the OSCE we didn't wait a particularly long time because there were only fifteen students in our year here altogether versus say, over fifty students. Then there were those shared dinners, an outing to the playground and lake the day before exams, a fun game of "Mr Squiggle" on the morning of our OSCE, and classmates to tell you "don't stress you just need to get an average sort of mark, you just want to be a GP." Haha okay, I feel great now. This exam period was the most fun one I've had at uni, partly because it's weighted lightly and largely because of the good company.

I never got to know many classmates well, and made less than a handful of people who I would call friends in the first two and a half years of university. I found it difficult how everyone was coming and going, and lived all over M. So that was one reason for RCS, to live with and get to know a few fellow med students better. And it has been a joy to study, live, hang out with the people here (except the days when I'm grumpy or people are particularly annoying). And I love my group.

And I remember mum saying, maybe you'll like rural because it'll be more like living in D. That's been surprisingly true too. Yesterday I was in M and just realised how noisy the CBD is, how did I ever fall asleep living next to the tram line, hospital (with ambulances) and fire station? Then the traffic jams looked horrible. Then I thought smaller places are much nicer places to live, it's quiet and everyone is accessible within 10 minutes with a car. I do miss my night strolls through M though. I like the shops here because it reminds me of the main shopping centre in D. I love my church here too.

Half a year ago, I had no idea what we would do in clinical school. What do you mean you just talk to patients?? Then the students in the years above us said that they prefer clinicals over preclinicals because you "see real patients", "it's more relevant" and "it's more hands on". And because nearly everyone I talked to said that, I was determined not to like clinical school for the same reasons as everyone else haha.

But I enjoyed this semester - I enjoyed the study content, the small-ish hospital where everyone looks familiar, the place I live and the people around me. I was happy most of the time. Maybe because of these things I'm taking a greater interest in reading and learning med, in learning to be a doctor. I'm glad to have chosen B.

I'm thankful to God for leading me, and helping me to make decisions at each step of this course (and beyond). I believe God was with me during that year in S - teaching me to accept times of solitude, helping me finish the research project and report quite completely although there was a lack of good supervision, helping me to find a lovely host family, preparing for these years with a good med student fellowship, giving lots of opportunities to share God's love with those around me, and two trips across the seas to my hometown, to get to know my extended family better. Who can say for sure where and how God's hand were on these things, but I know having a relationship with him aligns my thoughts, my heart, my purpose with his. And God does act.

I think after a few more month, on hindsight, I will see the plans you have for me here more clearly too.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. - Romans 8:28

Come on, have a drink

Question 1: Do you want a drink. No thanks. And when you ask 5 minutes later the answer will still be no. And when you ask next week, next month, I'm still going to answer no. No, no, no.

Question 2 (worse than question 1): Why? Come on, I've only lived here for nearly half a year. I've had this asked by someone or the other at nearly every social event, or just evenings in the lounge, whenever alcohol is involved. And I've always given the same answers.

Question 3 (worse still): Why not? Come on, have a drink. It tastes good, it'll make you feel good, there's barely any alcohol in it, you can hardly taste it, see, even so and so is drinking (insert other persuasive comments).

We've been through this. I don't need to repeat myself. Let me describe why I don't accept drinks in detail.

Physical factors
1. I don't drink because genetically I don't process alcohol well.
2. I don't like the hot face and sleepiness that I get with half a glass of wine.
3. I looked in the mirror when I had a flushed face and found it hideous, I especially don't want to drink when I want to take photos - yes it's vain and superficial, but so be it.
4. I am a curious cat and sip drinks from time to time - especially back in the college days. I've never found a good tasting drink, and although some cocktails are nice, they would taste better without the alcohol content (if it tasted so good you don't need all the sugar, fruit and colours to cover up the alcohol content)

Social factors
1. I don't care anymore that everyone else enjoys it, that it acts a social lubricant. I'm aware that I have less common ground with others because of this, but I don't need to take something that I don't enjoy, I don't need to be someone I'm not.
2. I can have a laugh, be relaxed, silly, enjoy your company without sharing drinks.
3. Slowly over the years I've made up my mind on the matter, I know who I am so I don't need to be a sheep, I'm not ashamed to be different.

Value factors
1. I don't want to drink anywhere near the amount that is needed to get drunk because you can do things or have things done to you that you would regret - that's not wise.
2. I don't want to get drunk, addicted and such because it doesn't please God.

Basically I don't enjoy it and I don't like the effects. I'm ok with good natured offers of drinks and even questions about why I don't drink. But when I've answered your questions, and made it clear that I've made a decision about this matter, please don't ask again and again, and please don't push the matter or (especially) make disrespectful comments about me not participating in these acitivites.

Drinking, pfft

Tell me.

What makes a person who drinks more fun or a better friend than one who doesn't? What makes people who party socially admired compared to those who don't? Why do those who don't actually enjoy drinking boast that actually, they are able to skull drinks (it obviously tastes terrible if you have to shove it straight down your throat without it first going through your mouth)?

The social overtone is strong wherever I turn (much more so than in Singapore) that I feel like a large aspect of Australian (or Western) uni culture is foreign to me.

If you pressure me to share interests of drinking or clubbing to be accepted... forget it, because that's not who I am. I do like club music and dancing is fun, but a roomful of sleazy, lustful men is not. Losing inhibition might be amusing but the risks are not worth it and drunkedness doesn't please God. I'm not going to touch it apart from the occasional sip out of curiosity for the taste of pretty cocktails.

In first and second year I felt out of place. I didn't know how come I didn't "understand" these typical uni student activities, sometimes I felt unsure, swayed. Well, it's been a few years and I know myself and my purpose a bit better. I'm not ashamed of who I am, I don't need to learn to enjoy these things that I don't enjoy, and no matter what you tell me I'm 100% sure I'm not missing out. Because satisfaction and joy without a bad aftertaste (or hangover) is from the Lord.

Performance and new friends :)

 

(Sorry nothing amazing here, we're all from the beginner's / intermediate classes!)

Previously I mentioned the Lindy Hop lessons I joined. The past 2 weeks has really been an exciting journey, all in preparation for the performance on Monday night. To think, everything for that two and a half minutes on stage! It was physically exhausting but fun to rehearse for hours nearly every second night. To reach home by midnight, sometimes after prata for supper, and then knock out on my bed (but to my horror I still had insomnia over the weekend) and wake up with sore arms, legs and backs. Added bonuses of photo shoot, experimenting with the other girl's extensive collection of make up, and various suppers and talks throughout the process. Ah it was memorable and I'll miss it!

I'm glad to have met all of you. JY for learning to dip and hold properly for Russian kick and not dropping me on the floor, and always prompting us all to go for supper. R & M - one amusing memory is when you two were demonstrating something then JY said "what dance  move is that...? oh you're just holding hands". G & X with your hidden singing talents too. D the cool Asian kid who can't speak Chinese and has smooth hair that a girl would envy. R the big eyed girl from whom I found out a pharmacy course exists at this university. YL, the dancer who reminds me of a Chinese actress and only much later did I find out she too was a medical student! YB, the only girl lead with a magician hat and a pro makeup kit. YT & LT whose names I couldn't figure out which was which until YT did the "eating" hand action. Too bad we've only just met and it's time to say goodbye, thanks for sharing this journey!

Interestingly I also discovered things about hobbies, dance and beauty. That hobbies are good things to share and enjoy in life. Yet if I'm not careful they can take up all of my time and thoughts that I don't seek God as much, and lose focus of my real purpose, and forget how brief life is.

Before I joined dance I prayed and considered how God sees it. You might be surprised to find the number of articles Google finds when you type in dance and Bible. I learnt that "the earth is the Lord's, and everything in it" (1 Cor 10:26) including dance, music and beauty. Yet because of human nature good things are often corrupted - beauty, instead of drawing praise to God's creation, draws people towards sin and obsession. Even in our concert the "costumes" of some dance groups were glaringly provocative that most girls including myself, would instinctively know what exactly a guy would be staring at. Make up and dressing up is fun but to judge beauty only by body shape or physical features, or to pursue it obsessively undoubtedly causes much insecurity, and futility in chasing physical perfection and youth.

Through dance, I understood better the choice and responsibility God gives his children - that in many areas of daily living and hobbies there is no clear do's and don'ts. Rather, "everything is permissible - but not everything is constructive. Nobody should seek his own good, but the good of others." (1 Cor 10:23) and we keep in mind that whether we "eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God. Do not cause anyone to stumble - whether Jews, Greeks, or the church of God." (1 Cor 10:31-32) For myself and for my brothers, I chose a lively instead of sensual style of dance. Remembering all I do is for the glory of God, I'm also aware not to flirt or seek the attention of guys where I have no intention for a relationship (would be selfish rather than seeking the good of others).

"Yes, the world cheapens and prostitutes beauty, making it all about a perfect figure few women can attain. But Christians minimize beauty, too, or over-spiritualize it" - Stasi Eldredge
 
Remembering that everything on earth is the Lord's also means I can give thanks for the friendships, fun, joy and beauty of dance. Just as I can give thanks for the gift of drawing, and relaxation in playing piano, I can give thanks for the wonder of dancing to the music, being able to jump and turn with improving coordination. That I can smile at the colourful dresses of girls and the suspender costumes for guys. God is the creator of females and our beauty, he is a great artist and the creator of breath-taking scenes like shooting stars. May he be seen and praised when we appreciate beauty, may he be praised and thanked when we dance.

"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." - Col 3:17

Op shops

I love the $1 christmas sales, what a bargain!

As younger kids in high school we were like 'eww, old clothes'. Or, the more expensive the more trendy. But I guess when you're more comfortable with yourself, care less about other people's styles and trends, op shops are good places to shop!