Mostly medical

Conversations had, or heard in the past week.

Holding on
A: so we've been learning about constipation in kids. It becomes this cycle of them holding on and not going (etc). I had a thought in the shower, you know the song "Keep Holding On"?
B: yeah? *hums*
A: keep holding on... just stay strong... there's nothing you can say, there's nothing you can do... *giggle giggle*

Self introduction
A: hi, my name is Dr A
B: hi I'm his mum, and just to clarify, I'm also the referring GP involved with this case
Students (muttering to each other): gee that's weird

Sewing techniques
A: I need to sew the button back, you know how to sew right?
B: maybe, we learnt during high school
A: I guess you can do surgical sutures, it shouldn't be too hard
B: true, so next time when I'm fixing a hole in my pants I'm going to use the simple interrupted suture
A: what, that's ridiculous! Can you imagine what that would look like when you walk out onto the street?

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.

Precious times

Each year, the family holiday is supposed to be an investment, to gather the four of us together, to the same place, to common activities, in a situation where we're less likely to (but we still do) argue, and deepen our family ties. Thanks mum and dad, it's a wise investment.

Many holidays, we head to the town of my birth. The smog ridden city, where non smokers can have COPD from just breathing the city air, a city with food and shopping as expensive as M, but cheaper taxis, prettier neon lights, colder winters. I don't fancy the place, but that is where family is, and that's where I want to be. Because even the most beautiful seaside scenery, the most amazing mist covered mountain, the most interesting old stone buildings, the most delicious meal - well, it starts to become indistinguishable in my mind.

Not too many years back, I was often frustrated with not being able to see what I wanted to see, do what I wanted to do, because of the annoying little sister who the holiday schedule revolved around, and the control freak dad who always had to be the one to decide what we ate for each meal.

But more and more, just being with family is so much more important than eating good food, travelling, exploring (although I enjoy each of these things). Anything goes now, I'm content to travel with parents to wherever they want to go, not at all bored to be home with elderly grandparents for days and weeks, and happy to accompany my sister to play children's games, go to places where kids like to go to. Do we all need years of distance to realise that time together is precious?

Highlights!

1. Sitting with my grandparents after dinner in the lounge, munching on 瓜子 and half watching TV. Asking about thei travels, listening to stories of other family members, of how their most unusual marriage with an age difference of more than twenty years came about, about quirky old neighbours. Then having an early night every night because living with elderly people, you can't help but adopt their habits.

2. Teasing my cousins about girls. Chatting with my younger cousin til late, talking about school, relationships, family, about God. Listening to a sincere prayer, without frills, without the conventions and "standard" language we all invariably adopt after years of learning, is refreshing. And kid, for someone who's never lived overseas, your English is amazing.

3. Being silly with C. Brains. The zombies are coming, noooooo! It's not a peashooter, it's pea-ple! Teaching her 听不懂 because every adult invariably stops and asks, 听得懂吗？Laughing at her half joking and half puzzled expression as she points to a lovely little girl with perfectly dark and straight hair, commenting "why is her hair so neat, and mine so messy?" Hand claps, tic tac toe give me a high give me a low. Thumb war. Sumo wrestling. Cheater cheater pumpkin eater. I'm a rat I'm a rat I'm a furry furry rat with a looooong tail and looooong whiskers, and teeny greedy eyes, and two big yellow teeth, and I like to eat cheese and rotten eggs. Giggle giggle. Practice makes perfect! You have the funniest facial expressions, you're caring enough to be my older sister, you're affectionate to everyone and you're the most adorable little sister (I'm not little, I'm a middle sized kid) in the world.

Infectious disease

The stark contrast between am and pm.

Situated adjacent to the plastics outpatients, and the fully private "well being" clinic. Lush, soothing, natural colours, pleasant lighting, soft courches and pot plants. Clean toilets. Well dressed young professionals from the ministry of foreign affairs, travelling from Africa, to South America, to SE Asia, and more. Members of parliament who without speaking a word seem to convey, I'm special, don't you know who I am? And a modern day rich man's wife, with an air of superiority, but a silly blond giggle. A huge sparkling ring, perfectly crafted make up upon her aging features, telling us about the nearly thirty porters she will hire for herself and her husband on their upcoming adventure trip.

The secluded clinic, in a building far from the main hospital. An old building, no airconditioning in the waiting room, open wooden windows with faded paint, tired looking plastic chairs. Sit back, don't sit too close to the patient, don't ask them how they contracted it, were the instructions. Men who lived alone, patients who dressed casually, avoided avoided disclosing their diagnosis to even their GP, those who suspiciously asked for bottles and bottles of cough mixture, who were on the methadone program, intravenous drug users (goodness knows how in this place, with campaigns such as the recent posters to party clean - with death and caning cited as some of the consequences for taking drugs). Actually, often you wouldn't be able to tell. The young man with trendy clothes and gelled hair, an average looking couple attending a dual consult, a grandma in a wheelchair.

The closed body language, the dodging of eye contact, the reluctance of acknowledging a smile and nod. Hey, relax, it doesn't bother me, I'm not judging you, and obviously it doesn't bother the doctor either, they take care of patients with this condition every single day. Home is good in a way. I don't embrace or encourage the "lifestyle", but as a country we probably do better to include these individuals as equals, rather than scums, lower class citizens. As sinners, we all need grace. Who are we to say that our sins are minor and acceptable, whilst theirs is shameful and immoral?

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.

Different friends

"This is my friend..." - that word has so many meanings.

I always say that I have a lot of pseudo friends, acquaintances. I've been surprised to hear people who I would consider "social butterflies" explain that this has been their experience too. I was apprehensive to be back here, because I knew that after a period of time away, I would quickly be disappointed by those whom I thought were friends, but were really just people you (metaphorically) greet and pass by.

Back there the acquaintances were people who I saw weekly, or more, but always kept their distance. Not making an effort there, certainly I don't expect to see their faces here. I don't understand, it's draining, and at times I don't see the point. There are other difficult friendships, here and there. Notably those who shamelessly take without giving, and are constantly selfishly concerned with what is convenient for themselves.

Yet, there's always the beautiful too. Here I'm reminded of the many generous and kind friends. Friends who invite me to their home, are busy but always make themselves available, are willing to be flexible, who welcome not only me but my friends, who are always happy to meet, dine, sing or dance together. Blowing away my cynicism, realising not all friends disappear with time and distance.

And even back in that cold city, there were the friends who were there with me during semester, and during exams. Who, perhaps unknowingly, cheered me up by a few words, or brought stability into my inner world by simply being there, preparing and studying together, zoning out afterwards with our favourite game, a walk, and a food trail through the city. And apart from them, there are a few others in that city with whom I can enjoy chats over meals with, time after time.

You know who you are, your friendship is much appreciated, thank you.

Coins and squares

The image is from a year 12 English past paper.

The story has been told, in one way or another, by several authors. Including myself. The events highlighted, the emotions, the assumed intentions are so vastly different that it has been the ultimate example of looking at the same series of happenings from different viewpoints, perspectives, two sides of the coin, or more accurately four sides of the same square. Which is the real version?

Some were outright with what they saw happening, others didn't see the point in conversing. At one point I would not have accepted that there could be a different spin on the story. You could have, and maybe did, write me off as immature and exaggerated in my response, and I could have just easily dismissed you as clearly inappropriate in your behaviour. Or this time, I would be put off by that seething hatred, stubbornly held onto season after season, and similarly, you would close your ears as you accuse me of being blinded. What is the point, of telling them how I see it from here, and how they see it from there? What is the point, when talk alone never changes what is, and we are each set firmly in our opinions about one another.

Maybe, listening is the first step in acknowledging that your views, and feelings, are worth considering. That you may be right, and I may be wrong, or we both may be right, or wrong. Maybe, when we understanding the back story, the hate and anger will dampen, and gradually be replaced by forgiveness. Not unlike what that psychiatrist said about BPD patients - if you could connect with the troubled little girl behind the anger and chaos, you may be able to care for them better, and be more patient with their behaviour.

Maybe listening does have something to do with patience, loving thy enemy, and dealing with the overwhelming anger and hatred that comes so naturally.

Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires. - James 1:19-20

Side note 1: This time I woke up. And had to think for awhile whether it was real. Then I looked at the orange colours in the bottle and realised it was real.

Side note 2: Not an invitation to extrapolate "truth" in human interactions, to truth in general and say that there is no absolute truth.