Insomnia

I had a quiz today for which I put off studying until the last day, which was yesterday. And for some reason, I have the mind of a monkey last night, it just won't quit hopping from one random thought to another. It was terrible. I must have gotten into bed and gotten out like fifty times. This rarely happens to me. Sleep is like breathing to me, I never usually have to give it a second thought. But last night, I tossed and I flopped and I flipped myself like a pancake on a frying pan, and I snuggled deep, and I burrowed like a rabbit in my big red fluffy blanket and I counted, or tried to count from 1 to 100. I made it to about 50 and I got frustrated and I got up. But good thing is, each time I got up, I studied some more, so maybe my quiz grade will have benefitted overall from my insomnia.


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I kind of had a bad dream though. It involved a monster of some sort and it terrified me. I wish I can recall it more clearly now but damn that quiz, I woke up around 8:20 in a stupor. The quiz was at 9 AM. Of course, of course, of course. Oh Emily are you a character in a korean soap opera? Emily leaps out of bed cursing having overslept (original plan was to get up at 6 AM to study some more but going to sleep finally around 5:30 AM made it a little difficult) She then throws on some clothes, wraps her skinny neck in a long flowing purple scarf and pumps her legs to move as fast as she could to the school. Luckily I got to school when there were still seats available and I sat down, feeling tired and hungry and adrenaline-rushed. It's a very interesting state to be in, a little hyper-stretched, truth be told. I wish I could remember my dream, it was so fascinating, at least to me. I want to record it so that I could read it when I'm 80 and chuckle into my wrinkled hands and think, I once dreamt that? How funny. How amusing! Hee hee hee.

Googlemania and other thoughts

Google has recently "clonally proliferated" into an even bigger presence in my life, and millions others I'm sure. It has all sorts of nifty gadgets you can add to your iGoogle page, decorate it like a little girl decorates her room. I don't mean to put a disdainful spin on it, because at heart, I will forever be that little girl that loves to decorate her room, her scrapbooks, her wallpaper, her blog, etc etc.


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I recently went to visit an elderly resident at a nursing home-like facility. This woman, at 91, is sprightly and sharp and independent as ever. I admire her ability to still think critically and her interest in keeping up with the world and its current affairs. She mentioned some stuff about current politics which I thought were interesting, even though it was somewhat in opposition to mine. I didn't think it appropriate to start a heated political debate with someone who is more than 3x older than me, so I just listened politely. While I may not agree with her, I still find it interesting to talk to her.

Jason came back recently from China. He got to sample some scorpion and butterfly cocoon. I'm sure he will blog all about it later. He showed me some videos of him doing it. I don't think I would EVER want to be in the position of eating these fried bugs and sloshing bug juices in my mouth. Eegads! Apparently it's a big hit with the tourists who visit there though. I think all these world travelers who flock to China are looking for precisely these exotic out of the world experiences and some smart vendors in China figured out how to exploit that particular desire at that particular time. Apparently the locals are not exactly all that into eating bugs either, so the Chinese save their bugs for their wonderfully obliging and game visitors.

Thanksgiving is in a few days. I will be heading back to Maryland to spend some downtime with the folks. I think I will have to set aside some time to study though because I've not been keeping up as well as I should be. I also have a baby to visit and an ex-coworker to have lunch with. It shall probably be busier than even when I'm in school!

Em babbles on

Today I had the first of a series of exams. For some reason, it was a real struggle. I guess I know the reason - I didn't study hard enough, or was that it? Is it always as simple as that? Usually when I'm deeply immersed in an exam, the time just flies by. All that adrenaline and focused energy makes time disappear. This time around, I was excruciatingly aware of the passage of time. I was itching to get out of the exam, truth be told. I kept flipping to the end of the test and wondering how many more questions I have to answer. I think my ADHD has kicked in big time and perhaps to the detriment of my score. Score schnore, why do we care so much about grades anyway? Why do we let ourselves get all twisted up about some numbers? Of course, even as I say that, I wonder if my ego defense isn't kicking in (courtesy of studying Behavioral science and some Freudian theories) Am I in denial? Perhaps. I deny the importance of grades (but in my defense, I have been told that first two years' of grades don't matter that much unless you are a psychotic gunning for surgery or opthalm) There was even a question on the exam about a medical student who has a big biochem test in 7 days and keeps putting off studying to do these other more "urgent" tasks such as raking leaves, cleaning closets, etc. A lightbulb went off. Hey! That's me! I joyfully reconciled with my test question self, we exchanged some hellos and how are yous. And then I had to answer the question and move on. Sigh, as I answered the question, I imagined my test question self waving at me sadly from within the page, bidding me good luck and hoping I won't turn into her fully and completely, that self-destructive, procrastinating slave, pinned down by her ego defense of avoidance and escapism delusions.

I started watching a movie called Match Point, a film by Woody Allen. I love On Demand, though it's particularly tempting when test time rolls around, I don't know why. But in any case, I really enjoy it so far. Jonathan Rhys-Meyer, an actor I've noticed before, is and can be intense. He doesn't seem that comfortable in his own skin, ever, but then again, he plays characters that require that edginess. I think in this case, he was cast quite fittingly. And Scarlet Johansson, what can I say? She's a hot little number and I could see why every man and his grandfather swoons when her name comes up. I think if I had been born a blond little girl, I would want to look like her. I am absolutely in love with the white shirt-dress that she appears in, during the first scene we witness her in. I think I'll have to try to scope it out. I've taken my shopping habit to a whole new level, with very specific ideas of what I want now.

In the mean time, I still need a good idea for a costume. If nothing comes up, I'll just have to throw on some wild things from my closet. I think I can pull off the hippie look with my longer hair and bangs now, but I don't feel like donning a tie-dyed shirt and flashing the peace sign all night long. I could go gothic, but these days, I have the face of a tired gothic woman already, and I don't need to be even more gothic. I think I wouldn't mind going for a femme fatale look, ha.

Sequel to previous post

Oddly enough, based on the contents of my previous post exactly 22 days ago, today was the day I encountered my first rodent - a dead one. 22 days ago, when I first discovered to my great consternation, invaders of my Lays chips, my roommate and I laid down traps for them all around the kitchen. For 20+ days, nothing happened and we were gently lulled back into the belief that these little gnawly things are gone forever. At first when we placed the traps, I would go to the kitchen everyday and glance warily at the traps to see if we caught anything. Though I never wanted to, I was also half hoping that we would, as that would mean one less to run around, reproduce, and make more disgusting little pests. But after a few weeks, I began to think that we just won't see them anymore. Ha - boy was I wrong.

Today, after an utterly indulgent nap at 4 PM, I woke from my sleep close to 6 and lumbered into the kitchen. I thought I would make myself some dinner. Almost as an afterthought, as I was standing by the shelf close to where the trap was, I glanced down, only blurrily wondering if anything was there. And there it was, a grey plumpish gross pulp of a thing, lying there in the trap rather docilely. I don't actually know what I said or uttered at that moment folks, it was possible that my mind went utterly blank for a nanosecond as my soul popped out of my body to do an otherworldly scream of such magnitude you would not believe, or my fight or flight hormonal response spiked so suddenly and extremely that instead of jarring me into action, it temporarily paralyzed me. In any case, it was completely UNREAL. I may have turned green.

Immediately I decided that I had lost my appetite. Then I thought about what I was going to do. The evil thought was to walk away and leave it to my roommate to clean up, as she isn't lilly-livered about mice as I am. I didn't want to leave it to her, mostly because the idea of leaving that dead thing around is distasteful to me. But I didn't want to come within 100 feet of that thing either. So I played the girl card and asked one of my friendly neighborhood classmates to come and do the dirty deed. Lucky for me, he was feeling kind that day. Bowled over with gratitude, I ended up making dinner for him in return.

Anyway, the long story short is, I hate mice I hate mice I hate mice. I wish to God they don't exist on this green earth. I can't comprehend why they are around except they are these hardy little things that will never die no matter what. That one in the trap was probably not really dead, just playing dead.

Ugh, I got to do something about my phobia. And I promise folks that I won't blog about mice ever again, no matter what, I refuse to give my phobia even more of a hold on me than it already has. Now to sleep and to put an end to this accursed day!

The Irrationality of Fear

Yes yes I have a phobia and that phobia consists of shrieking uncontrollably at the sight of a little animal about the size of two fingers. I know it's retarded and though people have tried to talk me through the irrationality of it all, I just can't help it. Every time I hear a noise in my apartment, I tense up. Do I fear a break in? No...that would be way too rational for me. I fear the little four pawed rodents that really could do no harm to me directly, except perhaps by inducing a heart attack. The other day I discovered that these little brats have invaded my Lays chips, which I had purchased with great delight and planned on savoring for the weeks ahead. It was with great dismay then that I found a breach in the system (aka chewed plastic bag, hole, nibbles etc) For a good half hour or so, I kept hearing noises and though I investigated diligently, I was never able to find the culprit. I finally found that my bag of chips have been invaded. Of course the bag of chips went promptly into the dumpster, but since then I've been sort of high strung and tense. I even screamed when I inadvertently scattered some decorative objects, and one of them, a ball, but the size of a mouse rolled across the floor. My phobia and hysteria was such that I thought I saw one of those little buggers racing across the rug, and so a shriek erupted from me of its own accord. I scared my roommate and also myself. At least I didn't wet my pants, geez, I am such a lily-livered thing.

Malnourished Emily

As part of my nutrition course I had to make a food diary documenting what and how much I've been eating over a three day period. Although my food intake can vary largely from day to day, the overall average is that I'm only getting about 70% of what my body needs in terms of energy expenditure. Hmmm...could that be why I feel sleepy all the time? More food = more energy? What a brilliant concept, I must explore this further.

Actually, this exercise is quite good for me. It shows that I'm not getting enough of the vitamins that I need. I get a lot of potassium though, for one reason or another. Not nearly enough fibers. I have a high cholesterol and high sodium diet. I wish there was a Chinese version of this somewhere, because I would like my parents to try to document their daily intake to see where they are deficient. The site is a big pain to navigate, but if you are diligent, it actually is worth the trouble (so few things are these days...)

My Pyramid Tracker

Try it for yourself starting tomorrow! Don't be like me, accosted on the streets of Philly by some psycho because he thought he could bully some clinically undernourished waif who doesn't like food. Yes yes, I will get over this, eventually.

Chinatown Clinic

Today I went to volunteer at this clinic down in Chinatown. It's a solid operation run by volunteer students and doctors. The doctor who has been running this for the last 10 years is most probably a saint, but one that can be decidedly grouchy if he wants to be. I was placed in the "pharmacy" with these second year students.

My job was to play errand girl, I would take the medicine and give them to the patients. Often the job entailed such difficulties such as reading the label out loud to the patient, like "take this once a day." I'm sure I mispronounced quite a few names though. I smile to seem less threatening, it doesn't always come naturally. I think I have something wrong with my personality. I wish I was the bubbly girl who always exude natural warmth and friendliness, but alas.

Anyway, I had a good time. A couple of my classmates went with me and it was like that first episode of Grey's Anatomy, a bunch of newbies all thrown into this medical setting together and half the time, they look at each other wondering what the heck they were supposed to be doing. It was fun in that sort of communal spirit, because we were all in it together and all somewhat lost and clueless.

Four hours on the back

I just spent four hours studying, restudying, alternatingly drooling (read: sleeping) on my anatomy books. I have all told, about five different books opened as I hopscotched from one book to another. The target of my intense study? The back.

The more I study this gross anatomy stuff, the more impressed I am with the intricate designs that make up the human body. The back of the average human is sheathed in layer upon layer of muscles, some traversing diagonally right, some shooting up diagonally left, most of the muscles are paired, that is, you have a right and left version of the same muscle. Actually maybe all - I've yet to identify a muscle that is the lone ranger. Each muscle is there for a different purpose or function. Now the average couch potatoe (aka moi) do not take anywhere even remotely close to enough advantage of all his core muscles. But if you observe a dancer in action, you can bet that all those extensors and flexors are working hard to allow that dancer to create such beauty with her body movements.

Anyhoo, I shall retire for the evening and leave you to contemplate on the magnificence of such objects as semispinalis capitis, rhomboid majors, and my personal favorites: serratus posterior inferior and serratus posterior superior. Those good old profs of yore who made up these anatomical terms certainly didn't have economy of letters in mind at that time.

My Cadaver Story

From day one we’ve been harped on about professionalism. Well today was gross anatomy lab day 1 and we were going to be introduced to our cadaver and I was determined to be no less than 120% professional.

Our group assembled uncertainly around B5, our assigned table. On it lay a body covered under a white sheet. We peered at the form curiously and then at each other hesitantly, I think none of us were too eager to unveil what was beneath quite just yet.

Finally the professor’s clear directive rang out. “Remove the white sheet.” We complied. I looked curiously at the body and the first thing I wondered was, “what gender?” I looked first at the chest. It was flat, with protruding nipples. I thought, “oh, so it is probably male.” But then I looked further down and saw the absence of signifying organs and then I readjusted my logical reasoning. “oh, it is a rather thin female.”

A few kids looked over at our body, made the “yuck face” as they stared in morbid fascination at the green spots that had arisen on certain parts of our body. They smirked and said, “this one has mold.” I thought it was rather obnoxious of them, though I reasoned they were in part dealing with their own nervousness. I was already feeling connected to the body as well as somewhat protective.

The professor asked us to cut the plastic bag from the body. I grabbed the scissors and started zipping down the middle. My brisk business-like gestures belie my own hidden tremulous feelings. I was, truth be told, probably hyperventilating subconsciously because I was taking care to not inhale through my nose. When I got to the area near her face, I felt for a moment how surreal it really was. I was an inch from a dead person and all I cared about was the rather technical and mundane issue of removing her from the plastic body bag, just as if I were removing artichokes from a plastic bag recently purchased at Pathmark.

At some point not too long after, I got a chance to, or rather, I forced myself to look at the face of the body and see her as who she once was. She was a thin old lady, with a rather petite, symmetrical and comely face. I imagine that in life, she was one of those people who made you feel better just by her very presence. At that moment, my nervousness or repressed tremors subsided and I felt instead a quiet that came over me. I thought of her bravery in making this decision and I thought of how we have, by chance, by destiny, whatever you would like to call it, come to be linked in this very special and very intimate way. At that moment, I said a little prayer of gratitude for her and I also prayed to God for both strength and humility in the coming months. The best thing I can do for her is to honor her body and to learn what I am meant to learn, in a diligent, respectful, careful way, one stroke, one day at a time.

A long blog after a long hiatus

Morning: I went to a brunch titled Soul of Medicine. It was a pretty good event for physicians and medical students alike, all meeting and greeting, mingling and chowing. The food was good -- would have been even better hot, but as I went there late, I can only surmise with wistfulness. Some brave souls stood up before a crowd of 100 or more and begin telling their stories of doctor-patient interactions. One of the most moving of which was when a doctor shared about the time a group of patients banded together to try to save a failing hospital, testifying to the importance that this hospital and its doctors have played in their collective lives over the last 50 or so years. I listened and inwardly, I felt both gladdened and a bit saddened. The purpose of this brunch I suppose is to try and give cynical, tired doctors a morale boost and to give medical students space in which to grow their idealism again. Even amidst the chicken soup buffet, I found myself wondering, how will I manage to hold on to this idealistic, even naive desire to "help" others throughout my career, one that is sure to be full of ups and downs?

So my day started out pretty nicely overall and I left the brunch, if not exactly glowing with newfound idealism and skipping on clouds of noble dreams, I at least walked away satisfied that there are still doctors out there who really do care. I then spent an uneventful hour at the local Starbucks, unsuccessfully trying to cram in facts of spinal cord anatomy and the metabolism of glucose, two very diverse subjects, but all required and force-fed to your average med student.

I decided to take a break around this time and meandered to the local Borders bookstore to check out their goodies. It was also at this time that your not-so-intrepid heroine meets a potential serial killer. =(

So I was just moseying around when out of the blue, this middle-aged man with a metallic front tooth flashes his gnarly face in front of me and hisses, "Food and the body, they make a VERY NICE combination." To be honest, I was like, "WHAT????" I was too startled to even respond at first. My first intuitive gesture was to snap my head back like 2 feet to avoid any contact with this putrid specimen. I just stared at him in bewilderment, but to cover my confusion and because I'm Asian (when in doubt, smile politely - it's been inculcated into me) I just smiled politely and what I hope to be dismissively and walked away, like FAR away.

Later as I thought about this comment some more, I began to be more and more annoyed. This guy was insinuating that I have some sort of eating disorder, perhaps anorexia or bulemia, because he checked out my physique (probably simultaneously in a lurid and disapproving way) and decided that I was too skinny to be eating healthily. There was that little voice that rose up in me in protest whenever something injust has occurred and I smacked myself because I should have hissed right back at him, "Oh don't worry, I eat plenty, you dumbfuck" We all know it's wrong for a person to go to an obese person and tell them to eat less. It's insensitive and degrading. But what happens when it's the other way around? I've been singled out just because some shithead can't tell the difference between a healthy slender body from a clinically malnourished one. The asshole put a damper in my mood right then and there. But it got worse, or your N-S-I heroine just got more paranoid, I don't know which.

So anyway I went to the first floor to pay for my books, and lo! the schmuck was right behind me. I nonchalantly looked away but I was tense and braced for fight or flight. Flight - pretty easy, I'll just run to the nearest bookstore security guard and tell them to save me. Fight - I will be armed and prepared to scream at him if he comes near at me again to make some other invasive and inappropriate remark. Wasn't sure which, but I was set for either. But nothing dramatic happened. He seemed to be avoiding me too in his own right and not coming too close. I went to pay for my books and he did too. But then I noticed a curious thing. I told myself that I will not leave the bookstore before him. I would leave after him so that I have a good vantage point and not the other way around. This guy must have had some ideas of accosting me outside the bookstore, because he literally began to dawdle and wait around. He did everything he could to dawdle, he stared at some posters, he checked his watch, etc etc. Meanwhile I was standing a few feet from him, putting my books into my bag and pondering my next move. I smirked to myself and thought, "Oh NO you don't. I AM THE QUEEN OF DAWDLING. Let's see who can play this game longer." But on the other hand, I was caught between wondering if I'm just insane or he really is waiting for me to leave the bookstore too. So eventually the cat and mouse game came to a head and he left the bookstore, but he didn't LEAVE, he just stood outside the bookstore, biding his time. At this point, I decided that I wasn't going to leave the bookstore so I whipped out my cell phone and decided to call my parents. I thought, A, I could easily spend another 30-40 minutes on the phone talking to my mom if I have to or B, at the very least, I can tell my Mom what this evil creepy man looks like should it come to that.

So after about 10 minutes on the phone, I left the bookstore and he seemed to have disappeared to find his next victim and I went promptly to Five Guys and stuffed myself with a double cheeseburger topped with onions and mushroom. I thought I deserved it after the stressful ordeal I've just been through. And let me tell you, don't underestimate the power endorphins that can be released from the simple ingesting of saturated grease. Then I left Five Guys, if not deliriously happy, at least restored in my natural equilibrium and state of mind.

Medical School Week 1

Though I don't know if this is unique to my school, the curriculum that I follow at my med school is a fairly rigid and structured one. It's been good for me I think, because it forces me to be more organized as well and it does encourage a more organized way of thinking and planning. Medical school is as much about organization as it is about memorization and other skills.

This brings me to a point of some embarrassment. I live like five minutes away from school, 3 if I walk fast. I should be the eager beaver that is usually at class 30 minutes before it starts --- theoretically. But as in biology and in life, things rarely work as they should theoretically and it turns out that I'm usually dashing into the classroom either right as the lecture is starting or even later. Since this year, we have more students than we have seats in our lecture halls, this has occasionally resulted in me glumly being left out of a seat, the loser in the medical school musical chair rendition. Then I had to trudge my lonesome self to the "overflow" room, located in a far corner of the building, a sad little room full of other sad left out creatures who get to stare at a screen for the next hour or two instead of the live action the other early birds get to enjoy.

But that's okay, this smart cookie has managed to befriend a few young unsuspecting classmates of hers who would be glad to save her a spot should she need it. She still operates under the delusion that she doesn't need a spot saver, but very soon, she will learn the usefulness of such a gift.

In other news, I hope to take up yoga on a regular basis because I want to take a pre-emptive attack on this thing called stress. I was telling a classmate today how I wasn't sleeping very well lately and she sorta cocked her head to the side and said, "could Emily be experiencing something called stress?" I replied very earnestly, "yes perhaps, but it's kind of a foreign concept to me." But seriously, I do think I will need a good coping mechanism in the days to come and yoga just might be that feel good stress buster.

More later...I just want to not do below the mean for my upcoming first exam in medical school. How's that for setting the bar high?

First day of medical school

Well here I am, in medical school, sitting with all the other proud, privileged and most wonderfully earnest kids, heads up, shoulders straight, eager and bent to march down the road of selfless utility.

During orientation, I went through the usual meet and greets with everyone I met. Most people are so much younger than me, it's too depressing to inquire. I comfort myself that people usually have to ask me 20 questions before figuring out how nontraditional I am. It's all good though, we are all on the same path, though some of us are getting started a bit later.

So far, my school has done a great job of being welcoming, of being friendly and inviting. All the faculty and staff were smiles and cheers, hiding their gruffness for the sake of not raining on our parades. Just kidding, I don't know if they were pretending or not, but so far everyone has been uniformly nice, which, is truly pleasant.

But aah, we come to the first day of medical school. I arrive about 30 minutes before classes start (atypical of me, but hey, i'm in medical school!!) and I prepare my notebooks as is, I fold my hands and I sit primly to await for instruction. The professor started off congenially enough, giving us a run through of what to expect in the coming days. Very quickly though, it is clear to me that I am not going to just "play" at being a student. No siree, the message is, I will study and I will have to study damn hard. It is even more clear to me that I will have to do so simply to keep my head above the water, i.e. pass my classes. He proceeds to lecture for an hour on biochemistry, this hour being the equivalent of about 2 semesters of chemistry and biology in college. It's basically like being assaulted and battered by a tsunami of information in the biomedical sciences. And I have about 989 more lectures to go. =)

So here I am, blogging happily about my first day of class and already feeling psychologically behind. But that is no matter, I will plow on, I promise. Stay tuned!

Cancun 2007

For months prior to my trip to this lush tropical island, I've been dreaming of azure landscapes, palm trees swaying in the breeze and of course, white sand lined ocean to lap at my feet. In July, this dream came true and I found myself standing in front of the gorgeous blue vista in front of me and literally not being able to believe that I was right there, taking in the gorguosity and feasting on the colors. My eyes were in heaven and I felt for a moment at least, sheer and utter aesthetic delight.

Wow, friends, it REALLY was this beautiful, it really looks like those travel magazine photography spreads, promising miles of beautiful blue water and white sand. It was a sight to behold.

Taking advantage of the fact that I'm not at an oceanfront resort every day of my life, I woke up early to greet the sun (very atypical of this lazy cat, i assure you) and everyday, in the early calm, I would find a few people, even locals just sitting there on the beach, gazing out at the majestic visage that spread before them, a centerpiece that demanded your instant awe and worship. And I wondered to myself, do the petty things in life seem to fade away when you are sitting there, gazing out at the sea? Do things seem at once more trivial but life seems at once more sacred? A bit of a paradox, since what is life but the sum of all those little things in it? Anyhow, it wasn't my desire to analyze philosophically the whys and wherefores that people feel compelled to gaze at the ocean, as if entranced. I was certainly mesmerized by its beauty. If there were sirens, they were very effective ones. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from the ocean. I did so ever so reluctantly and only after I made myself a promise that I shall be back.

I have taken a lot of pictures. But even as I pride myself to be a relatively decent photographer, with the knack for finding the right proportions and compositions, I don't think my camera really did the place justice. All I can say is, the image that is seared in my mind is one that shall stay with me for a long time to come. The Cancun of my dream, the Cancun now, in my memory.

I'm a cyborg but that's ok

"I'm a cyborg but that's ok" is about a young, mentally disturbed girl who believes that she is a nonhuman robotic entity designed for the sole purpose of avenging her grandmother's incarceration into the asylum. Early on, it's clear that mental illness runs in the family. Yet, it also clearly shows that the mental illness is exacerbated by traumatic occurrences in the characters' lives and it even suggests that if left to themselves, they would have been perfectly happy and content.

Instead, the traumatic separation of the young girl and her grandmother led to a sequence of events which culminated in her own incarceration. Soon, she enters a world of mentally deranged neighbors, each in their own way quite lovable and pathetic at the same time. The young girl, among other things, believes that she is to derive her energy from licking alkaline batteries and to connect with her world by talking to machines. She longs for the understanding of the purpose of her existence, for in the world of machines and robots, each is designed for a specific purpose. She aches for the simplicity of such an existence and bemoans the reason for her own construction. Existential angst, apparently, among other things, also greatly ails this frail, anorexic girl.

One of the sweetest and strongest selling points of this movie (besides the lush and brightly colored cinematography - it brings to mind the look and feel and certainly the lyricism of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) is the romance that develops between the girl and a fellow inmate, a smart, sweet young man who was terrified of his own shrinking physicality. Despite his own issues, he is led by compassion to draw the girl out of her world so that she could physically carry on in this world. At first tentatively, but soon wholeheartedly, the girl literally entrusts herself into him. The young man is played by Rain, apparently the hottest thing to descend in Korea for decades. I knew girls all over Asia were going crazy for him, but I never understood his appeal until this film. In this film, I am charmed by his natural sweetness, which shows through despite his own mental problems.

I've read other reviews of this film and it has been compared to Amelie, a comparison I wholeheartedly agree with. This is a film about a woman living in her own fantasy world, because that makes the world a little more manageable to her. Yes, there is overacting, because in a film that mixes fantasy sequences with whimsicality, it's almost necessary for the characters to be "out there." However, I believe that the overacting in this film serves as an enhancement, not a detractor. In the end, it has proven to be a film with surprising heart and that alone made the experience overall quite sweet and moving.

Photo frenzy

Lately I've been spending some time playing around with my new notebook. I am testing its limits so to speak. I try to run a lot of things on it all at once, to test its multi-tasking ability as well as its processing power. I'm also rediscovering an old joy that I've always had - poring over pictures and tweaking them and printing them out. I get a little kick out of organizing my photos, a very visual representation of my life as it unfolds neatly into 4"x6" rectangles, little snapshots of moments in time that proclaim that I exist, and ever so fabulously. =P Now if I only apply this zest to all the other more important areas of my life.

Oh yes, yesterday I watched a movie entitled Sabrina, starring Audrey Hepburn. A wonderful movie actually, the man opposite Hepburn is played by Humphrey Boghart, you may have vaguely heard of him. To be sure, I didn't really see anything too physically appealing about him, especially with his rather dour looking demeanor, but wasn't Boghart supposed to be THE man of the 40's silver screen? Anyhow, boy meets girl, boy brother meets girl, boy brother and boy fight over girl, boy win girl, that's the short gist of the movie. But I'm not trying to disparage the film, it was actually delightful mainly in the conversation and dialogue, quite witty and still relevant even to today. I'm sure it's better than the Harrison remake, if that was a remake.

I'm also researching possible activities to do in Atlanta, a short little excursion I've planned not too long after I get back from Mexico. My aunt is suggesting that we hit up Chattanooga, TN. Great name eh? For that reason alone, I say, Chattanooga it is!

The bliss, the agony, the blah blah

Last Friday I said goodbye to yet another job and hello to a month of bumming around. Today is my official fourth day of bummin' and it's been fun my friends. Monday for instance, I took blatant advantage of the fact that I no longer have to get up at the ungodly hour of 8 AM to go to work (my workaholic friends may gasp here at the unbelievable laziness and self-indulgence of author) and I slept in until 11 AM!! Admittedly, this is okay for a day or two, but even I really couldn't justify such waste of time on a daily basis. Today I got up at the more reasonable but still indulgent hour of 9.

And off I packed my booty to the gym for an hour of kickboxing with Seigfred. It was intense. I was drenched, and I mean, sopping wet with sweat just 30 minutes into the class. I had on this tight red jumpsuit of sorts which outlines my skinny silhouette to disturbing precision. I watched myself in the mirror, shaking my ineffectual fists, pumping the air, left hook, right hook, the image of Oliver in all its absurdity comes to mind. If I had a little more meat to my bones, my punches and kicks would look less ridiculous and a little more substantial.

In any case, it was a great workout and I left the class feeling glad to be alive.

Now however, I am stuck in computer troubleshooting hell and it's like an endless loop. All I had to do was install a simple driver for a new hp printer my aunt bought and it sounds simple enough. However a 10 minute routine job turns into a 2 hour ordeal and still counting. I suspect, after the umpteenth time of cursing at the computer screen to no great avail that the usb connection I'm using is a piece of crap and the root of all problems. Either that or HP just makes really crappy drivers.

Ugggh...anyway, this blog is a vain attempt on my end to maintain some semblance of sanity, which is currently being shredded to microscopic threads by good ol' nonfunctional technology.

stream of unconsciousness

Lately I’ve been feeling sluggish, dragging my 120-lb body, slinking to work, slinking home, plodding along like tired and cynical eeyore. One of the nights this past week I had a nightmare where I had to confront a serial killer and I was very futilely inserting knives all over his body. Was I stabbing? It didn’t feel like it, it just felt like I was trying to pin him down to some surface with long sharp knives and then he did the obligatory “aah I am keeled!” posture where he lies down and plays dead for five minutes, but since I’m Miss movieathon, and I’ve watched too many scary movies to be fooled, I looked at him rather suspiciously and sure enough, he gets up rather nimblely and runs off across the street and disappears into some other house’s garage, they looked like they were having a frat party there. Me and my surviving friends all locked the house and looked out with scared eyes. I woke up from that dream with every nerve stretched taut and I was just like, oh for crying out loud, how is this a good way to start the day?? And with that, I somehow managed to rouse myself and went to chow down on coffee and eggs.

I am currently reading this book on improving vision naturally. It’s an extensive treatise on how to improve one’s eyesight, based mostly on Bate’s books. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had an ongoing fantasy that I would cure myself of my major physical ailment – my poor myopic astigmatic pair of eyes. It’s actually been semi-actualized one summer when I was in Taiwan. At 14 yrs old, I set about using as much of my own eyes as possible to see everything without my glasses. When I returned to the states and got an exam, my eyes did get better! However, after that time, high school and the stresses of college hit head-on and I think my vision faced a steady decline after. So now that I’m the ripe ol’ age of 28, I think I’m way past the age where vision still changes and fluctuates. So it does disturb me that it’s gotten worse still, (went to eye doctor recently) and honestly, I think it’s just bad posture, overtaxing my eyes with the computer, etc. I have a fair degree of confidence that I can improve my vision or “revert” it back to some baseline vision. The only way to objectively test this out of course is to begin a schedule, say a 3-month stretch where I work on my eyes and then go back to the doctor to get tested.

Ocean's Two Hot Men

Last night I went to watch Ocean’s Thirteen because I had read a nice review of it in the NY Times. While it was clear from the beginning that even the movie maker didn’t take his own work too seriously, and this sort of bonhommie jocular attitude was evident amongst the actors too, for me, it soon came to a point where I am rolling my eyes at the unrealistic unfolding of events much as George Clooney himself, did at one point in the film.

So it’s an interesting film because on the one hand, it seemed to be a satire of all those star-studded big blockbuster films and at the same time, it is undeniably one too, unable to shed its grandiosity – it wears it like a giant monster suit.

Danny Ocean and his gang are back this time to right a wrong done to one of their own, a loopy naïve old gamer named Reuben who was screwed over by a shrewd but finicky businessman Willy Banks. So distressed by the turn of events Reuben’s heart decided to turn on him as well and caused him to retire to his deathbed. As the comrades gathered around their fallen friend, they swore vengeance on his behalf. And of course, the object of their vengeful fury is none other than a very orangely tanned Willy Banks.

The problem is, Willy Banks was not an altogether dislikeable character. He shows his pathetic and almost endearing side when it became clear how important the Royal Five Diamond ratings are to him. The way he bragged about his past awards make him seem less like a 60 year old and more like a first grader. So the gang of thirteen swoops down on his newly opened hotel (which by the way, was spectacular and stunning) and wreaks appropriate havoc on Willy Banks’ bank.

And it was all…too easy. The lack of dramatic tension is the most notable element in this film. At no point was the audience in serious concern over the lives and welfare of any of the characters. The film went down as smooth as a creamy cheesecake and required little stress or emotional involvement on the part of the audience. The film was good eyecandy however, with two studly males strolling casually down the Vegas strip, gabbing about relationships and women problems. At one point, the two of them teared up while watching an Oprah show. There are moments of self-conscious satire and really really light humor.

I walked away feeling yeah, Brad Pitt still got it, so does Clooney. But beyond the fact that I just spend 2 hours oogling two hot guys over 40, I had little else to take away from the film.

Patience

People often think I am a patient person, but they generally make the mistake of confusing patience with indifference. I will admit with complete honesty that I am indifferent to many things. What some people hold so near and dear to their hearts, I am either oblivious or nonchalant about. Example? My two coworkers who care so deeply and passionately about how well their kids do in school. I nod politely when listening, and meanwhile I’m drifting 300 miles away in my imaginary Cancun. So point number 1, I am an indifferent person. But why does that follow that I am an impatient person?

I notice that I am impatient because of my general greed for faster results in a short amount of time. I want whiter teeth – instantly. I want a more toned body – tomorrow. I want to be skilled at tennis – no more than 2 weeks from now! Everything is, I want it soon and I want it at minimal effort. Of course the logical side to me realizes the impracticality of such desires. And sometimes my greed gets the best of me and I am crushed with disappointment at how slow the progress is. So point #2, I am impatient.

Point #3, perhaps my indifference is linked to impatience. If I care more about getting those results, I would proceed with greater care and patience. I would laboriously apply myself to the tasks at hand and have the patience to see things through. Since life is never black and white, an example of what I did care about: going to medical school and then the patience I had to muster up to endure the long waiting game – well, I did get through it somehow and no nervous breakdowns to boot. =)

But anyway, ultimately, the point I really want to make is, in my own best interest and in the interests of those I will serve in the future, I should switch the two characterisitcs around. I’ve gotten my share of half teases/half complaints. Oh Emily, you’re a reptile, you cold-blooded thing. You have no emotion. You’re botox girl. You hide all your feelings. You don’t care about anything. You’re a whatever girl. Blah blah blah ad nauseum. Haha, true to my nature, I didn’t care all that much about all these little insinuations and snide remarks either. But if only…if only I can learn to temper my personality more. I would choose to slide myself down the gradient from being less caring to being more caring, and then from being less patient to being more patient. Now essentially I am preaching my own favorite gospel again – how to become a better person. If only I have the patience to see it through!

Emily Antoinette

Confession I am an impulsive shopper. I say “impulsive, not compulsive.” I don’t have the urge to go buy something nice for myself every week. However, after extensive self-analyses, I do realize that I tend to be impulsive when I do get in the mood to shop. The times when I am most vulnerable to impulsive shopping are when I’m in a bad mood. I remember distinctly how I was under this black cloud one day several years ago and I went to Macy’s and promptly purchased an ankle-length denim jacket – totally impractical and totally Matrix-like. As I was strutting out on 34th St and 7th Avenue in my hot new jacket, my mood skyrocketed to 100. Such is the power of purchasing something at the right moment to temper the blues.

Yet another example of how I am just one of many among the malleable herds, I too am very easily swayed by visuals and suggestions and media. As mentioned in previous post, I am currently watching this korean drama. One side effect of watching such dramas is that you always get into a more superficial state of mind as you ponder such important matters as the type of hair you’d like, the type of shirt, the next cute outfit you’d like to put on. The underlying message of all these dramas is, “you can have a million different things going on in your life, your life could be an absolute disaster, your relationships are failing left and right, but HEY, you can look cute through it all.” Indeed, more and more I think I’m falling prey to that mentality. No matter what, I better look good while life is happening.

Actually something that I’ve always fantasized about is to give my closet an overhaul. I would like to give away all unused clothing and decide on a “look” for myself. I don’t know what look I should settle for. Should it be the sex kitten look? Nah…too obvious and over the top. Should it be the over-accessorized Japanese look? Too cutesy and cheesy. The classy Ann Taylor or Talbots look? Yawner. The Forever 21 pop teen chick look? I’m 10 years too old for it now. =( This is why I’ve always kept my style more fluid and eclectic, because my look tends to match my fluctuating moods. I think I tend to wear comfortable casual clothing, but I think I need to go it up a notch. Comfort and casual is sometimes a thin line away from sloppy. Oh well, perhaps I will never decide on the “look” that I should have, but I don’t want to be one of those people who wears a black turtleneck for the rest of their lives as a fashion statement. It would be too monotonous for my ADD tendency.

The other side to my fantasy of overhauling my closet is to pare it down to the absolute essentials. I’m not sure why it is that I need 20 pairs of shoes, 30 pairs of pants, 40 skirts, a bazillion gazillion tops to function and operate. I say I am not materialistic, but here I have a walk-in closet that I find too small!! Sometimes my own excesses surprise me when I bother to think and reflect on it.

To be a Na Ra

Recently I started watching this Korean drama with the somewhat awkward title of “Exhibition of fireworks.” Except for the one scene where the main characters watch a display of fireworks, the relevance of the title is at best, tenuous to the story and themes in this drama.

One thing I find interesting in the drama is the expression “Aigoo!” I think the closest counterpart in Chinese would be “Aiyaa” it’s a verbal expression of dismay, surprise, resignation, annoyance – well basically, it can be used quite liberally at the beginning of each sentence. I watch the version with English subtitles. Everything would be translated just fine into English except for this expression. So the subtitles will literally say, “Aigoo! How could do this to my daughter? Aigoo!” It tickled me to read the translations and the word appeals to me in the same way “droogie” from Clockwork Orange appeals to me.

So what have I learned from this drama? The main character is 30 year old Shin Na Ra, a woman who was dumped by her boyfriend of 7 years and then promptly falls in love with a younger guy who, unfortunately for her, believes himself to be in love with another woman. That woman, coincidentally, was the same woman that her 7 year boyfriend left Na Ra for. Now you see how the plot gets interesting.

Although not much happens in this drama besides the usual petty jealousies and misunderstandings and fits of possessiveness, what I like most is the character of Shin Na Ra. She ultimately realizes that she can’t place her hopes in men. They will disappoint, as they have demonstrated repeatedly. Instead, she has pulled herself together admirably after being successfully “dumped” by two guys, each time for the same woman no less. She throws herself into her work and she is determined to do her best at something other than relationships and matters of the heart. I applaud this determination and willingness to strive for independence and achievement.

The Korean culture is very interesting. In the home, you can see how the man tries to dominate the woman. Many times, their tyrannical father has thrown Shin Na Ra, her mother and sister out of the house. That is something I can never imagine happening in my own house. Yet on the other hand, the show also portrays a successful business woman who obviously holds tremendous power and influence over all the characters in the drama. I suppose this is a reflection of the times. Even as traditional Korean culture favors male dominance, modern influences, rising numbers of capable and financially successful females are nonetheless changing the fabric of society. In this respect, the Chinese are somewhat more advanced than the Koreans because there is less of the alpha male mentality in Chinese households and I’d like to think that we are moving towards a more egalitarian mindset regarding the gender roles. However, I do concede that among Chinese familes, there is still this strong preference for male heirs.

Memorial Day Weekend 2007

Having just completed a whirlwind tour of New York City and Philadelphia, I am exhausted but filled with wonderful memories (oh man, I’m in danger of turning into a Hallmark spokesperson)

Saturday was a day filled with so many highlights, that they were virtually competing with each other to be the crowning glory of the day. Was it the adventure-filled bumpity ride en route to the wedding? Was it the beautiful, very sweetly nuanced ceremony and reception that I attended? Was it the sumptious food and multiple alcoholic beverages, pina coladas galore? Or was it seeing once again old Columbians from days of yore and having nostalgic memories flood the gates of my hippocampus? I don’t know exactly. All I remember is the general feeling of excitement and euphoria, of laughing a lot, of drinking quite a bit, of dancing and shimmying around and just having a grand ol’ time. Later in the evening brought more social engagements - dinner in lower east side and party in midtown. Through it all, I appreciated more than ever the feeling of being young, alive and vibrant and at every turn, life was brimming with possibilities. There was a lot of girlish banter and giggling of “eligible men” at the wedding – all in good fun and to the mild exasperation of one of my friends’ long-suffering husbands.

Oh New York! As I was driving from Queens into New York City on the Queensboro bridge, I was able to catch an expansive view of the cityscape that is Manhatttan. As the skyscrapers rose into view, they seemed to me proud stalwarts of civilization, standing tall in the sky as if to declare to the world their beauty and significance by virtue of their existence. Flowing in front of the building is the glistening water that danced with the rays on its surface and though I was driving, I was even more tempted to just park my car and admire the view, and butter up NYC’s already puffy ego. Sometimes before beauty, one is helplessly lost in admiration. I suspect my love affair with New York will continue for quite some time to come.

Not so sanguine after all

On Friday I went to the blood bank intent on making a liquid deposit. The nurse pricked my finger to test for my hemoglobin content. Minutes later, with what seemed like genuine disappointment, she said, “Ohh, your hemoglobin is too low! You can’t donate today.” She then launched into a crusade to recruit me to join their iron study. I thought about it for five seconds and then I said, No thanks. I didn’t want to deal with all the hassles of lab tests and followup questions. Enters Sarah, a young and frank looking nurse. She tells me that even if I don’t want to participate in the iron study, she can still draw up a few blood vials and run some tests to see if its anything serious. The hypochondriac in me relented, driven as much by morbid curiosity to see if there really is anything “terribly ill” about me.

She settles me down in a cushioned seat and has me lie on my back. She asked me which side of my arm would I prefer to have the blood drawn. I pointed to my left arm. Already though, I had a glimmer of thought that perhaps I should choose my stronger, more well used right arm. This thought came and went, and later I was to regret my choice…

She starts to wrap a rubber strap around my limp, skinny left arm. She feels for a vein that pops out. Across the smooth span of my arm, not a ripple can be seen. Everything is hidden well beneath. She tells me to squeeze a rubber ball with my left arm to get more blood action going. I complied graciously (my arm being at stake and all) She seems a bit hesitant but she brings out the needle anyway. Here goes, I thought, and I braced for the painful plunge. She injects me with the needle. Yowser!! It hurts! I looked away, because I have this belief that if I were to look at that metal thing sticking into my arm, it would hurt even more. I grimaced. Seconds later, she is still peering confusedly at my arm. She pulls the syringe back and nothing. No blood. She maneuvers the needle which is, must I remind you all, still stuck in my flesh!! She tries to poke it in the northern direction. No luck. In the eastern direction, PAINFUL!! All the while, I braved these assaults on my arm with admirable stoicism, but inside, I was screaming, Dude, lady! Hit the vein already, stop digging around! She probably caught a glimpse of the agony that was my face and she said, I’m going to take this out and not bother trying anymore. She pulls out the needle, (another sharp sensation of pain goes through me) and then she peers again at my arm, rather suspiciously. She asked, “do you have ANY blood in you? “ Indeed, not one drop welled to the surface to give testimony to how violated it was just seconds ago.

After all this, I thought I would be spared further pain and torture. Instead, the next thing I knew, she turned to me, smiled and said rather brightly, let’s try your right arm shall we? I managed a weak smile. Shall we indeed.

Darkness then light...

Today started out badly for me. Before 10 AM, I have found myself writing out two apology emails. One was addressed to a person whom I inadvertently stood up this morning because being the incorrigible doofus that I am, I forgot about my appointment to meet with her. This was supposed to be a little shadowing experience for me at the NIH hospital and I blew it by one too many snooze and a terribly distracted mind. =( The other email I sent out in apology was to a girl from small group who invited me to her wedding and requested a respond by date of yesterday. Coincidentally, I saw her last night and she asked me point blank if I was going to go. I had not planned to, but caught off-guard as I was, I could only say that I would get back to her on this. Then I went home and looked at the date to respond by and it was OH SHIT, oh Crap, oh goofey Emily strikes again!! Let me tell you, having to start the day off with a round of apologies is a stinky way to start a day. I spent all of this morning with a strong urge to kick myself in the behind.

However, the bright spot in my day was a seminar that I attended in the afternoon. It was a topic on the Chinese traditional medicine treatment of SARS. A historian from JHU delivered the talk and her primary focus was on how traditonal Chinese medicine practitioners frame the idea of SARS within the context of traditional medicinal views. It was both enlighening, refreshing and familiar all at once. I felt as I did back at Columbia, back in one of my old East Asian profs’ classes, engaged and attentive and absorbed.

Anyway, crux of her argument is one of a paradigm shift. It’s not a shift necessarily from Western traditional views to Eastern traditional views, it’s a shift from unilateralism to multilateralism. It’s a conscious effort to move out of one view of seeing an idea to being able to see that there are multiple ways of looking at the same thing. She points out how western medical professionals tend to view SARS within the context of a viral pandemic, an outside entity that invades a body and can be transmitted from host to host. However, within the context of traditional chinese medicine (TCM), SARS is looked upon as a “type” of condition, a wenbing, one that is a result of multiple factors such as climate, environmental conditions, one’s own physiological conditons and predispositions and that SARS is categorically a “wind-heat” illness. She also mentions how the isalis root or “banlangeng” was employed to counter the effects of this wenbing. I am actually quite familiar with banlangeng myself, because whenever anyone in my family has a cold or sore throat, they are immediately directed to make a banlangeng potion for themselves to combat the onset of the fever or cold.

Anyway, to sum up my feelings about this talk, I feel the topic has ignited my interest in understanding traditional Chinese medicine further. This is all in coherence with my natural affinity and disposition to understand more of my ethnic and cultural heritage. I have resolved before the end of the talk to begin studying this more in earnest, because it is such a mysterious yet astounding tradition to me. Even the language of TCM appears to be couched in esoteric and rather mystical language like “wind”, “heat”, “yin-yang imbalances.” My private hope is to one day achieve a level of competency in TCM to the point where I can even incorporate some of it in my future practice. But let’s not yet count the chickens before they hatch, right?

Bits and pieces of drabbery

Assuming that I don't take whimsicality to a completely warped dimension, I do want to share some random things that I have either thought or encountered over the past several days.

A) Two squirrels trying to make it. The guy, overeager as usual, tries to pin the girl down and bounced on her rather enthusiastically. She fought him off and starts scampering around with him hot on her tail. When will guys know that "no" means "no"??

B) A member of my bible study group brought her two kids to join us today. Normally I'm the Scrooge's twin sister about things, but I have a soft spot for kids. Not today. I looked at those two little blond vermins suspiciously, trying to see past their innocent little angelic faces to the brattiness that lie within. I didn't find them very cute at all. Yeesh...kids...what a bundle of annoyance sometimes. The one boy won't stop whining. I thought back to my recent conversation about spanking kids as a form of discipline. That kid was definitely spank-worthy.

C) I researched how much in the hole I will be post four years of medical school. I don't know, I am usually traipsing around in my own little world and sometimes I admit that I spend money very casually. Anyhow, I realize I need to start getting more serious about budgeting. Money isn't going to spout from my wishful thinking after all.

D) Rewatched Howl's Moving Castle. It's a film that deserves its own posting and not just a bullet point among many. However I do want to quickly say that I enjoyed it immensely the second time I watched it. For what it's worth, in all its glorious idealizations of love and cheesy valor, it's a film that celebrates true beauty, true courage, true camaraderie and sometimes, a little magic can go a long way.

E) I love the word "wicked." I'm going to start peppering my speech with that word. It's just wicked good fun.

Thelma & Louise

The film of Thelma and Louise is the story of a journey and a transformation of two women, verging on middle-age, who finally found themselves and had the courage to face the crumbling, sorry shell of an existence they’ve always known as “their lives.” In their fight to defy that existence, they pay a high price but it is a decision in which they will probably never regret making.

This film which started off prosaically enough, fooled the viewer into a comfortable little nook at the beginning and its humble small town feel belie its ultimate transcendent messages of transformation, of breaking free, of fighting back, of embracing liberty. You see two women, good friends, yapping at each other over the phone, planning a weekend getaway. One woman, as you can see is a neat, tidy woman, always in control. The other woman is a loosey-goosey sort, scatterbrained, packs for a 10 day vacation when she is only out of town for two. The two women couldn’t be more different, but you also know that this is the right dynamic for the relationship to work.

From that point on when they roar off into the streets, there was no turning back – though they didn’t know it quite just yet. Neither, for that matter, do the viewers.

The first turning point which turned the girls into a tailspin was when Louise shoots a would-be rapist of Thelma dead on the spot. The girls have now irrevocably stepped over the line between their past lives and their future incarnations. Living life as a fugitive, on the run from the law, had its high points. They’ve lost all chances of turning back but when they were honest with themselves, they didn’t really want to turn back all that much anyway.

A series of other unfortunate events led the girls deeper into the path they had accidentally strayed onto. In between reflections on their vastly transformed selves, they actually take moments to enjoy the freedom of where they find themselves. At one point, they were driving down the freeway and they marveled to each other that it was “some” vacation they had been on. Then they grinned at each other and they shared a wonderful moment of complete camaraderie.

The final scene in the film was brilliant and beautiful. As had been evident for some time now, they crossed a line way back when and there was no turning back for them, either physically, metaphysically, socially, psychologically, whatever. There was beauty in the simplicity of having no choice but to go forward. And go forward they did, into the abyss, into the future, into an infinity that awaits.

My Poster Session

Today I participated in a poster exhibit at NIH and very proudly displayed my not-so-successful-thus-far research project, only one of among hundreds of very nerdy, very earnest research here. I can say unequivocally that my poster carried the distinction of being the simplest, most childish looking poster there, with its large fonts and even larger pictures. I took a quick walk around and every single poster had no less than 5-6 complex, color-coded diagrams, fluorescently dyed cells and iridescent scientific imaging. Everything was so high-tech and sophisticated that my poster was very much the shabby cousin amongst its rich and flamboyant relatives.

Much like my amusing speed dating experience a while back where I had the dubious fortune of sitting next to this buxom, vibrant Australian redhead and thus had to endure the veritable traffic jam that piled up as guys lined up very patiently to get her number, at the exhibit, I’ve had the similar pleasure of watching people congregate at all the sexy looking posters AROUND me while I stand there, neglected, lonely and sad.

Just kidding! I am being a drama queen, true to my nature at its core. The truth is, I had a few people come up to me and ask me decently intelligent questions about my research. Hopefully, I was able to articulate my research in a clear enough manner. Most people went away, if not bowled over by the genius of my research, at least very pleasantly happy that they found everything easy to understand and digest.

This rather cute guy approached me at one point and we had a pleasant conversation. As it turned out, he’s attending the University of Maryland School of Medicine and I told him that I wanted to go there, but didn’t get in. He laughed and told me that a friend of his wanted to go to Drexel but didn’t get in. We both shook our heads at the bewildering phenomenon otherwise known as med school acceptances. He said he wasn’t loving the city of Baltimore though, to which I comforted him by saying, well at least you can look forward to an awesome library. I said that not without a twinge of envy, because I truly was very impressed with Maryland’s library.

The other standout person that I met was this Chinese guy with a mop like hair. He works for the FDA and is interested in small, silencing RNAs. He approached me and began asking me questions in Chinese. Now, folks, explaining science in plain English was hard enough already. Imagine that I had to explain it in mandarin Chinese!! I did my best but a couple of times, he asked me some questions to which I had no frickin’ clue what the hell he was referring to. I was only able to shake my head apologetically and say, “Bu zhi dao” and then I apologized for my Chinese but to be perfectly honest, I probably wouldn’t have understood the same question if asked in English. The great thing about this guy was that he got all mystical and he said it is his belief that RNAs are the original genetic materials on Earth and that it precede both DNA and proteins. Not only that, RNAs, he asserted, were introduced to Earth by extraterrestials and thus, that was how life began on Earth. I listened to all this in awed silence, because it felt surreal to hear of such sci-fi beliefs at a science convention, at the NIH no less. But whether or not there is any validity to his beliefs, I really can’t say. However my encounter with this person definitely stood out in my mind as one of the more interesting encounters I’ve had in a while.

Emily rant

The other day I was watching this television show where an exclusive interview was being conducted of the 2004 Olympics women’s tennis (doubles) gold player Liting, from China. Having lately acquired a real predilection for tennis and all things tennis related, I watched the program with piqued interest. My interest soon turned to disgust however when the television host, sitting there looking all pale and smarmy, decided to zero in on one specific topic: the color of Liting’s skin. Now, she’s no southern magnolia with cream colored skin, that is true. However I looked at her and my first impression isn’t, My God, look how dark she is! Nyuk nyuk nyuk! But this television host decided to turn to her college-aged studio audience and proceeded to conduct her own little survey. She goes, “How many of you find dark-colored skin attractive?” I rolled my eyes but I continued watching. Of course like 90% of the audience prefers pale skin, because Chinese people are just biased like that. This one guy did stand up and profess his particular preference for dark-skinned girls because he asserts they look healthier. Anyway, it just dragged on and on and to be perfectly frank, I thought what the TV host was doing was insulting to her guest of honor. This woman was clearly in need of a crash course in basic professionalism and perhaps common decency. Why instead of focusing on Liting’s tennis triumps and sorrows are we focusing on the color of her skin?? Who cares about her skin? She’s not in the running for the title of palest beauty in all of China after all. What relevance does that have to her tennis ability? Really, if I could roll my eyes more than 360 degrees, they would take a road trip to California.

Lawn-mowing

It is curious function that once a person is able to defeat the powerful stagnating force of inertia, momentum kicks in with relative ease and agility. All this mumbo jumbo is just to say that I finally got my lazy arse to the yard the other day and faced down the lawn mower in a contest of willpower. The first five minutes were the most frustrating because the mower refused to start. I grabbed that handle and boys and girls, did I pull and pull! I nearly yanked my own arm out of my sockets actually and if the mower could chortle, it'd be rolling on the grass at all the effort I was expending. After about 5 minutes of futile struggling, I finally wised up and actually read the instructions. It said to push this button five times (a cold start primer) and then like a lazy tigercat, it purred to life. What beauteous music to my ears at that moment! However the giddy feeling of success lasted but a nanosecond as I started pushing the mower across the fat, overgrown fur that is our lawn. Soon again I was pushing the mower in what seemed like an uphill battle. I held on to the mower with tenacity however and even though the tremors of the motor were pulsating against my palms, I just kept right on going. I amused myself by cutting patterns in the grass and then going in concentric fashion til I hit the bulls' eye. 1.5 hours later, I managed to give my lawn a successful haircut, very brisk, businesslike, no fuss. The whole time I was doing it, I was also plotting how to become super yard girl by mulching my trees, pulling out weeds, killing off the evil little things taking over the front of our yard, trimming the hedges and so forth. But at the end of 1.5 hours, with my hands literally shaking and numb from all the "massaging" action of the mower motor, I told myself that he who paces himself lasts longest and there's no sense in trying to do it all in one day. With that in mind, I bid my yard responsibilities a pleasant adieu and went on to enjoy the rest of my day in reverie.

This guy

I’ve been wanting to blog about this one guy for some time now. Every once in a while, on my way to work, I’d pass by this bus stop and see this guy just standing there waiting ostensibly for the bus. He is a trim, clean-cut and neat guy in his 40’s, with light gray hair. He would invariably be standing there and he would play with this one metal ball, the size of skeeball. What he does with the ball is very tai-chi like, he would undulate his arms and have the ball travel up and down the length of his arms and he would have the ball travel to the tip of his hand at which point he would let it flow very gracefully to the other hand. It’s difficult to describe what he’s doing with the ball, but it requires great control, dexterity, grace and balance. Generally speaking, he allows the ball to flow down the front and the back sides of his hands and the overall effect is like the ball is dancing in the air very close to his arms and hands.

In all this time, I’ve yet to see him drop the ball. But Alas! Today, he dropped the ball! The ball then rolled into the street and he very nimbly hopped into the street to scoop it back up. Because the red light allowed me to stop right next to the bus stop, I very shamelessly indulged in voyeurism by watching the whole incident in its entirety.

The other thing I like about watching him is that, he seems so focused on what he is doing as to be completely oblivious to all the gawking passerbys, such as yours truly. He just does his own thing and exhibits very tangibly that sometimes lofty, sometimes elusive thing called “independence of spirit” so trumpeted by proud Americans. More than his skills with the ball, I hope to display that spirit more and more as my hair slowly makes the shift from black to gray.

Dr. Paul Farmer's talk

One of the things that I find fortuitous about working where I do is the wealth of opportunities to go hear interesting talks given around campus. Today was one of those blessed days when I was actually able to hear Dr. Paul Farmer, live and in person, give a presentation about the work he has been doing to deliver community-based health care modules to the very destitute in Haiti, Rwanda and other such places.

Dr. Paul Farmer did not disappoint. With his studious look but boyish voice and mannerism, he gave a very buoyant talk that was punctured with clever little jokes. You can tell this is a guy who thinks quickly and who thinks deeply. He is impassioned and he is not afraid to point out what he thinks is completely absurd or ridiculous.

This is in sharp contrast to the very measured, rational and almost banal tone that most researchers/scientists have when delivering a presentation on the protein mediated transport through cellular membrane in s. cerevisiae for instance. He has a bit of a bulldog approach to adhering to his vision of what rural healthcare should be like. And he said quite frankly that he’s not afraid to just tell patients what they need to do to get better.

Of course, there are already enough people out there singing his praises, so I think I won’t devote my entire post to just that. Judging from the size of the audience there today (I had to stand for a whole 90 minutes and if you know me, that’s asking a lot of me), he is a man widely admired and known at least through the NIH community.

Anyhow, this talk gave me a good reminder. Whatever it is that we want to do, we should pour our hearts and our souls into them. For people like Dr. Farmer, with the brains, the energy, the vision and the abilities, he can go very far with dedication to boot. With smaller, more modest people like me, with perhaps ½ the brain of his, with 1/3 the energy, with ¼ the vision and 1/5 the abilities, I can maybe at least go a third as far as he’s gone with the proper dedication and heart and single-mindedness, and that’s probably farther than I would ever go if I were just to wander aimlessly through pleasure or comfort seeking corridors. So it’s not so much that I want to go out there and save the world in typical superman fantasy-like machismo. It’s more like I want to create my own niche where I can achieve my own modest goals.

Scribbles et al.

Lately all I can think about is how to best jam in everything I want to do before medical school all within my schedule and at the same time, fulfilling all the various obligations of my multi-faceted roles within society. So far it’s not been working out too well.

I even got an organizer. I find myself compulsively making To Do lists. The problem with To Do lists is that, prioritizing them is very important. I’ve not yet mastered the art of prioritization. Therefore, I’d find myself dilly-dallying with low priority tasks like organizing my latest collection of clothing and meanwhile, forgetting to ah..well, let’s just say, neglecting some more important and pertinent tasks at hand. I’m also horribly and unrealistically ambitious. I want to swallow that elephant whole. I want to go to the gym and work out everyday. But as soon as I don’t make it to the gym one day, I am super annoyed with myself and then pretty soon, I don’t go for a week. I don’t know why it’s always a do or die for me, I guess at heart, I am a binary creature, not making enough room for the inevitable fallacies of human nature.

Sunday, I went to play tennis. It was a gorgeous day, a day you’d imagine to be the typical lovely day someone in the Great Gatsby would be able to enjoy on a lazy afternoon, it was warm, breezy, perfect for sipping lemonade and sitting out in the shade. It was however, a bit warm for tennis. So there I was, playing tennis, all the while wishing I had the wisdom to bring a little cap to protect my “southern belle” paleness. Just kidding. I am the black sheep in my family – quite literally.

So there I was playing tennis and I was conscientious about not breaking out into an all out sprint after every ball. I knew for one thing that it would be too much for my poor beating heart to exert so much effort. I proceeded to play a lazy man’s tennis. Any balls that are too much out of reach, I’d just let it go, quite contentedly. I noted philosophically that it’s not unlike my tendency and approach at life. I’m no bulldog that’s for sure. But on the other hand, I’m pleased to report that I’ve gained some measure of control and grace whenever I do make contact with the ball, and 8 times out of 10, the ball is a nice smooth shot back into the opposite court.

Today I took my folks to the airport. En route, I made an illegal left turn, mostly my fault of course, but it didn’t help that my easily excited Dad yelled, “Left light!” and caused me poor head to spin in confusion momentarily. So I gassed the pedal and proceeded to make a left turn and very narrowly missed being (I was in the path of collision too) made into Emily hotdog. We made that narrow escape and all of us suddenly had the feeling of having been through an Indiana Jones episode. It took a while for the collective nerves of the Yenstones to calm down. Then we were on our merry way again.

And so it is...

What now, can be said about the massacre that occurred this past Monday at Virginia Tech? I read an article on the New York Times about how Korean-Americans are immensely uneasy as the news of the massacre trickled out and revealed a psychotic Korean-American who was responsible for such brutality. Indeed, they should be uneasy. The American public hasn’t been known to be very kind to the colored races in general, whatever their range of colors may be. I am not surprised that bigoted white Americans will take this opportunity to let their long repressed racism rise untempered to the surface and explode in the form of expletives uttered at the Korean race, or hate mail, or property damage, or even physical violence. That’s how an emotional, unrational world operates, an eye for an eye and these people would feel properly justified to give voice to their inner bigot.

What’s more so, I am to some extent uneasy myself, wondering if strangers on the streets will take me for a Korean and randomly beat me up for an event that truly has nothing to do with me OR my race. But this isn’t an issue of race and it never should be. It’s an issue of mental illness, social isolation, deeply simmering anger and dysfunctionality. I also read in the papers about how the family is supposed to be a very nice family, helps neighbors shovel snow, etc. That’s all well and nice, but I can’t help but think, they really could have done more on their end to prevent what happened on Monday. But as someone very angrily and cogently pointed out, (see jason’s blog), it’s not exactly useful at this point to play the blame game.

My thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those who were gunned down this Monday. I can only imagine how dark the world seems right now to those that are in mourning. I saw one picture of a grandmother gazing with forlorness at the picture of her beautiful grand-daughter, only 18 years old and now dead. As for the family of the killer, I don’t even want to imagine what they must feel now, having raised and contributed to the society their monster of a son. Yes truly, this is a tragedy that appears to lack the least bit of redemptive value.

Onward brave soldier!

Recently I learned of a phrase that I found intriguing. The term is coined “counter-factuals.” I first learned of this phrase while listening to a series of lectures on the History of the United States as presented by The Teaching Company. It’s a wonderful companion for the early morning rush hour and I highly recommend it to everyone.

In any case, the term “counter-factual” was used to denote the speculation that had Japan not attacked Pearl Harbor and enraged the roaring beast that is America, then Japan may have been able to hold on to its massive Asian empire that stretches from Korea, through many parts of China and almost all of Southeast Asia. When I consider that scenario, I do shudder for all of Asia, because it would be a vastly different world today and everyone would be speaking Japanese and all non-Japanese Asians would have been second-class citizens in the hegemonic Japanese empire. I would never have been born in Taiwan and never would have immigrated to America and never would have started my hobby of blogging and in short, I would not be here today.

Of course, that is where the “counter-factual” comes in and douses muddled heads with a splash of cold rationality. The truth is, this is mere speculation and too many events could have occurred in place of a nonexistent Pearl Harbor attack that it is simply presumptuous at best and imaginative at worst to conjecture such a scenario.

But as I tend to be moralistic in my blogging, I would venture to say that the active use of such speculations occur commonly in our everyday lives and could use a dosage of counter factual realizations. I often fantasize that had I not chosen A, B or C, perhaps I would have ended up in med school years earlier. By now, I would have been almost finishing up residencies and I would have saved my mom and dad the multiple gray hairs that they have had to spout during the course of my meandering. But true to my sheep nature and my wandering soul, meander I did until I finally meandered to where I’ve always, at the bottom of my heart, wanted to be. Yet is it true? Is my regret founded on something quite untangible, too many layers of speculation and uncertain factors? Yes, I would have to say that is possible. Had I not chosen A, B, or C, I may very well have chosen D, E or F and ended perhaps even farther away from my very original goal than I am now. I may have meandered still farther into the pastures of exploration and who knows? I could still be in Asia, teaching English, traveling with the Peace Corps, convinced myself that I should become an English teacher, worked my way through an East Asian studies PhD, ended up marrying a philosophizing hippie and traveling distant lands. Or I could decided that practically trumps all and gone back to school and got a degree in something useful and marketable, be spit back out in a couple of years and proceed to climb the corporate ladder.

All these speculations, no doubt can be boring to people unrelated to me, but I just want to demonstrate the endless possible permutations of life unfolding. This is all to say that, it is best to think of life in this manner. All that has happened was meant to be. All the choices that had been made were meant to be. Some were erroneous perhaps, but they can provide a lesson well learned. Some will prove to be beneficial in the long term, though were painful in the short run. The best thing that counter-factual has taught me is to steel myself against useless regrets and lamentations. And with this belief, hopefully I can be instilled with bright hopes for the future. The best is not what has not happened in the past. The best is what will happen in the future.

More to this life perhaps

When two or more females congregate together, invariably the topic of conversations turns to relationships and the subject of love. This has been my experience time and again with all my female friends. In fact I cannot really think of even one female friend with whom I have never discussed this topic. People talk of male bonding over beer and football, but for women, there is ever only one thing that truly glues: the subject of men.

Which brings to me to my second point and lately, a point of ire. Is it possible that we women focus too much on members of the opposite sex? What finally is the endless intrigue and fascination, what is all the to-do about these creatures? Men are just men, boys are just boys and truly, in and of themselves, they are not all THAT inexhaustibly interesting. I suppose I can chalk it up to the age old evolutionary drive in all women to establish a healthy and robust nest for her future egglings. Therefore, with so much at stake, it is endless exciting to discuss the ways to figure out what relationships are all about and what makes for successful, good, lasting relationships. As for dysfunctional relationships, well, one can’t possibly understand what is good about a “good” relationship until one thoroughly analyzes the myriad ways in which a relationship can flounder and dramatically sink to the bottom.

Really, women approach the topic of relationships with the microscopic zeal of the craziest, maddest and baddest scientists out there. They scrutinize every angle, they comb for underlying meanings, they sniff for the unsaid implications, and they concoct fantastical theses on what a man really means when he says X, because of course, he can’t possibly only mean X.

I don’t know if I can offer any true insights on the topic of relationships but I think one very cliched phrase bears repeating here. “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Lord knows life is stressful enough as it is as we juggle our career aspirations, being good friends to our group of hyperstressed female friends, fulfilling our various obligations as good daughter, good sister, good girlfriend, we really need to at some point learn to let the little things go. In other words, don’t be anal and resist the urge to psychoanalyze every thing your guy does. At least psycho-analyze something else that might be more interesting – like what is God thinking today? Yeah, the big Kahuna up there deserves some more scrutinization than I confess to giving to Him recently. But I do believe that.

I think I will make it a personal point to NOT talk about relationships every time with my various friends. Maybe we will talk about famine in Africa, the gross neglect of the Japanese government to make sufficient reparations and expression of regret over its atrocities, the latest movies, the unique style of Jack Keroauc, etc etc. With so many things under the sun, we are doing ourselves a disservice by being overly myopic about our focus.

Here’s a list of things I would like to do before I head off to boot camp in the Fall.

1. Finish editing my video of Grandpa
2. Donate like 25% of my clothes, or sell on ebay, I won’t mind the extra cash
3. Donate 50% of my books to the public library – decluttering is on my mind recently
4. Find good housing in Philly
5. Plan an awesome vacation for July
6. Read every single book I have recently checked out from the library – 10
7. Help rehaul my house’s sad little lawn, currently overrun by evil little weeds
8. Re-memorize all the countries of the world, I’ll do this every year til I’m 80
9. Mmm…more to come when I think of them

The Namesake

Saturday I went to see The Namesake, a film by Mira Nair. I came from the film with mixed feelings. Firstly, this is one of the few films that I watched that made me feel like I was watching a three-day serial in one sitting. It was like watching the third installment of LOTR, the film could have ended probably half an hour before it finally did and not be worse for the editing. That said, there are moments in the film that I really enjoyed, and I have to agree with Stephanie Zacherek of Salon.com that the two brightest jewels of the film were the parents, who came together in India and immigrated to America to begin a new life for their family.

Whenever the two of them share the screen together, the poignancy of the moment deepens and thickens. The time when Ashima locks herself in the bathroom to shed a few self-pitying tears at being scolded by her newly wed husband for shrinking his clothes at laundromat illustrated the typical domestic disagreements of any young couple. What was particularly sweet however was how the husband, immediately chastened, coaxed his wife out of the bathroom by cooing a litany of little sweet nothings, “my ashima, my crazy ashima, come out, my sweet sweet ashima.” Inspite of her tears, she starts to grin nonetheless. It was not only a realistic portrayal of a young couple, it was a glimpse into the tenderness that the two shared.

As a first generation immigrant who was raised in America however, I can empathize deeply with some of the themes of this film. I can understand feeling both ashamed and proud of one’s ethnic heritage and the jarring conflicting feelings of this duality. I can also understand seeing a person who is Caucasian and mainstream in every way and feeling like we are light years apart in terms of our life perspectives. At times, that feeling occasionally turns into outright rejection (as Gogol did to Maxine). And even as I do so, I am meanwhile sipping my Starbucks mocha latte, surfing the web and chatting on my cellphone. I am no more or no less different than I choose to think myself to be. I can also somewhat empathize how the parents must feel whenever they look at their children and see only strangers. Surely at times my own mom has looked at me in astonishment, thinking, “How on earth did I give birth to this…creature?” Because as if the generation gap isn’t a wide enough gulf, often there is a cultural gap, contributed in part by the environment I grew up in, a world vastly different from their own.

The film by Mira Nair is the film of every middle-class immigrant who has sought a new life in America. The film highlights the tension for children caught between the old and the new who are not sure, often times, which way to go. For all its good intentions, it sometimes became overly ambitious, trying to say too much at once and ending up not getting anything very clearly across. The film would have benefited from slowing down, splicing out unnecessary footage, and forming a stronger cohesive vision. Yet irregardless, it was nice for me, as a Chinese-American, to sit through a film about an Indian-American and to realize, aah yes, I can relate. I’ve been there.

Call me Emo

When I was in middle school, I once observed a feud that developed between this Asian girl and this semi-white trash girl, we will call her WT girl. It was junior high and the middle school I attended at the time wasn’t known for its stepford children. Some pretty mean kids from the ghettos of Maryland suburbia attended that school. So the feud between these two girls got intense. In the locker room, I observed as sixth or seventh grade girls surrounded this Asian girl and then dished out ugly and hurtful insults at her. Her looks, her body, her b.o., her choice of sexual partners even. I don’t remember what the insults were, but I highly doubt they were all that original or creative. Nonetheless, it was quite painful to watch this girl get bullied. She was clearly outnumbered and ostracized.

WT girl kept talking about “beating” her up and “kicking her ass”, classy comments like that. So the big day arrives and the two of them faces off in front of a large crowd of people. I was one of the onlookers. Even before WT and A girl started anything, A girl starts crying hysterically and says brokenly that her mother told her that she shouldn’t fight because it wasn’t the Christian way. That Christians don’t fight and aren’t violent. I swear, I’m not making this up. So WT girl goes up to her and pushes her around, roughs her up a bit, but almost uncertainly and half-heartedly. All the while, A girl has her face buried in her hands and she was crying, but she didn’t hit back.

I guess I’m relating this story now to illustrate two things. One, I’m a big wimp. I didn’t try to stick up for her at any point in the game. Granted, she wasn’t my friend and I had no real obligation to, but I did think it was wrong that everyone picked on her. I guess WT girls had a lot of WT friends. Anyway, the mob effect can be kind of scary and for a 12 or 13-year old kid, I wasn’t looking to join the party and get some nasty blows coming my way.

Secondly, I think ever since then, I developed a protective shell of my own. Although this incident had really nothing to do with me, I experienced it somewhat vicariously and I was always scared to think about what if I had been that A girl and I had to be bullied or pushed around by a whole mob of angry, overly hormonal teenage girls? Case in point, back in elementary school I was quite a tough little cookie. I got into fights with kids before, mainly because it was like a knee jerk reaction. You don’t like what someone said? Just push them. Pretty soon I earned the reputation, well undeserved, of being “the one you don’t mess with.” But that was after all elementary school. Then the small fish graduates to go to a bigger pond and there, she sees all these scary ass big and tough people that she doesn’t want to mess with either. Then she realizes that she is a small fish after all and contented herself to floating quietly in the background, to avoid the predators. I am now that fish.

Ah yes...updates...

Yesterday was a highly satisfying day. I saw the culmination of a few years’ of hard work and intense innard knotting. I have to thank many people who helped me get to this point in my life and truly, I consider myself a lucky lucky girl.

Last night I made the very deadly mistake of rubbing toothpaste on an emerging pimple in the effort to dry it out faster. However, I compounded on that mistake by putting a band-aid on it and then going to sleep. It became a sauna and hotbed for the pimply virus all night and this morning, I woke up to a grossly mishapened face. I was all hot and panicky as I tried to mold my face back to the way it was before. Then I had the brilliant idea of pressing ice on it to make the swelling go down. As I’m writing this, my face has thankfully resumed its erstwhile shape but I now have a big ugly flaming red something or another in the vicinity of the pimple. I’ve even taken ibuprofen to tame the reaction. The score at this point: Emily 1, Pimple 4. But the war will go on.

Woman, your name is cuckoo

My coworker told me about this girl in China, who is 28 years old. When she was 16, she once had a dream about Andy Lau and ever since then, she's lived her life for him. She recently went to some official Andy Lau fan club meeting and everyone there got to pose with Andy Lau for a picture. however, she wanted to be able to "talk" to Andy for a longer, more intimate, one-on-one session and was, unsurprisingly, denied permission. Get this...enraged, her father jumped off a cliff and committed suicide. The daughter is now demanding that Andy Lau apologize to her family, read the suicide note and then arrange to spend alone time with her.

I'm sure I am missing some details but this is seriously where major thresholds between sanity and insanity have been crossed. Now I don't feel so pathetic about my own life.

Dental Day

Today I went to the dentist to replace a loose filling. She gave me a shot or two of novacaine before proceeding to wreak all sorts of damage and havoc on my tooth. Okay, she probably was just trying to clean all the gunk out, but with her pliers, and picks and tiny tooth filers, I swear a whole mine crew was in the caverns of emily’s mouth, digging for treasure.

Curious thing about having a numb side of your face – when I touch it, it feels really soft but it also feels like I’m touching dead flesh. I try to rationalize that this is what it feels like to touch my face, from another person’s perspective. But the more overwhelming impression was that, I was touching soft, pudgy and slack meat. It felt really strange. Also, I think this must also be what it feels like to have a stroke and have one side of the face collapse from damaged nerves. I was never so happy to enter once again the world of actual feeling, of pain sensors, of movement and agility. I guess I experienced vicariously a little bit of what death must be like.

I need to start taking better care of my teeth. Flossing, rinsing, brushing, whitening – the whole works! The other day I was told that I wasn’t making enough of an effort to make myself “hot.” Despite my heated protestations and indignant retorts, I guess I have to admit that I’m a slacker about that sometimes. But tomorrow is a brand new day as Miss O’Hara famously said, and tomorrow is a good time to start becoming the hotness that is somewhere deep inside yours truly, waiting to be excavated, waiting for its day in the sun.

Tick tock

The waiting game has turned a new corner for me and like a roller coaster, I feel like my heart is in my throat and my stomach some 10 feet below me. I can't say I relish the feeling overly much. There is, in that agony of being suspended, almost a despondent, morose desire to just rush to the end, no matter how badly that end may be. Because nothing can be quite as bad as having to hang there, right before the impending drop.

Somewhere in my head, the two words "intervention prayer" dance around tantalizingly. If I pray hard enough, do you think the outcome will be favorable? I know it's not the way to go, and I know God is no Santa. Yet, this is where the logic loses its sway, to some degree.

Okay, I'm just babbling forth complete garbage. As Philip in Of Human Bondage would say, (crossly I may add), "Oh you do talk rot!" I do indeed sometimes.

This is because the outcome greatly matters to me, I must say. I readily confess that, even as I have no intention of disclosing what such outcome pertains to. Those who are close to me know what I am talking about, so that's all that really matters. I just want to sit here and wail about the difficulty the hardship oh the torture! But then again, I think I'm getting a bit nauseated by how cliched I sound.

They say that what does not kill you will make you stronger. Hmm...will this make me stronger? Tougher? Or just more wilted? More defeated? I guess only time will tell. But to be more scientifically accurate, seven days should be about right. To be honest, I know I will be okay either way. Sorry for all the theatrics earlier, folks, it comes and goes you see. I have an inner dialogue with myself pretty much all day. Okay fine, okay I will be okay. I just want to brace myself for the worst and hopefully, by sheer willpower, bully it away. HAHA. This is wishful thinking on steroids.