Tag: journal

2023 Year End Reflections

Sometimes life has a way of surprising you, throwing you rotten lemons at the speed of light, that you don’t even realize you got hit. This one hit me hard. For a while, the pain was so intense I almost lost sight of the big picture. I thought about whether to write about it here, but decided now is not the time to share. Perhaps one day, when the pain and trauma has subsided enough for me to talk and joke about it, I will write more.

What is the big picture, though? We, mere humans, Homo sapiens, this insignificant species in the ever-expanding universe (or multiverse)–what are we doing? We wake up, go to work, consume, excrete, sleep, repeat. Some days I do wonder if any of what we do matters at all. But such thoughts are too depressing, so I try not to go there. Yet these days, I find myself thinking a lot about existential questions as such: Is this all there is? What is there to look forward to?

Perhaps because I’m reaching midlife, I find myself pondering all these midlife questions. Am I in what they call “a midlife crisis”? A crisis doesn’t have to be an imminent situation; it could mean “a turning point”. I think… this is where I’m at- at life’s intersection, trying to decide how to move forward, when ahead of me seems to be a thick fog that refuses to lift.

This year started off great. Was able to go home for a few weeks, spend some quality family time together, visited relatives, some of whom I haven’t seen in years. I celebrated CNY back home- the first since 2015. The following months went by so quickly: I got to see my bestie at a conference, visited a dear friend in NC, have a friend visit me in Maine. I then visited another BFF for a short weekend trip for her child’s birthday, had a reunion with a childhood BFF and her family, spent thanksgiving with my adopted family, sat for and passed the obesity medicine’s board exam. All in all a great year- I can’t complain. All good, except for the above said ‘incident’.

As I work to maneuver life and get past this fog, I hang on to the few things I know. I know I’m quite lucky; and I’m immensely thankful for all that I have- fairly good health, family and friends who will be there for me, the ability to think, work, and help people through my job. The acute awareness that none of this is guaranteed, and that any of it can dissipate at any moment, is not lost on me. And so on this Christmas, I pray for peace, love, and that the ongoing wars will end. I pray for more kindness, decency, honesty, generosity, and tolerance amongst each other.

Here’s hoping that 2024 will be a good year for all. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!

Internal Monologue

This space that has once given me solace, suddenly feels so foreign. It’s been too long since I wrote here. As the year comes to an end, I thought I’d drop by. (Even my choice of words reflect that- I’m ‘dropping by’ to this virtual space that once felt like home to me. Leave a place long enough, and it stops feeling like home… at least initially.) Anyway, I found a number of drafts that were never seen to completion. They were mostly stories about work, emotions that ICU patients and incidences stirred up. Stories of dissatisfaction and disappointment. Angst, anger too. Looking back, I think I didn’t post them for fear of repercussion. A part of me didn’t want to hold back anything if I were to write about them; yet another part of me, the part that ultimately won, was scared. Scared that if those people read it, they might know it’s about them, and would hate on me or react in ways I’m not ready for. Perhaps one day, I’d go back and clean up those drafts, and share them at some point. Today I just wanted to revisit and just… be here.

This year felt long and short at the same time. Anything pre-Covid felt so distant, like it’s been eons since that ‘normalcy’. We graduated from residency, and some of my closest friends left to start their new jobs and new lives elsewhere. Some people whom I thought were friends turned out to not be so. That was something I couldn’t get over. How many minutes and days have I spent (wasted) dwelling on the why…?! I wish I knew. Alas, I’d never find out. It took a long time to get out of the mind trap, and I think I’m finally over it (maybe?!). Sometimes you just have to let go. And so this year, amongst all the lessons I’ve learned, the biggest one is to let go. This theme keeps reoccurring, and I think to some extent, I’ll always find it hard to let go, and will never get used to, but it is something we all have to do. In life, if you care enough, you’d feel hurt. Not caring isn’t the answer; learning how to deal with it, is.

That’s all for now. I came here wanting to talk/write about something else. Ended up being sentimental/nonsensical. Blergh. Till the next time!

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?