November 23, 2005

Visits From the Past…

There we were—twelve years older, a couple of us married, fewer still with kids—but otherwise, relatively the same. We were still the same "girls" who laughed with gusto and fretted about things. Armed with the highschool yearbook, we proceeded to count how many of us had gotten hitched in the past twelve years (answer: about 40%), how many were living and working abroad (about a third), how many were doctors (6%), how many were in the entertainment industry (lost count)...

It was, needless to say, an evening of reminiscing-- recalling the times we made our teachers cry, the times we made our teachers walk out of our classes, and the time we made our teachers scream "You're getting wild!" We talked about how our teachers often told us we were the best batch our highschool turned out-- too bad we were the noisiest as well. We revelled over the clubs we were part of, who was president of which, and whose "fault" it was that our yearbook had pictures we now wish had never seen the light of day. We recalled the "friendly" rivalry we had with the batch before us.

We updated each other on our lives-- what we were now doing, our future plans, and made promises to help each other meet our goals. We made a pact to hold reunions like this more often.

The next day, the mother of our former classmate was brought to the emergency room where one of us happened to be a doctor. She had end stage cancer which had already spread to the bones. She was in severe pain and was subsequently admitted to the hospital. Next came the seemingly endless procession of "girls" who were now women, visiting someone who was so much like our own mother. She flew back to the US a few days after.

Now, all we do is wait. For news. For word. And for the next chapter of visits from the past.

November 15, 2005

Confessions of a Soon-To-Be Member of the Unemployed Sector

November 2005. I cannot believe how time flies so fast. It seems like just yesterday, I was starting my residency training in emergency medicine. I then alternatively went into paroxysms of doubting if I made the right decision, wanting to quit, actually drafting letters of resignation and then deciding to stick it out because—well, I have never really quit anything in my life before.


Suddenly, I wake up one morning and realize that in less than two months I shall be done with my training. I now am going into paroxysms of fear—I have no idea where I will be by January next year. Nor do I even have an idea what I shall be doing. There are so many opportunities but I always feel that I am not ready to handle the responsibilities that go along with it. I suppose I put too much stock into what someone said to me in anger before—how I was irresponsible and could not be trusted to take care of the ER without supervision. This was someone whose opinion I obviously thought highly of so you really can’t blame me for thinking he just may be right. Maybe I really can’t be trusted with any responsibility. So I just tell my friends “Di ko alam kung saan ako pupulitin next year” (I have no idea where I will be picked up next year).


Naturally, I have been racking my brains for the past few weeks, dreaming up money-making schemes so that I do not starve when 2006 comes along. Schemes ranging from winning the lottery to direct-selling to medical transcription… Then I hit upon this marvelous (albeit totally unoriginal) idea of setting up an internet café near my parents’ place. I have even pestered my younger brother (who is an electronics and communications engineer with a huge interest in computers) to become my business partner. It obviously has no relation whatsoever to the emergency medicine training I have devoted (?) myself to for the past three years. And quite frankly, I have no idea why all my money-making ideas are totally removed from the practice of emergency medicine.


Some friends have told me maybe it’s my subconscious way of avoiding “certain people” who are best-forgotten. You know, people I’ve met during training whom I would not want to work with for the rest of my life or whom I believe would rather die horrible tortuous (and gladly if I might add!) deaths than work with me. I had to laugh. I was imagining people being chased and fired upon by dragons Harry Potter-style just to avoid me.


To be perfectly honest, I really don’t know why. I guess despite the three years I have spent supposedly saving lives and making people feel better, I still feel ill-equipped to deal with the onslaught of patients in critical condition without a consultant to back me up. By next year, I will be the consultant. It’s terribly exciting by it’s driving me nuts as well.


I suppose it’s all an escape. At least with an internet café, I won’t be making life-or-death decisions. If I turn out to be irresponsible, I kill my business but don’t kill anyone.


Ahh… A bum. I think that’s what I may turn out to be by next year.

November 6, 2005

“It’s not you. It’s me” and other Half-truths and Lies…

Talk about clichés... In the midst of my oft-repeated latest break-up(s) (translation: 4? Or was it 5 times with the same guy?!?), I must have heard all the well-worn clichés anyone in a break-up could either say or hear. It was heart-breaking (to say the least) and I promised myself I would never utter the same lines to anyone. But life, it seems has other plans for me.

It's not you. It's me. I don't really know if this line was meant to assuage the hurt and the pain of the break-up. I suppose the guy who told me this thought he was doing me a favor by making me think that all the problems we had was all because of him-- the way he couldn't settle with me, defend his choosing me to friends and family, the way he was ping-ponging between another girl and me, remembering I existed and was very willing to stroke his ego when things were going downhill on the other camp. I really don't know. I suppose it's a half-truth. After all, it certainly was NOT me he wanted. In the end, it didn't really help. Despite this statement and after all this time, I cannot seem to unburden myself of this immense guilt I feel thinking that all I did was ruin his life, his friendships and relationships and bring him sorrow while I at least had fleeting moments of indescribable bliss.

Sadly, I now find myself in this strange position where I feel like uttering the same words to someone else. But I guess I have to at least explain how it all came to this. Let me call him "John" (as in "John Doe")

First off, NO WE ARE NOT A COUPLE. We were (and I'd like to think, "are still") friends. We cried on each other's shoulders at each heartbreak... shared the joy of each reunion with our special someones. Somehow, a few weeks after his own disastrous break-up with this girl, John woke up and suddenly all that occupied his mind (or so he said) was me and how he had, for the longest time, wanted to ask me out and would I? It was earth-shattering to say the least. He was one of the few guy friends I kept. For the selfish reason that I knew they wouldn't have any romantic notions about me. I have too many issues, too little self-worth, and nothing to offer that it would be the height of injustice. I am not even beautiful or intelligent. Yet somehow this guy tells me he thinks the world of me. All I could think of was how tragic it was that he seems to have fallen for someone who does not exist. I am not the confident, charming, sweet, and skilled doctor he thinks I am. Hence the words "It's not you. It's me." He deserves so much more than I could possibly ever offer.

I want us to be friends like we were before. The first time I heard this, my first thought was to scream "I don't want to be just friends with you! I love you! Can't you understand that? How do you expect me to be friends with you?!?" In the end, we weren't even that. Despite my overtures, reaching out to maintain a thread of-- well, friendship, he never really bothered to do the same. This evil part of me wants to scream at him for not even saying thanks that I remembered him enough to send him his misdirected mail or "pasalubongs" etc when everyone else just left the envelopes lying around, about to be thrown into the trash. But a larger part of me understands that is probably better this way. So that the girl he truly loves won't doubt him anymore. So that I don't remember him with fondness anymore. Plus, I am not exactly an important part of his life so the time he would spend doing small thing like saying "thanks" wouldn't be worth the trouble.

And yes right now, that's exactly what I want to tell John. That I want us to be friends. To be comfortable with each other. To laugh. To cry. Together and at each other. I don't want to change the comfortable way we work together. Or lose the person I joke around with when things are light or the person I can count on when there are too many things that need to be done. I don't want to get to the point when I become jealous each time he speaks to a pretty girl. I want him to be there when I need a friend. But I can't be more than that with him. I need his friendship too much that if I lose it, I would certainly lose a lot. Even if it were to turn into something more that friendship. More so if it doesn't work out.

You made me feel special. Reading these words in a letter explaining our break-up made the evil me wonder if these were just token words said so that I wouldn't feel that my efforts at keeping the relationship alive were unappreciated. All I am truly sure of is that he was special to me. In many ways, he still is, for reasons I prefer to keep to myself. But can you blame me for wondering about the truth of this statement when each and every time I tried to make him feel special always seemed to warrant a sermon from him? Sermons about how I shouldn't be spending so much on him or how the things I did embarrassed him or how they were the realization of his worst nightmares but that he enjoyed it. Talk about mixed signals! All I wanted to do was show the world he was a special guy and that I loved him.

And yes, John made me feel special in his own little way. It takes a lot of courage to bare one's heart when you're unsure about how the other person feels for you. This may sound vain but the girl in me took immense pleasure in hearing a member of the male species say that he couldn't wait to be with me. If you aren't special to the guy who tells you that, I don't know what else to call it.

I really don't know how to tell John that I want things to remain the way they were for the simple reason that I am afraid. I've been hurt too many times before that I have lost my faith in love and men. I need my friends and nothing more. I have just relearned how it is to be independent. It was just recently that I rebuilt my dreams and ambitions. All my goals right now pertain to myself and how I will get what I want for myself by myself. I don't need the complication. If I feel the least bit mopey, all I have to do is tinker with my palm or fool around with my ipod and things are alright. I don't want to feel anything more than the numbness I have grown accustomed to. I need my space. And I need to be alone-- to heal and regroup. But I also need the knowledge that if I stumble or trip in my journey, there are people I can joke around with and cry with.

It's not you. It's me. I want us to be friends like we were before. You made me feel special.

Sad. But heartfelt and true.