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.