Revisiting Those Cobblestone Streets of My Beloved, Self-Created Former Life: What it was Like and What it all Means.

I begin this entry lovingly with this: if you have not read Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love, please immediately get yourself to a library, bookstore, second-hand bookstore, Amazon, or a friend-who-has-it and do. It will speak to you if you are the gourmande (ahem, I live to eat, so yes, I fall in this category, as further evidenced by how much of my long-weekend was spent doing just that). Or if you've ever suffered any sort of heartache (I was once a pre-teen, teen and sophomore -literally, a "wise fool" -and continue to be human, so of course, count me in this category too). Or if you've ever even so much as attempted a philosophical, spiritual or existential self-search (if I'm writing this blog... well, enough said). And finally, if you have just been craving a darn good read, you will fall in love with the author / protagonist, her writing and her story, with every part of your being. Now, I do have to admit that I had to stiffle my giggles in the bookstore when I came across a memoirs that clearly sought to mock Gilbert's fabulous work, this mockery entitled, "Drink, Play, F@#!", but nonetheless, as the infamous athletic-wear brand would say, "Just Do It".

"Getting There"

As the anatomy mnemonic for the 12 cranial nerves goes "Oh, once one takes the anatomy final, very good vacations are had!" And so they were. I began my precious week off with a drive down to Plattsburgh, NY with my Mum (which was a lovely mother-daughter time) last Thursday, from where I boarded a nine-passenger aircraft to Boston. If you want some idea of how tiny the airport was, know that the free parking lot is infinitely larger than the actual airport, that one need only arrive at check-in 15 minutes prior to departure, and should you arrive any earlier than that, you may find yourself seemingly the only person in the whole airport until you ring the little bell and the one check-in-lady/luggage-porter/seating hostess emerges from behind some back-room. If you want some idea of how tiny this plane was, think of it this way: they asked me how much I weighed when I checked in, everyone one the plane had a window and an aisle seat, the lightest people had to sit in the back, it was like piling into a van where once you're sitting, that's it, there's no "moving around". However, the ride was absolutely stunning. At first, I was just stunned with the bumpiness of the ride (almost like the flight to Flagstaff, AZ). But then, suddenly, only sheer beauty all around.

We were weaving our way through the sky on an invisible current, just beneath a canopy of grey and pearl cotton. The steel Adirondacks held their own below, still dusted with snow, and the plateaus of New York and Vermont stretched out brown and hungry for life after a harsh winter. Water canyons snaked their way, cutting through the land, leaving behind silver mirror shards for lakes. A warm spring sun scattered it's light between the cracks of canopy, over my arm and face, and blessed the Earth below. 'Made you wonder 2 things: firstly, whether Heaven truly lies above in the skies or in the Earthly beauty on which you looked down, and secondly, why anyone would ever pay hundreds of dollars for those silly helicopter tours that last all of 5 seconds, when they could get the same spectacular view for a mere $108 US (return!), for a whole 75 minutes, while actually traveling to a real destination.

"Awkward to Be Back" and "Moving on More Than You Thought You Had"

I arrived to a warm, sunny, familiar Boston, and surely had a ridiculous, stupid smile plastered on my face the whole Silver-Red Line journey "home" to Harvard Square. It was so good to be back! First things first. Paid my visit to the dear old Kirkland House security guard that we all know and love -cynical and endearing as ever. Saw various K-House people walking about between the JCR and D-hall, lounging around the courtyard... it was exactly as I remembered leaving it. Except now, I was a ghost... everything was the same, but the graduate no longer belongs there. Not because anyone is unfriendly -in fact, people are quite friendly and welcoming (well some are, others are their usual arrogant, awkward selves -and let me tell you, if you managed to desensitize yourself to it during your four years of undergrad, even to the point where you were denying the "awkward turtle" as myth, it is painfully in your face upon revisitation... so I must say that in true Harvard spirit, it was awkward to be back. Which was fitting and quaint in many ways) -it's just that you realize that you have changed, you have grown (yes, even in that one measly year since graduation), you've moved on more than you thought you had (a perfect example of this to follow shortly), and thus, you no longer belong there. Because you belong exactly right where you are in life now -that is fully your rightful place, and what you really, truly miss is not something you can "go back and visit". This closure was very important for me and the timing was quite perfect. I think I'd even venture to say that the visit as a whole, was perfectly self-revealing, perfectly exhilirating, and perfectly FUN (oh sooooo much fun!)!!!

Most of all I enjoyed the company of my ol' peoples, my ol' haunts, and even some new discoveries. Right here, I would like to again thank the three generous friends who lent me their spare beds, their roommates' beds and their couches for the five nights I spent in Cambridge -nothing like sleep-over style chatties, bonding and... sleeping. Remember, mi casa es tu casa tambien. Anyhow, back to food and friends.

On that first evening, I spent five hours catching up with my Quincy-blockmate, exchanging stories, advice, gossip, mozzarella sticks and french fries (at The Pub), and tastes of different mochi ice cream flavours at Boston Tea Stop. Of course, I had been craving the best bubble tea in the world for eons by now, and thusly purchased a rose-flower-black-milk-tea-with-boba, despite the fact that it was after 4:00 pm and I thus risked a sleepless night due to that crazy Asian black tea (which did in unfortunate fact prove to be a poor choice as I found myself tossing and turning restlessly until about 5:00 a.m.). Now after taking that first, what should have been "divine" sip, you know what I found myself thinking? Brace yourself for this blasphemy: "Naila, it's great, but really, what's the big deal?" What's the big deal? Seriously? Clearly I had moved on more than I thought, right!

"YUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMM!!!!" said the Glutton

Oh, but I ate delicious food and had a wonderful time back in my former home -really, a full-out Harvard / Cambridge / Boston / me experience. From the tasty smoked turkey, Swiss, tomato and lettuce "Fayerweather" sandwich on garlic and rosemary bread at Darwin's to the light grilled chicken, buffalo mozzarella and red pepper thin-crust pizza at Cambridge One -oh, I did indulge! Rich, dark hot chocolate at Burdick's. Sweet, creamy chocolate chip cannoli at Mike's. Succulant lamb and cinnamon-brown rice Qablee pillaw, and Afghan Kadoo (sugary pumpkin, with yogurt, meat sauce and various chutnees) at Helmand. My favourite Greenhouse Cafe chicken wings (little known gem of this Science Center "restaurant"). Burnt sugar ice cream at Christina's. Steak quesadilla with rice, guacamole, "fresh" salsa and jalapeno hot sauce at Anna's Taqueria (near MIT), where I also tried their almond-milky Mexican drink, which tastes like Turkish rice pudding in a cup. Sesame fried shrimp rice rolls, and yummy butter chicken at Super 88 across from khane.

And that's not including the new places I tried! I went to Henrietta's Table (in the Charles Hotel) for the first time, for brunch with one of my almost-little-sister who suggested that fabulous book that I just finished pushing on you (above). Yummy, surprisingly reasonably-priced breakfast food indeed! Also fabulous freshly-squeezed orange-carrot juice. Really, this little sis has impeccable taste and I am so very proud of the beautiful, confident, strong woman she has become!

And then another morning, I went to Zoe's for breakfast (also a first). Omelet with smoked salmon, asperagus and cream cheese equals almost to die for, really. I thought I would get too full to finish. This turned out to be false. I laughed the hardest with the friends I was visiting over this meal, as we discussed how crazy it is, not just that so many people we know are getting married (I actually found out 3 more of my friends got engaged while I was in Boston -in fact, I was having dinner with 2 of these friends when word and photos were received via crackberry regarding the third "fresh" engagement -madness indeed, but congrats all around of course!), but how ridiculous some of the websites that some engaged couples make for themselves are. We thought it would be particularly hilarious if the three of us girls made a "spoof" website with a play-by-play of the divorce (a la "this was the first straw" -with a photo of a faux-slap -and "this was the last straw" captions) of a polygamous lesbian marriage. Moreover, we thought it would be additionally funny to have a "hoodlink" to the site (a la Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up"), so that people actually think they're clicking on a link called "somethingconservative.com". Oh what a partay that was... =)

But back to food and drink. Believe it or not, but I had never been to Tealuxe before, so also tried that -what a quaint place with lovely blueberry white tea indeed (and with yet another sweet friend)! And catching up with friends -we talked about it all. Sex, boyfriends (or lack thereof), jobs (or lack thereof), med school (or lack thereof... i.e. waits and apps), philosophies on healthcare, medicine, history of medicine (again, or lack thereof... at least in our professional school programs, which is a tragedy in our humble opinions), food, reminiscings, life outside Harvard, life inside Harvard, life after Harvard, life at the end of Harvard (i.e. Commencement speakers past and future), good books, interesting ideas, dumb economies, amazing and crap and convoluted politics (is that just redundant?), good TV (i.e. the Food channel), good movies, great travel... I also visited briefly with a few of my professors which was wonderful.

So basically, I was a glutton over Easter -a glutton for conversation, food and general pleasure (including some shopping in bookstores, Downtown Crossing, Little Italy, and various "Squares" -Harvard, Central, Inman, etc -roaming around Boston and Cambridge, watching the magical and excellent-in-every-way foreign film "Faubourg 36" or "Paris 36" in Kendall Theatre on the one very rainy day, enjoying the company of a very attractive male, Harvard grad total stranger at 'Noch's over a mutual penchant for the spinach Sicilian pizza, hearing stories about the Aga Khan's visits to Afghanistan "When the King is Good, the Rain will Come" and how even in that arid, mountainous place, everytime he goes to visit, there is rain, even in the unlikliest of seasons...)

Luckily, I am not a Catholic, though, so I will not perish in purgatory (or is it perish in Hell and something else in purgatory?) for my indulgence. However, I did go to St. Paul's Catholic Church in Harvard Square on Good Friday (first time going to mass in Mass.) -I sure as heck chose quite a day to go! To call it "heavy" would be putting it lightly, although it was still an interesting and enjoyable experience... I've never heard "The Passion" read (or should I say "sung") like that before, so that was cool. Anyway. I can appreciate the beauties of other religions and forget the intolerances and ugly politics. Every religion's got 'em. But I firmly maintain there must be at least an infinity of paths to spiritual peace, enlightenment, God, the Universe... whatever it is you believe in. And if Science is your only God, then so be it. Just "live and let live" as the old cliche goes.

"The Revelation" (no prophets involved)

I leave you now with the following revelation that I had during my break:

If God came down and said that I could only be one thing in life, I would choose being a writer over being a doctor. But. I am blessed because in real life, I don't have to choose -I can have many passions and many things that bring me (and thus those around me) happiness. And working as a physician is still 1000% my calling. Just if my physical body were burned to ash, the essence left behind is a writer first. So in my life, I will write, and fall in love, and travel, and go to the ballet, and enjoy delicious food, and have a wonderful family, and pray, and read for pleasure, take hikes in Nature, maybe one day swim across a very large body of water, and also be a doctor and serve others the best that I can. If I could not do all of these things, I would not be whole and my life would not have meaning for me. It is my hope, prayer and intention that all these may manifest for myself and for anyone else who may desire these as well. And I thank all the forces that be in advance for doing their best by my dreams.

p.s. okay nerds, for anyone who was dying to know what those 12 cranial nerves from the mnemonic are: Optic, Olfactory, Occulomotor, Trochlear, Trigeminal, Abducens, Facial, Vestibulococchlear, Glossopharyngeal, Vagus, Accessory, Hypoglossal. see? you didn't really want to know did you.

Let's Play Doctor!

Really, it was good and it was so much fun!

Today I had my first mock-patient-interview at the McGill Simulation Center. Basically, McGill Medical School has hired a bunch of actors who pretend to be different patients, with various personal profiles, medical conditions, social / psychological issues, etc, so that doctors and nurses-in-training can practice doing the standard medical interview in a simulation before doing it on real people. Good chance to hone bedside manner, as well as learning how to get the critical information efficiently and effectively to better serve our future patients.

How it worked for us today:

• Stand behind closed door for 1 minute and read the paper with the patient's name, age and very basic profile (mine was "Phil Wilson is a 21-yr old law student")
• Then there's a voice that comes over the loudspeaker telling you to go in -you have 8 minutes to conduct the interview.
• The voice comes back on the speaker letting you know when there's 2 mintues left
• Once time is up or if you finish before, 2 of your peers who have been watching you through a double-sided mirror and listening to you with headsets, join you and the actor who was your patient in the room.
• You say how you think it went, your peers say how they think it went, and then the actor gives you probably the most important constructive feedback since they really know about all this from doing it all the time.
• Then each of your peers has a turn with a different patient, and you get to watch them on the other side of the double mirror (creepy, but effective).

It was amazing. Felt so real. And we all know I'm a bit Type A so I had prepared a little. Lots of it (and especially today because as first year med students, let's face it, we know very little medically-speaking) was really about whether or not we could draw out a narrative from the patient from a physical, social and personal perspective -"whole person care" -and make them feel comfortable and like they could trust us -"bedside manner". So I had written down a few lines on how I would go about my questioning in a logical and flowing manner: start with introducing myself, then ask the patient how they prefer to be called, then ask them what brought them into the clinic or hospital that day. Let them talk uninterrupted. Then back-track: when did it start? how much pain? where? the quality of the pain? how often and how frequent? anything that made it feel better or worse? what did the patient think may have caused it? Then go into the patient's medical history, medications, allergies, family history. Then ask them about their personal life, stressors, social life, occupation and (wait for it...) their sex life (gah! this last question remains the most uncomfortable / difficult one for me to ask).

K. So I had rehearsed all this in my head about 3 times before going to the SIM Ctr. And I was all professional in my shirt and tie. And I was sweating over whether I would get the most difficult patient-type ever, which for me would be the 'seductive patient'. You know that male patient that hits on you, makes you feel uncomfortable, asks inappropriate questions... I was like, "Please give me the crazy cranky old lady" or the pathological liar, or the hyper-active child... just not the sexy one who hits on you (it's worse if they are hot because if they are not, it's easier to more directly say things like "this is not appropriate" etc... otherwise I am bound to just passively ignore the flirtation a la "if i pretend it doesn't exist, then it doesn't exist").

And I mean today proved the following: I didn't get the 'seductive patient', but I definitely still got the young, very attractive patient, and I could not for the life of me ask him about his sex life (the closest I got was "so how are things in your personal life?"). Now actually, the fact that he was good-looking was not so bad because luckily he wasn't sooooooooooo hot that it was a distraction preventing me from focusing on my job. In fact, I got lots of positive feedback from the actor and my peers regarding professionalism, friendliness, putting the patient at ease / making him feel comfortable and that he could trust me, not being judgmental, sympathizing with him, reassuring him without making any false promises, etc... The actor even said that making him feel comfortable and not judged was really key since he was a young guy and I was a young woman doctor and he was embarrassed about his condition, but felt comfortable telling me more details about his symptoms, etc. But still, I failed on the 'difficult questions' front (i.e. sex and illicit drug use). You see, the fear of the seductive / attractive patient is actually a rather separate issue from the "tell me about your sexual activity"-question phobia. I don't know why I have such a hard time asking about this, even after telling myself "you're the almost-doctor, you're allowed to ask these questions, you need to ask these questions to help your patients" and even after hearing the actor say, "you're the doctor, you have the power, so don't be afraid to ask those difficult questions about sex and drugs, etc... because you need to know about it and patients will be okay telling you about it".

Still, I guess this is a hang-up I just need to work on. "What has your sexual activity been like lately? Do you sleep with men, women or both? Do you use protection? How many sexual partners have you had?" These questions are all inappropriate in a non-medical context when talking to a complete stranger. Put the white coat on and it's okay. Well, for me, right now, it doesn't quite matter yet whether I think "white coat" or "purple hat" or "pink slippers", I'm still just me, getting all up in their business and asking them about sex, sex, sex. Don't get me wrong, it is a fascinating topic for conversation, for reading, for writing, for movies and TV (don't we all hold our breath for that hot scene in "Cold Mountain", or "Sex and the City" or "Grey's Anatomy", or even Dagny's dramas with her lovers in one of the best novels of all-time, Atlas Shrugged, whose main theme, you should know, is not sex, but the sex is very lovely-ly depicted) and for euphemizing. But I'm sure I must have turned six shades of blush, just asking my faux-patient "how his personal life was going". What's wrong with me? We're not 12 anymore, you know.

You know, maybe it's because medicine is so existential though -like if you do anything wrong, even something that's a relative 'nothing' can become a matter of life and death. And sex must be the most ultimate expression of being alive in a sense, right (okay, fine, as a caveat, I guess we can also admit than any passion for that person is also the ultimate expression of their life energy)? And if illness can sometimes be almost-death (okay, fine, caveat #2, suffering may be the only way we know we're still alive and passionate and not dead...), then when your patient comes to you worried sick about their ability to express other forms of their aliveness -being able to go on with their life, in their occupation, in their studies, in sports, in moving from place to place, in their many other kinds of relationships -and then you ask them about how it is for them when it comes to expressing the ultimate act of aliveness, do you really want to hear that the problem or the sickness or debilitating-ness lies in the sex? Isn't this why STDs and STIs are so particularly scary? Because the act that should be the ultimate expression of life can be a death sentence, the ultimate tragic irony?

But maybe I'm philosophically way off too. Maybe I am just euphemizing again (and I do this quite well, so don't be fooled people). Maybe sometimes we're just 12 and we're in denial about it.

Moral Dilemmas and The Mind (the part that's in the brain)

Moral Dilemmas. The fun stuff of life right.

Like if you're working really hard on a project intended to serve the greater community and you wanted to keep it on the LD, and have it be wonderfully "grassroots"-y and possess a certain lovely anonymity -the stuff of that ideal of civil society. And it's all going well, and you find yourself often just you and God (or the Universe, or whatever you believe in that's bigger than yourself) because your conviction drives you to get the job done and help people, even if you sometimes feel that you're 'going it alone' when it comes to organizing and planning and setting the wheels in motion. And you spend hours upon hours and it's a wonderful labour of love and you're getting satisfaction just by doing it really -it doesn't matter if people know it's you or it's not you or it's the wind. You feel happy about it.

But then you hear through the grapevine that someone has decided to play politics with your brainchild. They poach it and claim it as their own and announce it suchly to the world. It's as though these people sit around waiting for people who actually care to do something, just so that they can snap it up like vultures. It's a filthy business. Setting the record straight though, also a yucky business. But we feel compelled to because suddenly you feel violated to your core, insulted, undermined -the spirit and integrity of what the project was meant to be, a beacon of youthful goodwill in a still, stale fog of inaction and apathy, has been dimmed. And it feels deeply moral because if you don't stand up for yourself and what things were meant to be, and what they really represent and that the whole darn thing was born out of love and not out of guilt or a feeling of mere obligation, then they will walk all over you and abuse you for life. And it's not just me, it's not about me at all. But the reality that the youth are capable of getting shit done by themselves without the interference of old bureaucrats -and the youth as a whole should get credit for that. Because then other youth can be inspired to do the same -that youth and youth alone can make a difference, that they are a force with which to reckon, that they are unstoppable, and that they can change the world and make it right.

But the whole point was not to be political remember? So what does one do? Fight for which cause -the object of the action in the first place, or the philosophical, existential cause of the actors and the group of people they represent, and what that means for future change, expanding the base of individuals who feel that it is within their power to act? And is it possible to do both?

It's not just this -it has been a week of moral dilemmas. I've been interviewing various people for the article I'm working on for my community project on health care rights, specifically dealing with the 3-month Delai de Carence that mainly affects new immigrants in Quebec. See, I have mainly often thought that to really change the world, you gotta do it from the 'inside'. But it's hard to really know. Because when you're on the inside trying to make change, you inevitably have to compromise your ideals, and is it really okay to do this just in the name of expediency? I don't know. And a lot of people get sucked in and sell out even though they originally thought they were going in as a 'mole'. It's tricky -really a moral pretzel. I don't know. And when you interview politicians who obviously have little moral conscience, you wonder how they raised their children. Because how can you tell your son or daughter to lead an ethical, moral life, to maintain consistency between thought and action in the name of what's right and just and good and principled when you're off lying, cheating, manipulating and misconstruing in your everyday professional life, for power and profit and that's it. It is not okay. And it's even less okay if you took an oath to do no harm and to serve your fellow human being. It is not okay.

And what about all those people who say the reason that Canada's health care system is failing is because it is a public system and that privatization would solve all the problems? Don't they have any conscience at all about the lot of the poor and disenfranchised? Do they not feel like they are cheating their own minds by this reductionist argument? It is not about throwing money at a weak system. Yes, money is necessary, but not as much as people think. This is what I learned more about today from Michael Rachlis, one of Canada's leading health policy analysts, who came to give a couple of talks here. And it's not about needing to quadruple the number of doctors working in the system even though we should at least try to hold on to the doctors that we train in this country. How about giving them a reason to stay? Innovations in that area called 'Advanced Access' are what's going to save this system. It costs less money in the long run and not trillions even in the short run. It will make the system more efficient, it will make patients happier and healthier, it will decrease mortality and morbidity within the hospitals, it will strengthen the sense of community and common goals of various professionals involved in health care (doctors, nurses, pharmacists, social workers, psychologists, nutritionists, etc...) and it will rejuvinate and remotivate tired, disenchanted doctors. The research has already been done. It has been implemented with positive results in a few little towns. It's here now. And yet all those lobbyists for private health care turn a blind eye, all those false 'grassroots' pharmaceutical-sponsored "researchers", they're convincing people that privatization is the only way. It is not the only way. And it is not okay.

Neuro is Amazing.
In other news, we have finished the blood, muscles and bones unit and we're now doing neuro. Coolest so far, especially in anatomy (I held a real human brain! and it sooooo cool!). Also we had the most famous neuropsychologist in the world lecture us over the last couple of days. Dr. Brenda Milner (http://www.mcgill.ca/about/history/pioneers/milner/) -probably the most impressive professor I have ever had, more so because she is so unassuming and down to earth and is so old but still on the cutting edge of research. She comes from that whole generation of passionate scientists who did much of their groundbreaking work in the 1950s-1970s -and really had the 'big picture', that fiery approach where anything is possible in such a real way... like I've never met a scientist of a later generation with that same openness, who brings that higher philosophical, existential passion to scientific endeavour. Like Woody Hastings. Milner is to cognitive neuroscience like what Hastings is to chronobiology. And her lecture was so very engaging -she is still so passionate -and the tales of her experiments and their conclusions were peppered with anecdotes of what it was like to work with Dr. Wilder Penfield (often called the 'father' of neurobiology) at McGill. Anyway, she was very inspiring and has received all the honour that she deserves in Canada, in the U.S. and in the world. Pretty awesome.

Like a Peacock. Pan's Peacock?

We often perceive waiting as disempowering. Or maybe I should get off my royal soliloquey here. Until today I always felt that having to wait for anything was disempowering. Because if you're waiting, that's pretty much all you can do -wait. And wait. And wait some more. You cannot be proactive, you cannot take any action, you cannot take control... but you're left waiting.

And so in the social game of life and in evolutionary selection, we also often find ourselves waiting, waiting like good, well-socialized creatures. And then if you're me, one day, you decide that this is ridiculous -I ain't waitin' for nothin'. But when you look around for that bull that you've decided to very cliche-ly "grab by the horns", there is no bull. Lots of its excrement, but no actual bull. And then a wave of lava-hot fire sweeps over you and you're seething. Because who was it who got to decide these things anyway and why the bleep didn't anyone ever consult you about it? Like we can control nearly everything else about our lives -our performance, the extent to which we decide to give back to serve humanity, the way we express ourselves creatively (notice how very noble all of these endeavours are!) -and moreover, things always seem objectively better when we do control them. So in fact, things that we can't or don't control can't actually be that great.

And just to prove our point here with a concrete metaphor: we can't control public transportation (which is why it drives me up the wall most of the time!) and so what happens when that thing we can't control breaks down, or doesn't show up or the dumb new-turnstyle machines reject our fully-paid fare swipes? Nothing. And the nothing is inefficient, makes us miss the next connection, and just gets totally under our skin. It's the inaction, the nothing, that is the royal viral impotency that infects all these things over which we have no control. And ought we not to protest against such a thing? Should I not be redeemed for my precious time wasted? Should there not be some kind of cosmic justice here?

But how does one protest nothing? Especially when trying to do anything only makes more nothing? Which then only results in increased outrage for oneself (positive feedback... except it's not 'positive' at all)?

My sister has been taking a psych class lately and she shared the following insight: Across the animal kingdom, mostly, it's like how it goes for peacocks. The male bird struts about in all his Nature-given splendor, fanning out his tail of brilliantly coloured plumes, striving to impress the female... a 'vain chase' indeed. The female waits. She waits for the male to come strutting by. But here's the thing -she waits, but she also chooses. She gets to decide whether or not said male is good enough. So her waiting is in fact empowered (that is, if we set aside the fact that peacocks most likely do not have a consciousness or mind to feel either empowered or disempowered).

How do we translate this into our everyday human experience of how we feel about waiting, about all those things we can't control (but if we did, the world would be SUCH a better place, guaranteed!) -whether it's the bus, or the lack of available computers at the library, or the wheeze that follows the best workout of our life, or the inaction of others (whether that inaction is the teetering we see in politics, in business or in relationships). If everything can be related back to sex, then it follows that the peacock analogy should apply to all these other situations. The thing is, I'm still not convinced that not being able to control things can be empowering. Unless maybe if you have faith. But faith is like Peter Pan's shadow. It should stick once it's there, but sometimes it doesn't really, and then suddenly we wake up and find ourselves looking for it in a dresser drawer.

P.S. I know. I failed at not "we"ifying the whole darn thing. Well, I also "you"ifyed it and "one"ified it. Anyway, the point is, one cannot discuss these difficult matters of our common experience in the first person, singular.

Med World: On the Myths of "Memorizing"

I had an epiphany today as I walked down Peel in the sharp, mauling cold after class, under a deceitful sun: we intellectual snobs need to stop hating on "memorization". How often since I started medical school have I heard my peers (and frankly, my own disdainful voice) ragging on the drag, monotony and general lowliness of all the "memorizing" we have to do? We do it most of all in anatomy, in biochem, histology... actually pretty much every 'level' requires a degree of it. Here's the thing though: that we know anything at all is thanks to "memorizing", and memorizing is essential to our everyday social interactions. We memorize each other's names, how to get from place to place, any prayers that we might say on a regular basis, words that we read and then decide to use later... we are memorizing all the time. We would be ignorant to relegate memorizing to the no-personality, robotic-like side of science, technology and medicine. And for all the advocaters of "applied knowledge", what on earth are you applying if nothing's in there as an initial 'baseline'?

I think this gets to the heart of the issue really. There's the first baseline (ABCs, 123s), but then there's always a new, higher 'baseline' for the next level up. Like nobody questions the fact that one has to memorize the alphabet and numbers, so that we can make words and sentences, do arithmatic, read, write and engage in more complex mathematical and financial endeavours. And don't give me the "it's the concept" not just the "thing" -the "thing" and the "concept" are so intertwined. By memorizing the representation, we can focus our energies on what it means. If we had to think about each letter every time we spoke, read or wrote a word, or even think about each word for every sentence, there would be no Descent of Man, Principia, Mathnawi, or Jane Eyre. No epic symphonies or ballads to pass on to future generations. No string theory. And no sophisticated (or unsophisticated) medicine.

We scoff at those intense, book-worming, memorizing-types in our classes. But who ever frowned down upon the child who was just learning how to read? I remember being applauded for many a slow, laborious pronounciation of syllables as I learned to read such ridiculous, 'useless' phrases as "The king decided to eat steak for supper every Tuesday". I learned to quickly recognize (and isn't a lot of memorization about recognition, identification in some kind of automatic way?) each of those words, so that I can now read the menu at The Keg, analyse historical writings about the kings of the Ottoman Empire, and organize my life in Google Calendar.

And you don't have to pin it down to reading, the same goes for learning about some foreign delicacy and how it's prepared, or the random trivia we store in our brains, which we then randomly pawn off onto some unsuspecting victim or another (this is really the perfectest of examples in terms of quanitfying what we memorize, and proof that it is memorized knowledge that we pass on in 'units' of trivia). Those sports stats, the ability to quote the famous and infamous, knowing which Broadway musical ran for 15 years at the New Amsterdam Theatre in New York (which may or may not be a trick question), knowing the periodic table, rocking back and forth reciting religious texts, rattling off every psychoactive drug that can be used to treat depression, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder... it's all memorizing. And (brace yourself) -all of it is useful because all of it makes us more socially fit, whether we can bond better with each other over the random things we know (the extent to which 'trivia' may also communicate about our interests), whether we can make a million dollars because of it, whether we can at least seem more 'well-read' or 'hip', whether it makes us more competent in our professions... there is a point, and that point is mainly that we gain social currency. Memorizing gives us street cred in life, for whatever different streets we have to walk.

I think a lot of people get confused and try to separate "real" learning and "memorizing". They seem to think that if you memorize something, then you don't really know why it is the way it is. But true memorization is a kind of total memorization -you memorize what, you memorize why, you memorize how. And sure, you will use various devices to better memorize all of it -and so you'll make those "more intellectual connections" in order to better memorize, just like how we use mnemonics to memorize the order of the planets or the points of a compass rose. If I memorize the anatomy of my arm, or all the hemoglobinopathies (including their genetic basis, clinical manifestation, diagnostic tests and treatment), then I am so much better equipped to take any of it "a step further" later on. And memorizing and understanding / gaining insight are not mutually exclusive -they can be mutually reinforcing. It's also worthwhile to recognize the fact that we can't understand everything, and there are a lot of things that we cannot understand right away (but that if we can commit to memory, we may understand better at a later point in time). And as a doctor, I will have to know things, so many things, and I may not be able to philosophically, existentially, thoroughly understand it all from A-Z, but I still have to know what is known.

Memorizing is to commit to memory, and we can only remember what has been committed to memory. As a clinician, this means that the more I remember, the more I can apply to help my future patients, in which case memorizing is, in fact, a very noble endeavour.

Also, I am loving hematology so far.

Officially a Narcissist.

Well fine, maybe not entirely. But I am definitely officially self-indulgent here, to say the least. I'm writing purely for me tonight, because today was not sweet and sugary and fuzzy, but I feel better when I write. It was one of those days where you feel like a passive actor in your day -life and the world is happening at you, and you're not really sure how much a part of it you really are... essentially a "matrix" episode. Isolated. Lonely. But not lonely in a superficial kind of way. Lonely as in existentially lonely. It happens like it just is, not like there's something you should be whining about or feeling sorry or anything. Just all detached, like it's all outside of you. And you are apart and separate from the world. And you wonder whether it changes if you weren't there because you're an observer anyway, you're not really all in it. And then you wish you were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere warm and sweet and salty from the turquoise-opal waters of a very special lake in Turkey. Or maybe those yet to be discovered nooks along the Mediterranean.

And also, McLennan sucks during the week. I know I was all bubbles and sunshine about it after such a serene, awayish kind of experience last Friday, but I take it back. Too many kids. Rampant immaturity and drama everywhere you turn... like even when they're "studying", the childish undergrad drama runs amuck. Seriously. It's McGill's Lamont. And if you knew me at all during my Harvard days, then you know how I feel about Lamont ("vom"). But this just means I need to find McGill's Widener. I'll try the Law School library on Wednesday I think. Maybe.

Oh and our house is leaking. Like the roof can only take so much ice before water just leaks through or something to that effect. Basically my sister's room is a bit of a wet mess. Yes, it's true, I'm not the one who has to deal with it. Even she doesn't have to since she doesn't live here during the year. But that anyone should have to deal with it is pretty much not such a good deal.

Anyway, I should go back to studying Insulin Action... and so I will.

p.s. my dad thinks this feeling of "detached loneliness" is a symptom of Vitamin D deficiency due to lack of sunlight exposure. thoughts?

Writer's Nostalgia

Sometimes we listen to Enya. And we study with pleasure. And we sip ginger tea with honey, thankful to God and the Universe that we decided to stay home this weekend, rest, relax, catch up on some work and do our best to stay healthy. Hopefully the week is off to a sane start.

You know, I miss writing about Rüya. Or the other characters of my novel with whom I am still deeply infatuated. Laiolir, and Fahriye and Iya and Astra, Kings (the controlling, dominant ones and the ones who disappeared so mysteriously), Queens and the tree fairy. The enchantments that protect the Manuscript of Destinies. The bewitched chocolate and raspberry desserts, the chains of diamonds that simultaneously seduce and entrap. The journey to discover the self through a magnificent transcendence into the mystical and magical. And Charles -beautiful, passionate, heart-broken, so blindly in love... the unconventional 'villain', Milton's Satan as it were -the one who creeps into your heart and steals your sympathies and loyalties before you realize it. I miss them, very much. If I could 'pause' time and just write it, that would be sublime.

Scarlett and violet clouds all come from within though -that's how magic gets made right. And then there's a twinkle of green-grey-hazel in a youthful gaze from a man so wise and eons and heavens above me. It all comes from there really. The smile that is really just an infinite current of joy. Maybe one day you'll know about it too.