Kopi-C Peng With Love

I lied. I said I’ll write more, but so many things happened since my last post, and I couldn’t muster enough energy to put my thoughts and emotions into words. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. Words elude me when sadness overwhelms, and all I want to do is just to run and hide.

I dreamed of a 20-foot  Sandman who was chasing me everywhere. No matter how far I run, he’d still get to me. Friends and family tried to protect me by allowing me to build secret passageways underneath their living quarters, and eventually I managed to create a maze of an underground passage that led me to somewhere ‘safe’ where I didn’t think he’d thought to look for me. That morning when he came for me, I ran and ran until I got there, and there it was– a small poorly vented underground room that was once a prisoner’s cell long ago and had now been abandoned. The self in my dream was quite smug for finally outrunning Sandman, but that smugness lasted about 2 seconds- I remembered, then and there, that while I was tucked away safely in this cell, Sandman would still be looking, and I knew how relentless he could be. What would happen (or rather, had happened) to those people who partook in hiding me?! Sandman didn’t look like a compassionate thing that would allow any accomplice to get away. I knew then, that I was responsible for that, and there was nothing I could do about it. It’s too late; I had blood on my hands. There was no such thing as safety; sooner or later Sandman would get me. I couldn’t stop crying, and all I want to do was to undo everything. But there was no chance for that- I woke up, covered in tears and snot.

Such a morbid dream; so much to unpack from that stream of subconsciousness. Grandma passed away four months and a week ago, and I’m still coming to terms with it. Early on, my mind kept replaying all the memories I had with her, and I couldn’t help but think that I’d never have the chance to create more memories with her anymore. I selfishly wanted more time with her. I was going to go home for Chinese New Year next year! Why now? Why so soon?! Then it hit me- how hypocritical I was, for saying I wanted more time with her. How was I going to do that when I’m all the way here in another country thousands of miles away?! Going home once every few years does not cut it. Just like that, my anger on whoever it was from the Otherworld who took her away from me, and my regret, turned into guilt. And guilt–is the worst feeling of all. The early days just after her passing were filled with spurts of lacrimation fest, of which faucet I had almost no control over (at least I could stop self from doing that when around people).

It got better over time. Work kept me busy, so I didn’t have to think about it too much, or at all. The daily hum-drum became a soothing balm, and if work wasn’t enough to tire me out, there’s always the endless TV shows that I could turn to to numb me up.  I was doing quite a good job at that until about a month ago. It was just another day not unlike any other, except I incidentally found out about a dear friend’s tragic and unexpected demise. To say I was in shock was an understatement. How could a seemingly healthy person just suddenly be dead? I just saw him a little over a year ago and had a great catch-up session after 8 years of not seeing each other. I have questions, but none of which would ever be answered. They probably didn’t matter anyway.

Death has a way of reaching inside and squeezing the life out of you, figuratively (and perhaps also literally). I was deeply shaken, and for the first time in months, I saw how I was not-living. I thought I was doing fine after Grandma passed away, but in truth I sealed off a part of me, and was going through the motions of living without really doing so. Grandma wouldn’t have wanted me to live like this, nor my friend. This was a wake-up call; I have to do better. So here I am, writing about this, cherishing all the memories I’ve had with them, and letting all the emotions wash over me. Tonight, I’ll sip on Kopi-C Peng – Grandma’s favorite beverage – and just, feel. Sandman will always be after me (us), whether I like it or not. If it’s futile to run away, why not just live every day like it’s the last?

Hello 2019

The past year has somewhat gone by in a haze. Bits and pieces surfaced as I tried to recall how I made it through the year. Lots of stress eating, some heartaches, and definitely a lot of repressed memories. It’s not all that bad: there were lots of booze, plenty of laughter, too much ice cream and duck fat fries than I cared to remember, and tears, the latter of which I hate to admit. It’s the Asian culture that I grew up in that I can’t yet shake away, that taught me- tears are for weaklings. And a weakling I am not. Thank goodness for a few good friends whom I can always count on. But even then, people come and go, all the time. That’s just how it is. 2017 and 2018 were filled with a lot of growing pains; I learned so much about myself, some of which that surprised me and that I’m not proud of. But at least I know better now, and I’ll learn from those mistakes I’ve made. This year though, will be a better one. I’m sure of it… or at least the optimistic self believes so. The goal for this year will be mastery- through perpetual progress, and building habits. The more zen goal, as trite as it may sound, is to be present. As Ferris Bueller puts it, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” 😎

Back!

Baltimore, on a beautiful autumn day.

It’s been more than a year since I last posted anything, not because I didn’t want to, but I find myself losing the reason to do so. Some time ago, though, I got a random message from a stranger encouraging me to continue writing because he thought my thoughts were thoughtful and mature, and I thought that was very sweet of him to say so. Truth is, I’ve been meaning to write, and have actually gone as far as creating drafts, but never got around to finishing them up for a myriad of reasons, none of which is important- because now it’d just sound like excuses not to have done something, and excuses are for wimps. Yoda says, you do or do not, there is no try.

So many things happened in the past year. Lots of thoughts and reflections especially when I’m in the wards and in ICU, and in the shower. Some crude thoughts remained saved in the drafts, so maybe they’ll become future posts.

It’s getting colder, we had one snow day last week. Seems like this year’s winter will be a bitter cold one. Keep warm, and I shall stick around and write more frequently. Adios!

Huis Clos

“Huis Clos”, which is French for Behind Closed Doors, a play written by Jean-Paul Sartre. It’s a play about three people who died and went to hell, and was placed in a room. And the whole play revolves around what happened in the room, hence the title ‘behind closed doors’. I won’t spoil the fun of reading the play for you, but the gist of the story is that they soon realized that they each annoy the hell out of one another so much so that they came to the conclusion that “hell is other people”. If you’re interested, the English title for the book is “No Exit”.

But the reason why I’m writing this has nothing to do with the book itself, or the moral of the story. The reason is this:

Edited with Prisma App.
 
 
Every morning I go to work, and I have to go through this door, walk down a corridor to the very end of it, to get to my home base at work. There it is, the “No Exit” sign. It wasn’t too long ago that they put it there. And so every time I see this sign, I’m reminded of the play, and I can’t help but chuckle. Whoever’s idea of putting this up must have a very dark sense of humor. 😂😂😂
 
Or it could very well just be coincidence. Okay fine, I’ll admit it most likely is just coincidence. But it doesn’t take away the hidden link and humor that only I seemed to get. No matter. I’m fine with being the only person who finds it hilarious.
 
I’ve since shared it with a few of my friends, whom I’m not sure if they entirely understood what I find so funny, or if they thought I think of them as hell. I hope it’s not the latter. :/  And I hope I don’t need to clarify that I never thought my workplace or my colleagues are hell to me.
 
That’s it for this random post. Happy Saturday peeps!

Remembering

“Death is the destination we all share, no one has ever escaped it. 
And that is as it should be because death is very likely the single best invention of life.” 
― Steve Jobs

When there is life, there is death. Every new life that comes to this world is guaranteed nothing but death that will ensue, albeit it being just a far-off concept that no one ever thought of at the present moment. But of course. Why would anyone think about that when they’re too busy rejoicing in the beauty of this bundle of joy in their arms, their mini-selves. Unless you’re like me, who’s weird and morbid at times. It’s a good thing then, that I’m not in the position where I have to deal with the contradictory emotions.

In medicine, it’s hard not to think about death, when you’re dancing around it on most days, if not all the time. Fact is, mortality stares at you all the time. Healthcare folks somehow learned not to be bothered by it, and just kept an arms’ length from it, I suspect to protect themselves from being too emotional or overwhelmed, and also to be able to function and carry out their tasks. It’s a matter of habit, and one can usually go about his/her daily business, focusing on the science/medical aspects of the job, instead of the life and death that is the core of what we do every day. But– when it comes to someone we love or care about, it’d be tough, if not impossible, to ignore this aspect at all.

In all honesty, I only knew her personally for a short while, so I don’t think I have the right to be tremendously affected when I heard of the news. And yet, I felt disproportionally affected- more than I think I should, because in that short period of time I’ve grown to care for her. She was this amazing, extremely capable, independent woman, who had accomplished so much both in her professional and personal lives, always positive, generous, caring, selfless, and determined. So when she found out she had this terminal illness, her personality and character didn’t allow her any other way to deal with it other than facing it head on, with that fierce determination to beat it. Her grit, her strength, even at her weakest moment, amazed me, and touched me to my core, and I wished I could’ve done more for her. I almost believed that if anyone deserved a reprieve from a terminal illness, it would be her. It has to be her. I want it to be her. But alas, cancer is a b–ch, and there’s a reason why terminal illness is called a terminal illness. And so when I heard, though it wasn’t completely surprising, it was still a shock (that it happened sooner than I thought).

I want to be mad at God (if there is one), for taking a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter, and a friend away from those of us whose lives she had touched. But my upbringing and beliefs also taught me that: 1) death is inevitable, and 2) life is unfair.  Couldn’t exactly get angry at impermanence of life now, could we. As for the second point, I don’t think anyone has come up with a solution for that yet.

Sigh.

I will always remember her as the beautiful person that she was, inside and out.

To those reading this, it seems cheesy or cliché to say it, but really– cherish every moment of your life, and those around you, for you never know…  Tomorrow is promised to no one, today is all we have.

The Beginning of A New Journey

Imagine Super Mario running the last ten yards, hit a mushroom, grew bigger, took all the coins and ran as fast as it could, and then he jumped! — and successfully caught on to the pole, that brought him to the next level. Yassssss. Moving on to the next level.

That’s how I feel now. Next milestone.  

That said, as exciting as it is, it’s also scary. Because now Mario is back to the minion-size moustache’d boy-man, down in the dungeon, can hardly see, and has to grope in the dark until he figures out his way.

For those who are wondering what the heck I’m talking about, I’m starting my internal medicine residency training. Some people say, “oh don’t worry you’ll do great”, others have this to say: “there’s nothing you can do to prepare yourself for this; just plunge right into it, you’ll learn as you go.”  /gulps. Okayyyy. 

I’m optimistic though. It’s going to be a lot of hard work, but it’s also going to be fun! For now though, time to go study my territory and find more mushrooms, hidden stars and coins and superpowers. 😛

My new work family. 

Taboo

Preamble

I’ve been saving this draft I wrote long ago towards the end of my fourth year of med school, uncertain if I should share it. Was worried that I’d get in trouble for sharing something like that. It’s probably unlikely, given that I’m not sharing any identifiable information about the patient or the personnel taking care of the patient. Plus, it’s been so long ago… I doubt anyone other than myself remembered this incident. I’ve considered deleting it and just move on, but some things are hard to let go, and this is one of them. Sharing it now because it was so hard to talk about it when it happened then. Perhaps sharing it here now will allow me to see it in a new light, and put it to rest. So… here goes.

—–

My Emergency Medicine rotation was a memorable one, one that gave me some of the best and worst experiences in my clinical years as a med student. One particular incident left a deep impression on me, and I had to pen it down while it’s still fresh in my head. On one of our on-call nights, my friend and I returned to the ED (Emergency Department) from a quick dinner break, only to find the red zone to be almost empty save for this one patient with the attending and a house officer huddling around him. The ED was divided into 3 zones – red, yellow and green (like the traffic light) – and patients were triaged to a zone depending on the severity/urgency of their condition: red being the most urgent/severe and green the least like a cold or a minor cut, with yellow in between with the potential of escalating to the red zone. As most med students can attest to, we usually like to be where the ‘action’ is, if not actually making ourselves useful during such occasions, at least watching and observing to learn a thing or two. And on that fateful night, a thing or two we did learn, indeed, albeit not what we expected.

A 60 year-old pedestrian was hit by a motorcycle, and was found unconscious on the ground for an unknown period of time. Upon arrival, he was found to have GCS of 8, with an active bleeding somewhere in the oropharnygeal region. He had no external wounds, no broken bones. His condition warranted a tracheal intubation to secure his airway before being sent for a CT scan of the head to rule out an intracranial hemorrhage. Unfortunately, none of these happened and he was not intubated until two hours later. Meanwhile, this man was bleeding quite profusely and we were tasked to suction the blood out of the cavity, as they tried to intubate him. I watched helplessly, worrying about him bleeding out. At the rate that he was bleeding, I was almost certain the blood being transfused could not keep up. It took another two hours to send him for the CT scan, because while all this was happening, his abdomen became increasingly tensed and swollen. The consensus was that there might be internal hemorrhage, but they couldn’t seem to agree with the next step. It was between sending him for head CT only, or whole body CT scan. At this point it was close to midnight, the red zone started to get busy, the surgical residents who were called for consultation were reluctant to bring the patient to the operating room for an exploratory laparotomy to potentially stop the hemorrhage in the abdomen. Deliberate discussion took place, and then some, and in the end they decided they wanted a whole body scan. As all those were happening, patient’s BP kept going down, his pupils fixed and dilated, and all we did was keep giving fluids and blood products. Bad luck had it that the CT machine in the ED wasn’t working, so he had to be brought to the radiology department at another site, which was a long way away. It took us at least another 30 minutes to gear up before we were finally on the move to the other side of the building. Alas, as soon as we got there, the man coded, test was aborted, CPR was started while we wheeled the patient back to where we were 10-15 minutes ago.

It was of no surprise that this man died after an unsuccessful resuscitation; and everyone carried on with other tasks and patients as if it was just another death. Everyone except me. I was bewildered, stupefied, but most of all I felt helpless. Perchance when he came in he was already a lost cause, perhaps death was inevitable with the severity of his injuries, but we didn’t know that for sure. Even if we did, shouldn’t our job be to do our best to save his life, the emphasis here being ‘to do our best’? I was upset not just because a person died that night, but that in every step of the way I felt we as providers could’ve done so much better. I didn’t (couldn’t) understand why everyone acted as if it was just another green-zone case, why there was zero sense of urgency, why certain decisions were made (and took so long at that), and why everyone appeared to be emotionless and moved on so quickly. Throughout the entire time no one contacted his family members, no attempt was made, or at least none that I know of.

I tried to understand what happened, and what could’ve been done differently to prevent this from happening, but I was stumped. This to me should be a case to be brought up during Morbidity and Mortality meeting, but when I asked the attending about it at the end of our shift, her reply to me was this, and I paraphrased: “… you will see things that are done correctly, and things that are handled poorly. Good and bad decisions, and behaviors/attitudes. Just learn the good ones, and ignore the bad ones…” For the second time that shift, I was baffled. Sure, yes learn the good and leave the bad behind. But what about the patients?! By not doing anything, aren’t we silently consenting to the wrongful actions or behaviors? Does that not make us complicit? That morning I had trouble sleeping. I felt I’ve failed the patient, and I couldn’t get rid of the guilt. As I eventually dozed off, I think I died a little inside.

—–

Afterthought
I still think about this man once in a while. I wonder if it’s just me being the med student who was ‘young’ and ‘innocent’ and this was some kind of rude awakening to ‘how things are’ in real life. An initiation of sorts. Because how else do you explain why everyone who was working there acted so nonchalantly and went about their business? Maybe they felt something too, but had to hide it to be able to function. If everyone dwelled, then no work could get done. Maybe it’s the culture to act tough and move on. Maybe like me, initially it got to them, but after a while if this kept happening, they just had to wall their emotions off, toughen up and learn to shut up and move on. Maybe they all felt helpless at some point, but believed that nothing could be done to change this and so they just accepted the way things were and learned to live with it. I don’t know. These are just my speculations, because we weren’t allowed to talk about it. Because pointing out some behaviors, actions, or decisions that might be questionable is forbidden, I didn’t get to understand the root cause in that context. I doubt they really understood it either. It’s such a taboo that you just learn to sweep everything under the rug and do your thing. If you want to survive, that’s the modus operandi. 

My writing this and sharing it here wasn’t intended to criticise or to let known how bad things are back home. Situations like these happen everywhere. The point is, there is a need to talk about it, to discuss and address the issues so that we can improve. Pretending as if it didn’t happen won’t prevent it from happening in the future, and then it’s just going to happen again, and again, and again… We owe it to our patients to do our best, and make sure we do not repeat mistakes that can potentially cost lives. Primum non nocere, in English, means ‘first, do no harm’. To do that, we’ve got to set aside the ego, and be willing to take the first step to talk about things that went wrong. I do not know if things will ever change back home, but I sure hope it will. One can only hope. 

Spiralling Chaos

Posted by a friend on Instagram, thought it’s worth sharing here. #repost (Thanks friend!)
Credit goes to the author, whose name I can’t see clearly, but is the lady in the picture. 

To save you from squinting your eyes, I’m retyping the passage here:

When I was about 15 I got pretty overexcited when, through my combination of school subject choices, I came across the concept of duende. 

It’s a Spanish word with no English translation that could be loosely explained as as expression of the feeling we all have that life is both incredibly heavy and feather-light at the same time. 

While my intense teenage attachment to duende as a concept has faded, there is something about discovering the word that sticks with me. 

Whenever I think of it, I’m reminded that language governs thought. The lack of the word duende in English doesn’t just connote a cultural reluctance to discuss the feeling it represents. Instead, the fact it’s missing from our vocabulary actually prevents us from conceptualising the idea fully – without the word, we can only communicate a pale imitation of what it describes. 

And now, as I try to find something useful to do about the parlous state of the world’s most powerful – the unstable and dangerous Trump, and our Government’s pandering to him – I run into a sort of similar problem with language. 

The verbs that describe the actions within our reach – organise, protest, resist – they’re tainted. I’m not sure how it happened, but in my mind those words have come to be associated with privileged people complaining en masse because they don’t understand others’ realities, rather than with legitimate community movements. 

The fact that these words have been twisted like this seems to impede my ability to work out how we can best express our collective disgust at the actions of the people who now purport to lead us. 

But whether we reclaim these particular words or assign others to do their job, we need to find a way to stand together and say this is not ok; to say that collectively we will step in to prevent people being hurt by small men with big power. 

Language certainly governs thinking, but in this case we need to make sure its limitations don’t prevent necessary actions. 


These days we keep waking up to ridiculousness, every day more so than the previous day. It’s like watching some really bad reality-TV show, except it’s not — this is our f-ing reality.  The more I read, the less I want to write, the more I want to retreat. But running away, shutting the world out, isn’t going to change anything. Although only tangentially related to what the passage is about, reading it reminds me that we all have a duty, a responsibility to speak up and participate in the current affairs, no matter where we are or what we do. Because the alternative – to just stand back as a by-stander, watching things unfold, or perhaps trusting that other people will step up and fight for what is right – is unacceptable. Now more so than ever. 
Whatever it is that you care about, go do something about it. Un-spiral the spiralling chaos. Or make it harder for it to keep spiralling. Make your voice heard. 
Peace.

Taste of Home

Happy New Year to all. I haven’t been writing much since last year, partly because I was busy, but also partly because I had no words to convey how I felt about recent current affairs. I still don’t, unless I want to spill my guts out about it, which would just be messy and ugly and not something I want to do right now. So while I wait for the wound to heal, I’m just going to avoid that topic for now, and share some pics, and talk about anything else but those that really matter. 
This year is the year of Rooster. Another year that I don’t get to spend at home. Those who are abroad and away from home will know how it feels. Not to be overly dramatic or emotional, but it is true that celebrating Chinese New Year away from home is never really the same. You could replicate everything about it, the food and the decor, but the essence of this occasion is missing, and those can never be transplanted here. No matter how hot and humid it is back home, how bad the currency is right now, or how there’s always something to complain about back home, it still is home. Where there are lots of family, relatives, friends, people who make you feel grounded. Sure, I am used to being away, but it still means a lot to me to do something that reminds me of home and of this festivity. Glad that my friends are able to make this happen for me. Best gift I can ask for on occasions like these. 
Feeding the phone before eating. Yes that’s how the millennials do it these days. 
Steamboat aka hot pot is something my family does on CNY eve every year. 
So what’s more appropriate for CNY eve here?! 🙂 
An obligatory wefie. 
Okay now it’s time to feed the stomach. Bon appetit!

News vs. Facts

If a tree fell with a thud, but no one heard it, 
has it really fallen? 
If words of truth were written but no one read it,
are they still legit? 
If one was loved by another but he/she alone was utterly blind to it,
has it really happened? Does it still count?

Humans. Most of the time we seek evidence, trust only our senses and what we can concretely grasp, especially when it’s in our favour or when it’s convenient to us. When it’s not, or when it’s too complicated/overwhelming, we either a) choose to believe whatever we were taught when we were little (fall back to the primitive model instilled in us in our early years), b) jump to the next most convenient explanation (even if it’s absurd), or c) simply walk away and ignore the problem.

Sure, these choices are tempting- they’re easy solutions. They don’t require much thinking.  Believing what we were told when we were kids is probably the easiest, most convenient, and natural thing to do- because it felt ‘right’- when ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ were as clear as ‘black’ and ‘white’ as a child. It gives us and easy way out.  But that’s why we educate ourselves. We go to school not just to get a piece of paper that helps us secure a job, but to learn to think for ourselves. To think through the information we’re fed, to parse out the right and wrong (subject to individual moral codes, but that’s a different matter altogether), the truth from lies.

These days though, it’s increasingly hard to do so. A large part of it is because of the technology that is a double-edged sword- it provides us an abundance of information all just a few clicks away,  but it doesn’t separate truths from un-truths/lies/propaganda. There’s hardly any information police or regulatory body that fact-check everything, because it’s just an impossible task. The onus then is on us to do the hard work ourselves, to check the sources, to analyze what we’ve read and make up our mind about it. Yet too often we fall into complacency and just reinforce what we already believed in by reading the opinions of those whose ideas align with ours, which makes it easy to skip the thinking part and just drink in what we’ve been fed. The danger of overly accessible information is like the sexy, seductive mistress who keeps flirting with you, completely intoxicating, irresistible, and- costly.

Too much has been said and written on the election results, and I don’t think my two-cents on the postmortem of the event is worth mentioning. Everybody has an opinion, everyone has something to say. Most of them are unhelpful, and are noise. I’m more interested in how things move forward from now on, especially on the healthcare front and the environmental issues / climate change. One example- Standing Rock’s fight on the Dakota Access Pipeline is something worth keeping close tabs on, and take action if feasible. Whatever it is, I think it’s high time we all start caring about something and work to protect what’s important to us and to those we care. Because if we don’t, we might find ourselves losing it sooner than we realize. If there’s a lesson to learn from recent events, it’s to take nothing for granted. Nothing.

Peace,
J

The Girl

It was a rainy day but she needed to get out. Nothing could stop her, not the thunder or lightning, or flash flood warning texts. It was that kind of day.

On days like those, her yellow boots seemed to have a life of their own, and so off they went, taking her on a path that she had never come across. But she could hardly care. Or maybe she didn’t even notice. If every thought process, every neuronal activity makes a sound, you’d hear the cacophony of clicks, buzz, and ticks inside that skull, going a little overboard not unlike the time machine that had gone wrong and trying its very best not to explode. Why is all this happening, she thought. She wanted answers. She needed to talk to a friend.

And just like that, she took charge of her path again, finding her way to the coffee shop. It’s a hidden gem, on the second floor of an old mansion with a flight of stairs on the right, while the left side of the house was rented to an old tailor. Skipping her way up the stairs, turning right, zig-zagging past all the tables with very chatty customers talking over the soothing 20s’ jazzy background music, and not really bothered to only step on the white squares on the floor, something she usually did when she wasn’t in this harrowing mood. A dose of bff-pep-talk will make it go away, she mused, crossing the common area, turning left into the corridor with private rooms on both sides, and through the double doors into the kitchen, where her friend was helping her mom making coffee and toasts. Business has always been great, but it’s even better when it’s gloomy or pouring outside.

The relief of finding her friend lasted about as long as two milliseconds, which instantly evaporated when she caught a glimpse of her. Another two minutes into the conversation and she found that she couldn’t possibly burden her friend with her problems when her best friend was having her own crisis as well. After helping out in the kitchen for about an hour, she excused herself, after giving her friend a hug and promising to call later to talk more.

So much for talking to a friend. Outside the color of the sky matched her own dark clouds looming above her head. Again she took off wandering the streets until she chanced upon to a man who seemed like he was expecting her. Out of curiosity, she asked if he knew her. “Come, girl, I want to show you something,” he replied. Usually she wouldn’t have agreed to that. But it wasn’t a usual day, so she followed his lead. A few broken and battered paths away, there they stood, in front of a misplaced apple-green-turquoise minivan with huge floral patterns on it, one that looked like it got teleported from the 60s. To her surprise, the van was like Doctor Who’s blue police box, only it wasn’t just that. Inside was an entire world of itself. But there was something odd about it. Soon she realized it was a spaceship that was about to take off. And to accommodate as many passengers as possible, everyone had only a tiny caged space slightly taller than the height of a coffin. They were all stacked in twos, and the entire place was jam-packed with rows and rows of caged bunk-beds.

The man led her to her space, with her name labeled on it, and he left without any explanation. She was speechless. Were they expecting her? Why? Where were they going? She never signed up for anything! Was this a punishment for being pathetic? Were all sad and lost souls to be sent off to a faraway prison? So many questions! She didn’t have energy to find or ask the man, though. So resentfully she climbed into her space on all fours, and lean against the bars, observing others.  Soon enough she realized, the others weren’t forced to do this! They actually looked excited, preoccupied with their handheld devices, perhaps thinking this was some exploratory expedition to outer space or something. Was it?

She had no clue. All she knew was that she’s tired, and she just wanted all this to go away. Disappear. She wanted to disappear. Can the ground crack open and swallow her whole? If she closed her eyes long enough, maybe it would happen.

After a long, long while, what felt like an eternity of denial and refusing to face reality, she opened her eyes. And there she was. On her own bed. Alarm clock next to her bed blinked 03:38. A nightmare. It was all a dream. Felt real though. What bizarre subconsciousness has she been suppressing that had to resurface as such in the dream?

More questions. But at least this time, she didn’t have to fear being deported into an unknown space while she pondered upon the message of the dream.

Time-out

“For every decision you make, every path  you choose, you create a parallel life in which you relinquish  your rights to. You cannot think of the what-if’s and could-be’s, for that life is no longer yours.  All you can do is this: wherever you choose to go, go with all your heart.” ~ friend

Thank you, friend. I needed that little reminder.  No matter how tough things are, how it might seem impossible to get through those things, how exhausted you feel, you just have to believe that it will all work out.  A little faith, a little self-hug, and a cup of hot chocolate, and tomorrow will be another beautiful day.