Rising sophomore

A rising sophomore in my house passed away this past summer.

As I read an email about a memorial service for her, I realized that she will be forever enshrined as a rising sophomore. Rising, but never reaching.

Are we any different?

Emo music

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
 
I suspect that the widespread hatred for "emo" music is merely a compensatory mechanism for people that are embarrassed about their own past.

Secondary concentration

Things they don't tell you at orientation:
#31. Everyone graduates with an honorary degree in acting.

Euphemisms

*I'm somewhat disgusted that until sophomore year, I believed in the "Friend Zone." And no, I'm not saying that just because I "got out" of the friend zone; I'm saying this because I think it's what any good human being should believe.



Dear College-Aged Males,

Hello.

Over the past two years, I have both accidentally and willingly soaked up your numerous cries of woe regarding the so-called "Friend Zone." These conversations are generally colored with a tone of embitterment and self-pity, in addition to copious volumes of disparaging remarks directed towards college-aged females. Such discussions generally build around the same thesis statement -- namely, "She's such a bitch. I can't believe I got friendzoned."

I find these conversations quite stupid.

Yes, you had a four hour long conversation with her that one night in September. You also did your organic chemistry problem sets together and you helped her move some boxes into storage. She smiled at you a grand total of 14 times and has made physical contact with you half as many times.

"Oh," but you exclaim, "she always smiles and giggles when we say hi. And when she hugs me, she leans in and never pats my back. One night when we were eating in the dining hall, she also said she was thankful for having met me."

Yes, those are signs of a decent friendship.

"Seriously. She can't just go lead me on like that! She's such a bitch."

No, that's just called being a goddamn human being. You can be nice to people without any real reason -- you should try it sometime.

"But why doesn't she like me back? I didn't do anything wrong."

Well, other than the off chance that, oh I don't know, maybe she just doesn't like you? Hmm...no, I can't think of a single reason.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Friend Zone is just a silly euphemism for someone not liking you back. For your sake, please man up and learn to deal with the fact that no one is obligated to like you.

Keeping secrets

"You won't tell anyone this, will you?"
"Nah. You know I don't talk that much anyway."
"Right. Okay, so then..."

Today it occurred to me that I'm only good at keeping secrets because, by definition, they never involve me.

From one acquaintance to another

"This is why we're friends."


Dear Acquaintance,

I think that saying such a thing is more of an insult than a compliment.
But you know, that's just like, my opinion.

A Concerned Acquaintance,
Ryan

Midterm report/rant on MCATing

After a not-so-fantastic performance on the PS section of a Kaplan full length this morning, I just about flipped the table over. My studious side's instinct was to maniacally go over every wrong answer, but then for some reason, I couldn't do it. Fuck it. I'm not doing the rest of this test.

It's actually quite scary how it took until this morning for me to recognize that I haven't been myself; I've been eating one meal a day (maybe two), sleeping less than 6 hours, and willingly throwing myself into isolation. I'm losing my drive in the lab and I haven't been going on walks at all.

So thanks Kaplan for triggering a burnout breakdown. I've found my wind.

Also this morning.

This morning.

 

Come at me, MCAT.

Someone else revisited

Some five years ago, I wrote a column in our high school newspaper about a fatal car accident (The Search - Thanksgiving). Though I only knew the young woman's name from glancing at my sister's tennis tournament draws, hearing the news of her death while still a teenager was nonetheless a jarring thought.

In that comic (it was part of a two week-long sequence in which Calvin's house gets robbed while they are attending a wedding), Calvin's parents touched on something that I've long since internalized. It's a rather morbid rationale, but I think one of the main reasons I can push myself to keep working hard year after year is because of the fear that something irrationally tragic could always happen to me. True, I still can't imagine myself getting stabbed by a  deranged college dorm roommate, but I'm sure that neither could George Chen (one of the victims of the Isla Vista shootings/stabbings who was from my high school graduating class). These sorts of things happen, and to be honest, I'm not so sure if there's that much we can really do once the situation presents itself.

In any event, the "punchline" of that column was that we rarely see ambulances screaming down the street and stop to wonder about the people behind the situation -- does John, the father riding along in the backseat, root for the Red Sox or the Yankees? Does Michael, the middle child with his tibia jutting out of his leg...does Michael have friends at school?

Invariably, everyone riding along in the ambulance is a human being with a story worth telling. But as far as commuting drivers and their passengers are concerned, the distinctive sound of a blaring ambulance merely means to look all around your car to first identify the source, then to adjust your position as needed to allow the ambulance through.

I realize this is a rather inane idea, that we should stop to think about the stories and thoughts that are also riding along in the backseat of those ambulances. Yet from a young age, for some reason I used to picture myself as the patient riding in the ambulance or as an onlooking family member worrying whether my child, spouse or relative would be okay. You could argue that it was simply a product of my imagination and role-playing tendencies, but I think on some level, I knew and recognized the humanity of the situation -- of an ambulance frantically blasting through traffic, inconveniencing many lives but saving lives as well.

So no, I don't believe that I have the most riveting explanation for why I developed an interest in medicine, and that's fine with me. But whether I'm changing the media for iPSCs from cystic fibrosis patients, watching ambulances pull into Mass General while I'm pushing patients around in wheelchairs, or watching an ENT surgeon excise a tumor from someone's larynx, I always try to remember that there are stories behind the people that I'm ultimately trying to help.  It's the aspect of humanity that makes medicine more than just the science of the human body.

After all, one day that patient riding in the ambulance may very well be me.

The Genie -- (a thought experiment I came up with while studying for the MCAT)

You are walking along some generic beach in some nice tropical island. You are, of course, in a dream.

You happen to spot a lamp lying out near the rocks, and you squeal in delight as you sprint over towards it. But you soon see that this is no golden Aladdin lamp. No, this lamp is made of crumpled aluminum foil, with cheap gold paint flaking off the handle and crusted marinara sauce from some teenager's Bagel Bites. 

It's quite a sketchy lamp. Still, who are you to judge a magical genie's choice of residence, especially when he can grant wishes? You rub the lamp anyway.

GENIE: *wheeze* (waving arms, trying to clear the dust and sand) What the bloody hell do you want?! Egh.
You: So you're the genie in this lamp?
GENIE: (glaring) Look here sonny, you don't go around asking a homeless guy if that cardboard box he's sitting on is his house, so where the hell do you get off on asking something so asinine?
You: Oh, no no, that's not what I meant at all! I uh, I really like your lamp! It's very, um, economical.
GENIE: ...
You:  Anyway, do I get my three wishes?
GENIE: (pulling the lid back down) 
You: Wait, no! Come on, I'll bet an old genie like you has granted tons of wishes before! 
GENIE: Yup, calling me an old fart is definitely helping your case right now.
You: Please? Please? Please? Please? Ple-
GENIE: Whoever told you "please" is the magic word was full of shit and couldn't tell the difference between magic and a light bulb. Stop that.
You: (pause) Please?
GENIE: ....Fine. I'll tell you the same thing I tell everyone else who's found me on this generic beach that doesn't even exist. On another note, have you noticed how everyone around here is either naked or can fly?
You: ...
GENIE: So to answer your question, yes, you do get to say three wishes-
You: Sweet! My first wish will be to ha-
GENIE: ....three wishes that I will take away from you.
You: What?!
GENIE: You say three wishes, and on your command, I will remove them from your conscience for as long as you live. You won't ever think about those wishes again.
You: Why on earth would I want to do that?!
GENIE: Suit yourself. You'd be surprised at the results though; no doubt that I make people happier than that idiotic Smurf of a genie in that lame Disney movie.

 *************************

Be careful what you wish for because you often don't end up any happier than you were before, blah blah, cliche stuff. That's a lesson everyone should have heard by now.

But let me ask you this: would you take the genie's offer?

My instinctive reaction is to say no; figuring out why that's the case has proven much more difficult.

Interrogation

 http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/12/09/131209fa_fact_starr

The most terrifying thing that happened to me last semester had nothing to do with school.

I was interrogated for 2 hours by the university police as a suspect in a laptop/iPad theft from the summer. No matter that I had also had my wallet stolen around the same time -- since I was one of the roommates and I just happened to work at MGH (where a wifi signal was apparently traced to),  there was reason enough to consider me as a particularly juicy suspect for the case.

At first they were reasonable. I had chatted with them over the phone during the summer regarding the case, so I figured this meeting was simply a follow-up to make sure they had the details straight.

Oh, but was I mistaken.

After some not-so-pleasant pleasantries, the lead interrogator promptly whipped out a voice recorder and a massive 50 page stack of documents, presumably all "proof" that I was the criminal. In retrospect, I should have realized that this whole thing was a massive farce; in the 5-10 seconds that I was able to sneak a glimpse at the stack of papers, all I could see was complete gibberish.

But I was too frightened to be rational. In truth, I was shitting bricks.

See, I had always thought it would be easy to prove your innocence if you were, in fact, innocent. There's that saying "if you're innocent, then you have nothing to fear," and I'd say in many situations, that's probably true.

But when you're dealing with a duo of supremely biased "investigators" with the tunnel vision of an earthworm digging in a dung pile, you would be surprised how difficult of a task it can become. Correlation and coincidence is their energy source, and if you gather the courage to point that out, they invariably exclaim that "you're hiding something from them."

I have to admit, they were so insistent on saying that I was responsible that at one point, I almost started to believe them. They were winning this game of psychological intimidation, and I was terrified.

Yet, they began to slip. Their questions became less and less specific. When I asked to know precisely what "all of this evidence" actually was that they kept referring to, they said "knowledge of that evidence is not necessary." And when I kept denying that I was the thief and that their entire case was built on circumstantial evidence that they couldn't even produce to show me, they asked If not you, then who?

I didn't have an answer to that idiotic question. Of course I don't fucking know who did it. Did it ever occur to you two monkeyheads that if I knew the answer to that question, no one would still be missing their wallet/laptop/iPad?

I was still shaken at that point, though. What really did those two interrogators in was what they asked next:

"Would you say that you usually walk up the stairs pretty quickly?"

Uh....what the actual fuck did you just ask me?

"Because we know that on the night of the theft, you climbed 3 flights of stairs in a very short amount of time. Why were you in such a hurry?"

Okay then, this interrogation is probably going to end in five minutes, tops.

Having lost a major chunk of their credibility, I almost caught myself scoffing when they closed the interrogation with "We'll be in touch, Ryan. Here's my card if there's anything you want to tell us. Remember that it will look favorable for you in court if you cooperated with us now."

Yeah, and after I cooperate with you two, let me tell you about this one time my pet cow flew to the moon and back..

Mentees and mentors

I may have hit a new milestone in my natural progression towards old age.

Said my 4th grade mentee: "Clearly, you've never been a kid."

Well then.