Medical wandering syndrome

I'm here to reveal that, allegedly I'm known to have this Medical wandering syndrome.

The syndrome goes like this, when at times you see me with my eyes wide opened, I might actually be involuntarily frowning or dreaming to a physiology question stuck in my head, or you simply are lost in the wide crowd that I cant see distinguish you from it.

I realize that it's quite rude, but I made sure its incidence is as low as 0.1%, and somehow this 0.1% of people who encountered me during this syndrome can never stop making a drama out of it

:"Oh he's showing off the attitude..."(Bi***, in a world where I'm fighting to finish reading my textbooks ASAP, and soon be utilizing every split second to save some people's life, where the f*** do you think I have time to think of showing an attitude?)

And as a nerd I've always been asked this:"Doesnt your life feel sad?"

And my answer fir now will firmly be:" There's nothing sad in my life other than people around me who think that they know me so well trying to convince me that I have a sad life."

Morning, so you might encounter me during this syndrome today. Beware(to myself)

CSU session. Dr Francis.

Towards the very end of session, after Dr Francis left,
SP said:" It reminds me of the disease progression of my father, when he was saying the progressive stages of heart failure. The edema..Ascites..."

And I was much taken aback by such a bold statement.

I guess the art in medicine is that, given its proximity to humanity, somewhere along the hustle and bustle of everyday life, in the small dimensions of a practice room, from the confident words of a practitioner, we are still able to find a space, or ease to address the smallest flicker of emotions, be it ours or others.

farewells in silence

I've never imagined myself to be safe from the fate of failure, resit, retake. Honest.

One year into this art that Hippocrates honed, the pain of leaving, I can only say, indescribably sharp.
Some of them left, and from then onwards a feeling has been clutching on me, a vague unease,
that found shape when Friend A said:"I lost Friend B in friday, and another one on monday"

news take time to break.

life has finally reclaimed some silence, after 2 weeks of hustle. 1 year has passed me by.

i remember i set 'control' as a target. to find control over my life by imposing rules and principles none would even bother to recall they exist. true, yet cant say i passed this year without any friction.

looking back it was too unreal, somehow i stumbled my way into medical school after a long long slumber, only to find that somehow i assumed the role of a type A personality medical student, and can you believe that i was as ambiguous as wishing I was HepB+ to give myself a U-turn?

art has left me, or more honestly i've left art, the mindset, the world, the individualistic words and even the thought of venturing into it is too tiring. yet in return i felt its arrogation of my humanity and empathy.

thoughts of these use to encumber the boy and teenager I was, and now with their absence, can I assume that i'm not foolishly ignorant i.e finally a grown-up?

inflection

3 times had the issue found a way to vitiate our lives and the fourth has seen its worst.

and they can never be too petty nor critical. when it comes to arguments we lay helpless in the tumult of words, as I would imagine how double-edged swords would scar each other equally, or not.

if life were to be a series of trial-and-error, I hope you do know some point in between a choice has to be made, a turn has to be taken, even if that shall farewell our memories and careen into a lifetime of regrets.

sometime we'll wake, and when we do we choose to remember or not the sojourn in childhood.

people do not make wrong choices, it simply was the better among 2 trails imposed somewhere along the journey. and even if thereafter he shall bear the indignity of a scoundrel, perhaps that could still spare him some pain of being shapeless.

and I pray my dear, that you would awake to your deeds,

for dices tossed into the roulette of fate shall spin and spin,

for the silence between us shall scar and scrape,

until we grow too old to know it's too late.

over

as I lay down these words against this white background, I realize that's how this year has passed me by.

I slept a long, long year. cradled in the dreams of an artist, a composer, a poet, and to wander between interdigitating pages of fantasy and reality.

wake up.
when one september morning had found me laying in a room of quiescent blue.
wakeup.
when the places I found calmness in finally dissapeared.

"If fate has its means to urge you move on, shall I then regard these happenstances as a reson to take on the transition? "
Looking back, countless times had these questions manifested along the year, and up to this very moment still am I not sure when.
When did I finally say:"It's time to leave"

It's time to take on a responsibility.
it's time to believe.
it's time to belong.

When his image surfaced on the newspaper no more different as how a bubble do, it almost became too painful to stare into it.

Grief is not the end of life, of pain, of losses. It might tinge the subsequent mornings grey, dusk grey but one day I'll awake to realize that the sky has always been of this color, no more different.