How far we've come

In fellowship and prayer

"Weekday warriors" was the catchy theme of the night. For the first time in many many months in this fellowship, as a larger group, we shared a glimpse of the struggles we really have during our weeday lives. To not lose sight of God in the midst of work, studies, trying to achieve, joining clubs and committees, and so on.

Sorry to sound almost rude, but I dread sharing prayer points every week. TG for the week, P4 study (pray that I can do really well...), P4 time management, pray for QT. I'm not making fun of the prayer requests. We can and should pray about some of these things, and we can always tell our God what is on our hearts. But surely, we can do more for the sake of our own reflection, and in fellowship, than repackaging those three phrases and not share anything else to one another week after week. It's become so routine that the person jotting down prayer points already started writing before I even started sharing, and added some of the routine prayer points even though I haven't said any of them (hmmm wait, I didn't say that). The reason I dread these prayer sessions is because the group isn't interested in sharing their lives to one another, because we're happy to hear about what is going on in someone's life at a very superficial level and leave it at that without asking "why exactly are you not very energetic this week?" Without caring for one another in a genuine way, it's very hard to be open to one another, or come together before God together, encouraging one another, praying in unity.

Come on Bible study group! Why is it so hard to share that we do struggle throughout the week? With loving people - that I get angry, I get jealous, I hate intensely, that I struggle in my friendships, relationships, with my family at times. That in fact, though I pray for more opportunities to share the gospel with others, I actually don't like having those conversations, or feel too awkward to make a clear stance when someone mocks Christianity and its worldview, or simply can't be bothered when I have my own life to attend to. Why is it so hard to share specifics about why we want to pray for QT - that in fact - for example, I end up surfing on FB everytime I try to start. Or that sometimes, I actually feel that studies and life is something I handle by myself, not something to bring to God. That actually I find the Bible boring and repetitive sometimes, and my mind is hardly there when I'm mouthing the words to the worship songs at church. What about the whole list of other sins we struggle with - that I lust, I love money, I am proud instead of thankful, I gossip. (You can interpret 99% of the "I's" in the above paragraph as literally referring to myself, rather than just a figure of speech.)

Well, today was a good start, maybe it's time to pray for authenticity in our fellowship.

And in medicine

The title of the post really refers to this second section of my post. Somewhere in the middle of the sharings, the songs, the prayers, I was reminded of something important. Put God at the centre of your life, everything you do is for him. One of these phrases that is said many times, to the point that I've forgotten it's true meaning. (On a side note, can anyone explain to me what does "bless this food into our bodies" really mean when we say grace for the food?)

Let me tell you about a time not so long ago, when I came into this with perspectives not yet influenced by the general medical profession. I struggled at the time, to see people suffer, and struggled all the more in understanding and addressing that, not only as a medical student, but a human being, and as a follower of God. I prayed for the patients that I remembered, and my classmates also. I asked doctors who have worked for many years, whether they prayed for their patients, how they served God in their everyday, sometimes mundane roles as doctors. Disappointingly, I don't think that person really understood or addressed the question seriously. I was serious about my medical life being an extension of my role as a servant of God, and can probably thank my medical christian fellowship in S for that. During that research year, I cared about God in my daily life and friendships, work relationships, at home too. During that year before I started clinical school, I already heard plenty of stories from those in the years above about trying hard not to conform to the general trend of treating patients as cases instead of people, fighting and competition between classmates, being patient when taking histories instead of getting annoyed that the person is rambling. Good role models who were serious about serving God in all areas of their lives, including medical studies and hospital life.

How far I've come - I can take histories faster, I can write notes that flow more logically, I can present cases a bit better. Yes I can ask about bowel motions without inducing a giggling fit, talk about sexual partners without cringing, see pap smears and do prostate examinations without feeling like I could never look at the person in the face again. But, look how far I've come. I haven't come to the point of seeing people as merely "an interesting case", or take histories purely medically without really speaking to the person, yet. I have, however, grown to view patients more as medical cases rather than people, and when the clinic becomes routine it does perk things up with someone has something else beside the usual (usually more serious). How lightly I speak of other's sufferings, and how often their stories become interesting stories to share and laugh at and nothing more. And gee it's strange to pray for a patient, or isn't it strange to ask God to heal them completely, physically and spiritually? Or why pray for the friends you meet, the hospital people you meet, or your interactions with them? Maybe it's time and familiarity, plus influence of friends, clinicians and the general hospital culture. Are these normal self defence mechanisms to help with the adjustment to hospital life, or are they processes to actively avoid?

I have grown in some areas of my relationship with God, but not this one. It's something to mourn about, to pray about, to realise how far I've wandered from seeing medicine as part of living for God, rather than medicine as something to be done, and living for God something that is essential, or even the priority of my life, but nevertheless quite separate to where I spend a good (at least) half of my week.

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.

Worst rotation

I wonder if the few weeks change my mind about that comment.

A signature for everything? There's a fine balance between having enough items in the logbook to encourage attendance, and having too many items, or needing too many criterias that pushes the focus away from self directed learning. Perhaps, instead of thinking about how we can use our weeks here to best meet our learning needs, we can spend the rest of the term thinking of creative ways to minimise attendance, master the art of forging signatures, or befriending and dating doctors and midwives to obtain legitimate signatures.

Queen Bee. I have never seen a lady (or a man) walk with their head so high, with such an arrogant strut, as if she was the queen of the birth suites.

Paediatricians were all so nice. Beyond expectations. Here, there's an unpleasant catty vibe. Too many women for teams to work together well? On the other hand, are male gynaecologists perverted? Sure there are appropriate, alturistic men in the profession. But if I was a man (sorry guys, not saying you're all like this), and sex was a bigger part of my mind, and I had perverted inclinations, and got a kick out of such examinations, this would be great. Or as my classmate pointed out, you could just be a GP specialising in pap smears.

At least the converastions are interesting.

Dr A: do you have a partner?
B: no I don't, well, not really...
Dr A: that's not really a no then, is it?
B: do you mean sexual partners?
Dr A: sexual, or emotional relationships
B: ...yes then
Dr A: do you use condoms?
B: well, I'm seeing two guys, both are married, one is faithful to his wife so we don't
Dr A: *raises eyebrows* I wouldn't take his word for it
B: and the other one sleeps around but uses condoms, so that's good

Note to self

Looks like I'll need to stop and ask myself this question many many times in the coming months.

Which is related to the reason why I switched my blog to private recently. It's unlikely that anyone would have the time or energy to do so; however, I'm not keen to have some snooping HR person link my identity to the blog, and read my emo entries, or my opinions about this whole process.

When I am employed, I'll write publically again. In the meantime, hopefully this helps me write more freely, yay! :)

East and West

Comments - I've been told again over the holidays that comments didn't work properly, changed the settings, hopefully it's fixed.

I've been spending much of my days in the Western suburbs recently. We've gotten used to the many skin colours, the gangstas, the drop outs with numerous piercings, the psychiatric-looking, the IV drug user type of people on our trains. Then the suburbs with hardly any landscaping, plain gardens, surrounded by old rundown factories and train stations where people are stabbed and robbed (which fortunately, hasn't happened to one of us yet). The cheap markets, and dingy untidy food stores, narrow streets and foreign signs everyone making the suburbs look like you've just been transported to Asia. Well, the food is fantastic. Yes the only thing I miss about frequenting that hospital, is the banh mi and pho (oh indeed, in these posts food is always the ray of sunlight shining through the clouds).

I've never properly been aquainted with the Eastern neighbourhoods. Although I've been at this hospital before, I was amazed at how hilly, how green, leafy, scenic, lovely the houses and neighbourhoods were. Walking to my friend's car, we saw young Caucasian mothers pushing their babies, and fit retired men going for a jog, instead of some smelly, shaggy looking dude, snarling at his equally unkept wife and slurring his speech as if he was drunk. We walked past massive frontyards which had a steep rise like a small hill, or the house was tucked so far back in that we could not see the front door from the driveway. The houses themselves were huge, and old, but with character. Instead of old and boring, or old and rundown. The streets were wide instead of narrow with cars parked on each side (pretty sure it's because people have enough space in their own houses to have garages for their fancy cars). The greenery on both sides were tall, majestic, and I wondered whether they skim on spending money to plant nice trees in the Western suburbs. Even infrastructure including highways and streets are better, less congested. I think the roads in the West need major restructuring considering the huge population expansion, and new suburbs that have opened up.

Even the most beautifully renovated house in a dodgy suburb would not have quite the same feel as a very average house here. So, that's what what you pay for when you buy properties based on location.

It's funny really, in Singapore, I've hard some pretty strong opinions of the "Eastern" residents about how dirty, industrial, unpleasant, the West side was. Come hang at the Westside yo. You know the novel North and South? Such a rigid division of the idyllic farmlands, cultured citizens, and the polluted, rough, factory regions. Maybe it's time to write the book "East and West", any takers?

Essentially, it's the inevitable divide between the rich and respected, and the poor, the less educated, the outcasts of society. I mean, why would you not rather lovely neighbours who fit in your social circle, and can be trusted in helping you keep an eye out when you're away, rather than the neighbourhood always attracting police attention because of teenage drug users and domestic violence issues.

And it makes me wonder, where would I live? Or rather, how would we respond if God asked us to leave the life that we imagine ourselves to have (the typical income, house, status that usually come with being a doctor) in the future?

(Rich young man story) "One thing you lack," he said. "Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." At this the man's face fell. He went away sad, because he had great wealth. - Mark 10:21

Going private

For the months to come I'm switching the blog settings to private.
Contact me with your email address for an invite.

Love gone stale

It's been awhile since I've had the time to walk these familiar streets, without needing to be anywhere soon, having the time to reflect, and remember. Walking in the cool, watching the golden setting sun reflect off the roofs of cars and glass panelled buildings.

It struck me how M is like an old lover. Love that has gone stale.

That year, for the first time I had to learn how to layer appropriately, how to dress in something besides a T-shirt, shorts, and flip flops. Well, the excitement of having long coats, boots, stockings, scarves hasn't completely worn off.  I saw trees turn from a lovely crisp green, to yellow orange red, falling in heaps with the strong wind, and becoming bare skeletal branches - oh yes, I was seeing seasons for the first time in a decade.

I was delighted with being able to walk the streets at night (yes it's dark where I come, yes there are street lights, as well as crocodiles in our gardens, and we do ride kangaroos to school.) I've never spent so much time just gazing into the reflections in the river at night. I hopped on my first tram and arbitrarily chose a tram or train line, and only headed back when I felt tired of exploring. I saw terrace houses for the first time - with intricate designs, squished next to each other, looking very small, and I never knew how deep the houses were. I was also fascinated with just living with other students, and all the possibilities of apartments, hostels, colleges that I could live in, in the years to come.

That year, I had so many different mugs of hot chocolates, and spent more time studying in cafes than I ever have, or ever will. At that time I had never been to a typical Melbourne cafe. That year I tried my first bah kuh teh, nasi lemak, and met more Singaporeans and Malaysians than students from any other backgrounds. I happily discovered that it was possible to buy dinners for $6.50 or less, and eagerly tried all the affordable eating places nearby. Well, at least the appreciation for the sheer variety, and quality of food, and the sense of excitement when it comes to trying new food hasn't waned at all. M, you are still my favourite and beloved, for food.

That year, I said goodbye to my closest friend at the time and the prospect of a year apart felt like eternity. That year we argued often until late and somehow, our paths changed courses forever. I appreciated for the first time that the sunlight in the garden can't be caught and caged. And like many of my high school classmates, learnt to be skeptical about LDRs.

23/02/7 Long distance relationships, friendships even, pretty much the same thing. You once shared each other’s world, were a part of each other’s daily lives. And now, living in two different worlds, meeting new people, you slowly begin to drift, begin to have less to say to each other, less common experiences, interests, you begin to live a good life with or without the other person.

That year I was seventeen, never cooked a real meal, started university not ever hearing about a cell. I spent more time sleeping than being awake in lectures, because I simply did not understand the content. At all. That year, I visited a church alone for the first time and literally no one, not the adults, not the young people, talked to me. I've never felt so ignored (and have definitely not been back since) and instantly learnt my lesson about cliques. One evening after dinner, I walked along the campus, wondering if I will ever settle here.

Where I lived, I met a creep who was a guy but had hair like a girl's, who had a room directly opposite the female toilets, and the creep tried to hang out in my room by pretending that his laptop was broken. Ha, very funny. That year, I shared food with 303, little knowing that it would result shape my entire university life. That year we cooked and shared so many meals, had picnics, visited places, had so many birthday celebrations with a group of friends who, with the exception of one or two, turned out to have nothing to do with me from thereafter.

In some ways this semester is more like that year than any other semester. I'm here, I've walked past the old haunts, eaten out often, taken public transport instead of driving, gone back to our green, leafy campus every week after hardly being there at all for more than two years. But M and I have passed our infatuation stage. What I see in M is a place with too many cars, too many traffic jams, long commutes shared with untreated psychiatric patients who shout and carry on. The serene night walks are replaced by frowns at numerous clubs, brothels, "gentlemen" clubs, weekend party goers in long noisy lines, drunk people slurring uncalled for comments along the sidewalk. M has too many people, who are too cold and distant, to be a place of community.

M, I will never find you quite as amazing again. Just like a relationship. The unfortunate stage when little remains of beauty and all that you once loved, and much is replaced by difficulties, disappointment and cynicism.