It's 9:15pm. Feels just like the night before a big exam. The anxiety is palpable. I flipped through study notes and last-minute reminders on various topics. I get my books and all my materials organized. I tell myself it's going to be fine. I've done this tons of times. Just like every big exam, I tell myself that cramming by this point is useless, that I should trust my preparation, that I already know my stuff, and that I shouldn't worry so much.
Only that this is actually not a test.
It's only my first day of work as an independent staff doctor.
Weird, it's been a few years since I've already earned the "doctor" title. I've been in really bad situations before all by myself. I've had to make difficult decisions without any backing. But every other time, I always had somebody to answer to, which meant I had somebody to ask if I wasn't sure. It was never my sole responsibility. I was never going out on a limp. I always had crutches.
But tomorrow, it's just gonna be me. I've tried that before, when I played "let's pretend" with my preceptors and ran their clinics for weeks. I usually do okay, but do occasionally encounter difficulties that I ended up consulting them for. Sometimes, when I'm tired, I just ask them for the easy answer instead of having to solve the problem myself. But this time there will be no such guardian angel. When I sign my name at the end of every chart, there is nobody responsible for that but me.
It should be alright. I'll just keep telling myself that. I'm a cautious and conscientious person anyhow, and if I don't know I can always still look things up or make a referral. But it is still nerve-wrecking nonetheless. I'll try to enjoy it. For the first time after years of studying and training, I'm going to be a real doctor tomorrow.
Everything I've learned since day one of medical school, it all applies now.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Golden Goal.
Who writes this stuff anyway?
Sidney Crosby, scoring the overtime winner, in the gold medal game at the Olympics held in Canada, at the final event of the tournament. The goal that defined a generation of Canadians, the goal that gave a nation the medal that it wants most, the goal that put us over the top in records for gold medals in any Olympics, on the last day, at the last event, at the last possible moment.
There cannot be a better script for a finish for what has been an amazing Olympic experience.
With one shot, an entire nation breathe a sigh of relieve and rejoice for hours to come.
We won gold in hockey at home. That is what everyone wanted to hear ever since the games were awarded to Vancouver so many years ago.
The only thing that was slightly bitter-sweet was that, deep inside, I had wanted Luongo to be the hero, not Crosby. But then again, in Canada, in hockey today, is there a better person to play the protagonist than what has been the face of hockey ever since he stepped into the league?
This has been Crosby's games. It's only fitting that he finishes it.
We won gold. Finally. It's done.
Sidney Crosby, scoring the overtime winner, in the gold medal game at the Olympics held in Canada, at the final event of the tournament. The goal that defined a generation of Canadians, the goal that gave a nation the medal that it wants most, the goal that put us over the top in records for gold medals in any Olympics, on the last day, at the last event, at the last possible moment.
There cannot be a better script for a finish for what has been an amazing Olympic experience.
With one shot, an entire nation breathe a sigh of relieve and rejoice for hours to come.
We won gold in hockey at home. That is what everyone wanted to hear ever since the games were awarded to Vancouver so many years ago.
The only thing that was slightly bitter-sweet was that, deep inside, I had wanted Luongo to be the hero, not Crosby. But then again, in Canada, in hockey today, is there a better person to play the protagonist than what has been the face of hockey ever since he stepped into the league?
This has been Crosby's games. It's only fitting that he finishes it.
We won gold. Finally. It's done.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
With Glowing Hearts.
Wow. What a party.
What a rush.
Jolly people everywhere you go. Flag-bearing patriots eager to show their pride. Tons of enthusiasm like you've never seen people. Flocks of happy people jamming the streets, flags and beach balls and all. Horns sounding, music blasting, lights shining up into the sky as if to light up this city to be visible from outer space.
Everywhere you go, it's about people coming together and celebrating the combined passion of nations. It's always about, "WE won this.. WE won that..." Everything is a collective effort. Even though none of us did any part in any of these athletes' successes, we view their triumphs as our collective reward. "We want gold," we'd say, and when we get it, "WE got gold!"
I love seeing this collective enthusiasm. I find it quite amazing, these Olympic games, in how they bring people together, to celebrate the competitive spirit, but always in a respectable, honorable way. Athletes battle each other because their lives depends on it. Spectators battle each other in voices and in passion because we love getting into it. This is when nations truly become one, and people join forces because we love celebrating our likeness, not differences.
We see hockey teams, comprised entirely of leadership talents from all different professional teams, some of whom had battled each other to the bone in previous competitions, willingly and passionately setting aside all differences, instantly becoming brothers-in-arms towards a common goal. Their motivation might be self-serving, because they want to be Olympic champions. But their efforts define national pride, and their actions become larger than their lives could ever be.
It's funny, when the games begin, because of what I was going through mentally, I was almost completely disinterested in the games. I came to my senses only days before the Opening Ceremony and realized how special it would be to allow my parents to go, and I luckily found them tickets to be there. Watching the ceremony on TV did catch my attention, but I never caught the bug until well into the games. I drove by city venues without feeling the urge to visit them. I watched events on TV without really urging my fellow Canadians on.
All changed when I start noticing how happy, how excited, and how passionate these games have made everyone feel on the streets. The city has done an amazing job making these games become everybody's games, not just the athletes'. It's a straight 17-day party that never had a low moment. Citizens and tourists rejoice in the live atmosphere that is filled with live music and wonderful lighting. Giant LCD televisions plastered at every corner and in every restaurant allowing you to live the athletic excitement wherever you go. It makes you want to become part of this. It makes you want to be involved. When my Dad came home super excited one day, and he usually hates crowds and avoids them at all costs, I knew that the city had had it right this time.
With one day to go, I already know I'm going to miss this. This has been 17 unbelievable days, and I'm very thankful that my work schedule allowed me to almost not miss any part of this experience. I'm very thankful I got a chance in the end to volunteer for the second week, as I've always enjoy being a part of something instead of just being a spectator. I'm going to miss riding home on the Canada line after every shift. I'm going to miss seeing all these happy people from all over the world and all their friendly faces. I'm going to miss all this positive energy, and all the reasons to celebrate day after day. I'm going to miss having this sustained excitement throughout the two weeks. When all things go back to normal, it is going to feel very, very, nostalgic.
There's one more day to go. I hope that tomorrow will bring some magic to Canada's men hockey team.
Go Canada Go.
What a rush.
Jolly people everywhere you go. Flag-bearing patriots eager to show their pride. Tons of enthusiasm like you've never seen people. Flocks of happy people jamming the streets, flags and beach balls and all. Horns sounding, music blasting, lights shining up into the sky as if to light up this city to be visible from outer space.
Everywhere you go, it's about people coming together and celebrating the combined passion of nations. It's always about, "WE won this.. WE won that..." Everything is a collective effort. Even though none of us did any part in any of these athletes' successes, we view their triumphs as our collective reward. "We want gold," we'd say, and when we get it, "WE got gold!"
I love seeing this collective enthusiasm. I find it quite amazing, these Olympic games, in how they bring people together, to celebrate the competitive spirit, but always in a respectable, honorable way. Athletes battle each other because their lives depends on it. Spectators battle each other in voices and in passion because we love getting into it. This is when nations truly become one, and people join forces because we love celebrating our likeness, not differences.
We see hockey teams, comprised entirely of leadership talents from all different professional teams, some of whom had battled each other to the bone in previous competitions, willingly and passionately setting aside all differences, instantly becoming brothers-in-arms towards a common goal. Their motivation might be self-serving, because they want to be Olympic champions. But their efforts define national pride, and their actions become larger than their lives could ever be.
It's funny, when the games begin, because of what I was going through mentally, I was almost completely disinterested in the games. I came to my senses only days before the Opening Ceremony and realized how special it would be to allow my parents to go, and I luckily found them tickets to be there. Watching the ceremony on TV did catch my attention, but I never caught the bug until well into the games. I drove by city venues without feeling the urge to visit them. I watched events on TV without really urging my fellow Canadians on.
All changed when I start noticing how happy, how excited, and how passionate these games have made everyone feel on the streets. The city has done an amazing job making these games become everybody's games, not just the athletes'. It's a straight 17-day party that never had a low moment. Citizens and tourists rejoice in the live atmosphere that is filled with live music and wonderful lighting. Giant LCD televisions plastered at every corner and in every restaurant allowing you to live the athletic excitement wherever you go. It makes you want to become part of this. It makes you want to be involved. When my Dad came home super excited one day, and he usually hates crowds and avoids them at all costs, I knew that the city had had it right this time.
With one day to go, I already know I'm going to miss this. This has been 17 unbelievable days, and I'm very thankful that my work schedule allowed me to almost not miss any part of this experience. I'm very thankful I got a chance in the end to volunteer for the second week, as I've always enjoy being a part of something instead of just being a spectator. I'm going to miss riding home on the Canada line after every shift. I'm going to miss seeing all these happy people from all over the world and all their friendly faces. I'm going to miss all this positive energy, and all the reasons to celebrate day after day. I'm going to miss having this sustained excitement throughout the two weeks. When all things go back to normal, it is going to feel very, very, nostalgic.
There's one more day to go. I hope that tomorrow will bring some magic to Canada's men hockey team.
Go Canada Go.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Life awaits..... only if I stop dreaming...
1:03 am. Early Monday morning. I laid there on my soft bed, half covered with my blanket.
Eyes wide open.
My mind has no intention of sleeping. Not even an ounce of fatigue. I even started sweating a little. It's too hot tonight.
I've been having nights like this. Completely, utterly, wakeful when it's supposingly bedtime. I've got to work tomorrow. I've tried to make an effort to wake up earlier. But my mind wouldn't listen. Like a wild animal, it does what it feels like. I am powerless to make myself fall asleep if my mind doesn't care to.
1:15 am. This is pointless.
Maybe it's because I haven't really stopped thinking about things.
Last week I told myself to count my blessings, not my regrets. I did quite well for a few days. But like a dreaded shadow, thoughts of self-doubts always creep back into my head. I still need a direction in life to feel alive. I still need new goals. I still need to feel that I'm thriving for something higher. That childish ambition. Those misguided dreams.
Those hidden demons, not so hidden at this day and age. I seemed consumed by them these days.
But maybe it's my obsessions with these senseless dreams that's preventing me from living my life today.
I guess I had a brief awakening (how odd as I was actually trying to sleep). For a second there I envisioned that my "dream" did come true, that I pictured myself somewhere else, doing whatever-it-is I thought I was supposed to be doing, but maybe at a cost of being elsewhere, in a different surrounding, away from my family, my friends, my niche.
I felt that picture quite lonely for a moment.
Success, when there is nobody to share it with, may be just as bitter.
I once questioned whether I should have gone over to Hong Kong for medical school, like a few of my friends did. I always wondered if I would have enjoyed reliving a second life there. Maybe I would have felt more at home in my surroundings. Maybe I would have felt less uncertain about my identity. Maybe I might have even met my special someone there (since I am predominately attracted to Chinese girls anyway) and got married already. Maybe. So many maybes.
I also once questioned whether I should have stayed at UBC for medical school instead of going to Toronto. Maybe I would have been less misguided about my careers as I went through school together with my family. Maybe I would have enjoyed my time a little better and stuck with a few of my original career goals. Maybe I would have also met somebody here, since I appeared to like Vancouverites more, and got married already. Maybe. So many maybes.
Regardless of what, I never felt that going to Toronto was a mistake. But it did highlight a good fundamental decision-making concept - the opportunity cost of chasing one dream. I went to Toronto because I thought it was the better school, and because I wanted to move to a bigger city. The opportunity cost was whatever that I would have missed by not staying here in Vancouver or going to Hong Kong.
Then I start to realize that I have almost everything that I would want right here at home in Vancouver today. I love living in this city. I have my family and close friends here with me. This is where I envision living and working. This is where I feel I can feed my other interests. Leaving here might turn out to be a bigger cost than I am willing to pay.
Plus here is still probably where I will have the greatest likelihood of finding someone to love.
The opportunity cost of chasing perhaps misguided dreams may be more costly than settling my aspirations and reframing my ambitions into something more concrete, but hopefully equally satisfying.
Somebody once said, "don't take yourself too seriously, because other people don't".
I might be the only one on this earth who is looking down upon myself.
It's just an awakening (can't believe I keep saying this word at what is now 1:36am).
But maybe I should start thinking about how to restart my life again.
After all, I am 31, and the clock's ticking.
Life awaits me to get my act together.
Eyes wide open.
My mind has no intention of sleeping. Not even an ounce of fatigue. I even started sweating a little. It's too hot tonight.
I've been having nights like this. Completely, utterly, wakeful when it's supposingly bedtime. I've got to work tomorrow. I've tried to make an effort to wake up earlier. But my mind wouldn't listen. Like a wild animal, it does what it feels like. I am powerless to make myself fall asleep if my mind doesn't care to.
1:15 am. This is pointless.
Maybe it's because I haven't really stopped thinking about things.
Last week I told myself to count my blessings, not my regrets. I did quite well for a few days. But like a dreaded shadow, thoughts of self-doubts always creep back into my head. I still need a direction in life to feel alive. I still need new goals. I still need to feel that I'm thriving for something higher. That childish ambition. Those misguided dreams.
Those hidden demons, not so hidden at this day and age. I seemed consumed by them these days.
But maybe it's my obsessions with these senseless dreams that's preventing me from living my life today.
I guess I had a brief awakening (how odd as I was actually trying to sleep). For a second there I envisioned that my "dream" did come true, that I pictured myself somewhere else, doing whatever-it-is I thought I was supposed to be doing, but maybe at a cost of being elsewhere, in a different surrounding, away from my family, my friends, my niche.
I felt that picture quite lonely for a moment.
Success, when there is nobody to share it with, may be just as bitter.
I once questioned whether I should have gone over to Hong Kong for medical school, like a few of my friends did. I always wondered if I would have enjoyed reliving a second life there. Maybe I would have felt more at home in my surroundings. Maybe I would have felt less uncertain about my identity. Maybe I might have even met my special someone there (since I am predominately attracted to Chinese girls anyway) and got married already. Maybe. So many maybes.
I also once questioned whether I should have stayed at UBC for medical school instead of going to Toronto. Maybe I would have been less misguided about my careers as I went through school together with my family. Maybe I would have enjoyed my time a little better and stuck with a few of my original career goals. Maybe I would have also met somebody here, since I appeared to like Vancouverites more, and got married already. Maybe. So many maybes.
Regardless of what, I never felt that going to Toronto was a mistake. But it did highlight a good fundamental decision-making concept - the opportunity cost of chasing one dream. I went to Toronto because I thought it was the better school, and because I wanted to move to a bigger city. The opportunity cost was whatever that I would have missed by not staying here in Vancouver or going to Hong Kong.
Then I start to realize that I have almost everything that I would want right here at home in Vancouver today. I love living in this city. I have my family and close friends here with me. This is where I envision living and working. This is where I feel I can feed my other interests. Leaving here might turn out to be a bigger cost than I am willing to pay.
Plus here is still probably where I will have the greatest likelihood of finding someone to love.
The opportunity cost of chasing perhaps misguided dreams may be more costly than settling my aspirations and reframing my ambitions into something more concrete, but hopefully equally satisfying.
Somebody once said, "don't take yourself too seriously, because other people don't".
I might be the only one on this earth who is looking down upon myself.
It's just an awakening (can't believe I keep saying this word at what is now 1:36am).
But maybe I should start thinking about how to restart my life again.
After all, I am 31, and the clock's ticking.
Life awaits me to get my act together.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Love, goals, and ambition.
I think one thing I need in life is a sense of direction. I don't have to get there yet, but every time I develop an idea for an ambitious goal, I feel alive and driven to make the best of each day. It's what I live for.
When I see a goal, or when I feel ambitious, I feel that I am a promising human being again. Even if I'm not there yet, or even if the road is hard, I still feel strong, because if I have a goal, I'm not afraid of the fight.
When I am lost without a goal, or if I'm not sure which is the right goal (such as right now), I find myself very listless. I feel I am not progressing, while the world is still turning, and I stay stuck.
A man cannot be without goals. And I am cursed that I feel nothing when I cannot find my ambition.
But why is it so difficulty to get unstuck?
Perhaps that is because I think too much. Not with my head, but with my heart.
I am a creative soul. I like being expressive. I like to exercise my innate abilities. I like the feeling that I'm a natural at something and that I'm doing something I'm good at.
The strange thing is, I'm in a field of work that does not quite offer much creativity. The technical side of things run my day-to-day life. And even though they advertise that there's "art" involved, it is not the type of "art" that one would naturally subscribe to.
I guess part of me feels that I am not able to take a part of me to work with me. That is, I don't feel that I am playing to my strengths at work. I can do a good job, but little of it is "me". It's just my knowledge doing the talking, most of the time.
Yes, much of what we do in life is mundane. Most of the higher ranked careers are structurally rigid. Like an analyst, it's knowledge first, instinct second. Are we really being ourselves at work? Or are we just trying to keep ourselves alive WHILE we work?
I guess the frustrating part is realizing that I can no longer happily pronounce that I love my job. Mind you I don't hate it, and I am blessed to be doing it. I might even go as far as to say that I quite like it.
But love, now that's a strong statement.
To love something, you have to feel that it is becoming an intricate part of you. You intergrade with what you love, and you feel alive when you are part of it. Love is addictive, love sucks you in and harnesses your energy, body and soul. Love keeps you awake at night thinking about it. Love makes you wake up each morning yearning to do more of it.
If it doesn't do that, it doesn't fulfill the criteria for love.
Whether it be relationships, an object of desire, or a job.
Maybe I am being too romantic in my work. But I'm born in the year of the Sheep. They are naturally romantic beasts, the horoscope would say.
I just want to feel that I love what I do. Genuinely. Wholeheartedly. Happily.
Until then, I'm not sure where lies my happiness.
When I see a goal, or when I feel ambitious, I feel that I am a promising human being again. Even if I'm not there yet, or even if the road is hard, I still feel strong, because if I have a goal, I'm not afraid of the fight.
When I am lost without a goal, or if I'm not sure which is the right goal (such as right now), I find myself very listless. I feel I am not progressing, while the world is still turning, and I stay stuck.
A man cannot be without goals. And I am cursed that I feel nothing when I cannot find my ambition.
But why is it so difficulty to get unstuck?
Perhaps that is because I think too much. Not with my head, but with my heart.
I am a creative soul. I like being expressive. I like to exercise my innate abilities. I like the feeling that I'm a natural at something and that I'm doing something I'm good at.
The strange thing is, I'm in a field of work that does not quite offer much creativity. The technical side of things run my day-to-day life. And even though they advertise that there's "art" involved, it is not the type of "art" that one would naturally subscribe to.
I guess part of me feels that I am not able to take a part of me to work with me. That is, I don't feel that I am playing to my strengths at work. I can do a good job, but little of it is "me". It's just my knowledge doing the talking, most of the time.
Yes, much of what we do in life is mundane. Most of the higher ranked careers are structurally rigid. Like an analyst, it's knowledge first, instinct second. Are we really being ourselves at work? Or are we just trying to keep ourselves alive WHILE we work?
I guess the frustrating part is realizing that I can no longer happily pronounce that I love my job. Mind you I don't hate it, and I am blessed to be doing it. I might even go as far as to say that I quite like it.
But love, now that's a strong statement.
To love something, you have to feel that it is becoming an intricate part of you. You intergrade with what you love, and you feel alive when you are part of it. Love is addictive, love sucks you in and harnesses your energy, body and soul. Love keeps you awake at night thinking about it. Love makes you wake up each morning yearning to do more of it.
If it doesn't do that, it doesn't fulfill the criteria for love.
Whether it be relationships, an object of desire, or a job.
Maybe I am being too romantic in my work. But I'm born in the year of the Sheep. They are naturally romantic beasts, the horoscope would say.
I just want to feel that I love what I do. Genuinely. Wholeheartedly. Happily.
Until then, I'm not sure where lies my happiness.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Happy Birthday to Mom!
I have a tendency to celebrate people's birthdays over three days...
Years ago, I decided to make my friend Queenie a birthday meal. I forgot what happened. Somehow she talked me into making her another. Then something else happened. I think in the end I made her three meals. She was thrilled.
This year, we decided to celebrate Mom's birthday (which is on a Saturday) by cooking her a Friday night dinner, a Saturday morning breakfast, and a Sunday evening cake. It was fun to hug my Jamie Oliver cookbook again and improvise on some dishes. In addition, I got more help from good old foodnetwork.com recipes.
Friday night I made her a nice Linguine with Shrimp and Lemon Oil and Arugula Pasta, courtesy of Giada De Laurentiis of food network. (http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/linguine-with-shrimp-and-lemon-oil-recipe/index.html) As a side (become Mom loves Potatoes) I also made Jamie Oliver's new potatoes in lemon capers dressing alongside a fresh steamed Lobster.
Saturday morning I decided to follow Jamie Oliver's frittata idea but improvised with whatever I had in the fridge. In the end I made a Grilled Asparagus and Roasted Bell Pepper Frittata with a side Rosemary Straw Potatoes. It was the first time making a frittata. Watching it rise in the oven was amazing, and it looked remarkable and tasted even better.
Then Sunday night I had the urge to make some meringue, and so together with Mom we made a lovely Lemon Meringue Pie, spiked with lemoncello liquor and Grand Marnier. It was successful but I could have added a little more alcohol. Haha.
Years ago, I decided to make my friend Queenie a birthday meal. I forgot what happened. Somehow she talked me into making her another. Then something else happened. I think in the end I made her three meals. She was thrilled.
This year, we decided to celebrate Mom's birthday (which is on a Saturday) by cooking her a Friday night dinner, a Saturday morning breakfast, and a Sunday evening cake. It was fun to hug my Jamie Oliver cookbook again and improvise on some dishes. In addition, I got more help from good old foodnetwork.com recipes.
Friday night I made her a nice Linguine with Shrimp and Lemon Oil and Arugula Pasta, courtesy of Giada De Laurentiis of food network. (http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/linguine-with-shrimp-and-lemon-oil-recipe/index.html) As a side (become Mom loves Potatoes) I also made Jamie Oliver's new potatoes in lemon capers dressing alongside a fresh steamed Lobster.
Saturday morning I decided to follow Jamie Oliver's frittata idea but improvised with whatever I had in the fridge. In the end I made a Grilled Asparagus and Roasted Bell Pepper Frittata with a side Rosemary Straw Potatoes. It was the first time making a frittata. Watching it rise in the oven was amazing, and it looked remarkable and tasted even better.
Then Sunday night I had the urge to make some meringue, and so together with Mom we made a lovely Lemon Meringue Pie, spiked with lemoncello liquor and Grand Marnier. It was successful but I could have added a little more alcohol. Haha.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Who am I?
Lost. Silent. Drifting. Floating.
I'm losing myself. Day by day.
I've been lost for some time now. Haven't yet been found. Not really sure where to start.
Who am I? What is my identity? What lies in my future?
I'm coming near the end of one stage of my life. About to embark on another. And yet I've never been so lost.
Directionless. Compass-less. More self-doubt than I have ever experienced before.
Sometimes there are moments of inspirations. From people around me, from stories that I've read, from rare glimpse of clarity in my head when I thought I finally wrapped around my internal struggles.
But those quickly fades, as I continue to wrestle with internal struggles of pride, of greed, of ideologies and sometimes fantasies, of adjustable realities and perhaps achievable dreams.
I kind of know what I want, though not really in words. But they don't all match up. I've been having trouble putting everything in its place.
And yet I grow older still. Life awaits.
I'm terrible at letting things go. I chose of life of uncertainty and yet I am too coward to face it. I aspirate to play the role of an inspiring adventurer but yet I'm too chicken-shit to live it out confidentlly.
I want to believe that things will just be okay. But I'm not a believer.
It's becoming harder to take each step forward. There is still so much to learn, so much to improve on. But yet I am lacking focus. I sit and read and none of the contents are being filed neatly into my memory bank. They are all jumbled up, mushed up into a pile of shit that makes me feel I'm stuck and can read no more.
And then I just sit there. Pondering away. What should I do now?
Crossroads. So many crossroads. I never know how to cross them and enjoy it.
My voice has grew weaker. My eyes less confident. My steps less solid. My grips are loose.
It's becoming harder to wake up each morning. I lie around much longer in bed, with my radio blasting each morning's news until I cared about them no more.
Tic tac tic tac. The clock of life goes on ticking.
But my mind stays silently still.
I'm losing myself. Day by day.
I've been lost for some time now. Haven't yet been found. Not really sure where to start.
Who am I? What is my identity? What lies in my future?
I'm coming near the end of one stage of my life. About to embark on another. And yet I've never been so lost.
Directionless. Compass-less. More self-doubt than I have ever experienced before.
Sometimes there are moments of inspirations. From people around me, from stories that I've read, from rare glimpse of clarity in my head when I thought I finally wrapped around my internal struggles.
But those quickly fades, as I continue to wrestle with internal struggles of pride, of greed, of ideologies and sometimes fantasies, of adjustable realities and perhaps achievable dreams.
I kind of know what I want, though not really in words. But they don't all match up. I've been having trouble putting everything in its place.
And yet I grow older still. Life awaits.
I'm terrible at letting things go. I chose of life of uncertainty and yet I am too coward to face it. I aspirate to play the role of an inspiring adventurer but yet I'm too chicken-shit to live it out confidentlly.
I want to believe that things will just be okay. But I'm not a believer.
It's becoming harder to take each step forward. There is still so much to learn, so much to improve on. But yet I am lacking focus. I sit and read and none of the contents are being filed neatly into my memory bank. They are all jumbled up, mushed up into a pile of shit that makes me feel I'm stuck and can read no more.
And then I just sit there. Pondering away. What should I do now?
Crossroads. So many crossroads. I never know how to cross them and enjoy it.
My voice has grew weaker. My eyes less confident. My steps less solid. My grips are loose.
It's becoming harder to wake up each morning. I lie around much longer in bed, with my radio blasting each morning's news until I cared about them no more.
Tic tac tic tac. The clock of life goes on ticking.
But my mind stays silently still.
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