Why am I being tested like this?

I am suddenly hyperaware (is that a real word?) of the fact that I am actively trying to spin so many negative narratives into possible points and opportunities for growth. Every curveball, every snide remark, every challenge posed--- I know I have tried my best to forge ahead and come through a better person somehow, even if only by a miniscule percentage.

But until when can I last?

Until when can I come up with alternative interpretations of what may simply be rudeness, a desire to see me fail, or simply wounded machismo?

Pray I don't burn out soon.

Niches and Nitsos

Am sitting on the front stoop of our family mausoleum, drinking cold black coffee through a wilting paper straw on All Souls Day.

What a year it has been.

This was the year I finally found my niche in my field--- something to do with research, something to do with clinical judgement, something to do with computations and formulas and spreadsheets and late, late nights. ❤️‍🔥

This was the year I finally felt confident in my abilities again. After feeling like a failure for most of my years in med school, after despairing over the politics and pressures of residency, I finally got my groove back. I finally feel like I have something unique to offer! I pray that this feeling lasts, because it's something I had trouble recognizing--- sometimes living too long in dark, dreary spaces makes you forget that light exists beyond these walls.

This blessing does not come without baggage, though. It took me quite some time to recognize that the lack of opportunities I was experiencing was secondary to discrimination on the basis of my sex.

Yep. We went there, we *are* there.

I pray we make it out of there soon.

It's hard to find friends as an adult.

Today one of my best friends at my workplace just told me she was offered a higher-ranking job in another government health facility.

I felt sad at the prospect of losing her and our friendship--- it's hard to find kindred spirits in this day and age. On the other hand, I was very happy to see her moving up because she deserves it. She is a smart, hardworking, humble person. This job is 🤯.

So I told her to consider it, even though I was already tearing up. 

Of menthol sticks and weird brain tricks

 Menthol sticks are an essential part of my life.

I keep one in my right pocket all day to sniff away the stressors I encounter--- the mountains of paperwork, the slow internet speed, the difficult patients. One swipe and I am transported to a quieter place, a more relaxing pace, a mental reprieve amidst the humidity and noise that cloaks the daily grind of a public health physician.

I keep one at my bedside to lull myself to sleep, to wash away the pounding headaches I tend to come home with on a regular basis. It has become more of a comfort object to me--- an amulet I cling to for safety, a talisman I keep anywhere and everywhere so as to create a window, a space for myself, when the world feels like it is closing in on me. 

Today I unscrewed the stick of menthol as per usual, a couple of dots on my temples and a generous sweep below my nostrils, as I dug into my work--- finishing the monthly census of my patient consults. And instead of the usual breath of relief, I saw a vision different from the peace I was hoping to gain. (Of course it was not a *literal* vision, but more of a mind movie. Yes, this is how my brain works.)

The lights turn on in a small, dank apartment on a dark, sketchy street, the flickering lamppost casting a warm glow on the twisted window grills and the wooden shutters of the rented room. Inside is a single bed--pretty uncommon for this part of San Marcelino, Manila--- and on the bed a lone twentysomething woman sits, her head in one hand, a menthol stick in another. On her bedside a cup of Lipton tea is going cold by the minute, its steam lazily dissipated by the old ceiling fan, click-click-clicking as it catches on a rough and rusty spot the landlord never bothered to grease.

She is tired--- tired on an otherworldly level. Her weekly budget is spent, the last few pesos tucked inside the stained coin pouch on her study table. She had just sent the bulk of her money to her youngest brother back home, just in time for his second installment this semester. Nanay's arthritic hands could no longer work the sewing machine, and since their father's passing it had fallen upon her, the firstborn, the Ate to four siblings, to make ends meet. She had no choice but to put her plans on the back burner, saying good-bye to her classmates in the local colegio, her girlfriends whom she met on Saturday afternoons in the town plaza, and the boy to whom she had promised her heart last summer.

One last installment, she breathes, as she allows herself to lay back on the bed, to sink into her mattress, what little its two-and-a-half inch thickness could sink. She closes her eyes and swipes the menthol stick onto her temples and under her nostrils, inhaling and exhaling, falling asleep to the click-click-click of the rusty ceiling fan and the soft pitter-patter of the rain. Her hand unclenches as she drifts off, her chest calmly rising and falling in cadence, the spell of slumber befalling her weary soul as the menthol stick rolls off the edge of the bed and onto the cold, unwaxed wooden floor.

Yun lang.

Always tired, never enough

Idk why I always feel tired.

Am I doing too much? Am I not doing enough?

Life lately has felt like an endless maze with no end in sight ---

How do I know if I'm doing well?

How do I know if I'm doing enough?

How do I tell if my performance is okay?

"Running Blind" was once just a book title of something I read as a teenager. Now it feels like the most succinct description of my life.

Impetus and Insecurities

From now on this is prolly going to be a ranting space, a thinking-out-loud space, where I can post my meandering thoughts and not feel fearful of judgement. Yay!

(Writing this on the Blogger app and I have been waiting for this kind of interface all my blogging life back then and it's finally here!)

So here are my thoughts, post-patient treatment record encoding:

1. I LOVE TICK TICK. Today i reinstalled this app and I SUDDENLY REMEMBERED WHY I USED TO LOVE IT. It's like a second brain! This app is bomb but I still cannot fathom officially subscribing to the service. #nomoneymoproblems

2. I noticed that I get cynical easily. Once upon a time I wasn't like this at all. I think there was one summer when I suddenly realized that I had been taking enough crap from so many people and trying so dang hard to see the positive in everything that I just gave up and gave in--- I stopped being so optimistic and cheerful. And somehow it snowballed from there, I guess. This cynicism is something I have been seeing in myself as other people in the HC taint my perception of the nature of our work: I am tired of the perpetual annoyed tone and the whining of ppl. Maybe I need to resurrect the optimistic me.

3. Today's Gospel.

Just as we are in the middle of doing great things for God, our self-doubt and insecurities get ahold of us and weigh us down, preventing us from drawing closer to God and His vision for our life.

Today's resolution: 

Be more trusting of His plans.

Good night 🥱

Romanticize your life.

Just thought I would tell myself this, because no one else is gonna do it for me.

Also, here is a reminder to myself, which the universe has so kindly sent to my inbox:

“What is a vocation? It is a gift from God, so it comes from God. If it is a gift from God, our concern must be to know God's will. We must enter that path: if God wants, when God wants, how God wants.

Never force the door."
- St. Gianna Molla

There is a reason why we are here and not there, Patty. You gotta have trust.

Hello, old friend

It's like a time machiiiiiiiiine

Last time we met, the world was not yet completely overtaken by social media. No one could have imagined a pandemic stopping the earth from turning. And no one, certainly no one, could have predicted the chain of events that would lead to us rebooting this blog.

Since we last talked, I have:

• started a school-based campus ministry
• started a parish-based campus ministry
• failed classes
• passed classes
• graduated from med school
• started and finished my postgraduate internship at a government hospital
• passed the boards
• applied for a surgical residency in the same government hospital
• beat 9 other applicants for the singular spot in head and neck surgery residency
• endured hell there
• attempted to *** my life twice in residency, sorry :'(
• quit residency
• worked part-time as a vaccination screener
• worked part-time as a ghost writer for residency theses
• wrote papers in surgery, neurology, and anes HAHA but of course would not get credit for them
• applied for a public health physician post AND GOT ACCEPTED

Next time again, ayt? It's nice to have a friend in you.

On Writing

Writing is a muscle I have not flexed in a veeeery long time: it has undergone atrophy, and is, at present, very weak and lifeless.

In the couple of years since my last post here, my writing quality has severely declined--- from the peak of its career (circa Matches and Bonifacio the Opera) to the deep, muddy trenches of patient protocols and Personal and Social histories. Sobrang layo na ng skills ko ngayon sa fluidity of thought ko dati. Huhu. I mourn the lost years of art in my life. :<

Thankfully there's rehab medicine for the unused muscle, and blogging for the rusty writing! Ergo, I am going to be bringing this blog to life with the old formula of day-to-day stories and occasional literary ventures. I cannot, however, promise to post as many colour palettes as before. :( But I will try! I hope I can spare a few hours each week resuscitating my forgotten passion.

 

The only kind of writing I've seen in the past X years

Cheers to the coming weekend! I'll be in the library, though, downing transes and books and whatever resources I need to pass Internal Medicine. Wish me luck, alright?

SHE LIVES (or so I think)

And she is now a third year med student!

Helloooooo! I am reviving this blog out of my need to vent my feelings of loneliness somewhere---loneliness not in terms of one's love life, but in terms of friendships (or lack thereof), self-doubt, and general emptiness of being.

1) Faith Life
For the past month or so I have been inactive in our youth ministry, which was a new phenomenon for me. In the past I have always been spearheading activities and campaigning for the counseling and evangelization of youths falling away from the Church... but as a new youth ministry administration took form, I fell out of sync. My chemistry with the coordinator just didn't seem to work. My plans and projects for a stronger small-group initiative were set aside, and they wanted to focus on big events and big crowds... whereas I believed small groups were what sparked the pursuit of a deeper sense of faith in the young Catholic.

In the tradition of my non-confrontational self, I... stopped going to meetings. I stopped attending to young people with toxic attitudes, I went off the grid at events, I was.. a ghost of my formal youth min self. In the process, I failed to practice my faith disciplines (going to Mass, reading the daily Gospel, etc) as I avoided youth min ppl. (Wrong, I know, but it's so hard to stay on track when you have such ill feelings :( )

2) Academics
In exchange, however, I found myself coping better with academic pressures. With my newfound time (as I had no youths to meet), I actually ended up managing my academics better. For the past third of a term I only cried twice out of frustration! That is a triumph in itself, to be honest. I was proud of myself.

But once the exam results came around, I started to feel beat up and defeated again. I felt like I never truly recovered from my old self, and that the things I told myself (I am recovering, I am getting better, etc) were nothing but foolish thoughts.

Maybe I still am the depressed, defeated kid I was a year ago. Maybe I never really got better, but only learned to lie to myself in a more convincing manner. And now that reality came back to smack me in the face, my illusions are shattered and I am, still, the Patty who wanted to flee, to disappear.

Less than stellar

One month into med school, and I am still not feeling the magic I so eagerly looked forward to all those years. :(

Let's put it this way. When you buy your first steth, and you don't get it in the color you want and instead end up with a grey stock image-looking number, nakakadepress. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Vesuvius

Of course,
His heart may be yours,
but his eyes will ever
wander:

Ponder
all the women
who will capture his glance
And,
by chance,
set him on
fire---

Desire:
You can never, ever truly
be enough, for he
Is but another
Male---

Thus pale
the fairy tales
Of the dreamy prince
and his one and only
bride---

For pride
shall cause
Your thoughts to burn

As he will
always,
always yearn

And you
will never
ever learn.

Mostra A: Il Cagna

Cuts

My sister cuts my hair. I think it's been over a year since I last went to a legit salon to get my hair cut. Eliza's really deft, she is yet to nip my ears or poke my eyes.

This post isn't really about our sisterly ritual.

It's been three-ish months since... since, well, since someone entered my life. And this new person (whom I shall refer to as, ta daaaa, Person!) is really different from all the other 'special someones' I have met before: a deviant character, if you will--more into the arts than intellectual pursuits--but just as sincere as I had hoped and prayed for. Our relationship blurs the lines between 'friends' and 'more-than-friends'. Person and I are pretty comfortable with that. Of all the special people in this soldier's story, Person stands out as the only one I felt most comfortable with. All was well until, well, until my demons resurfaced.

I have been insecure all my life. You know that.

Yesterday my sister gave me a cut. We toyed with the idea of close-crop hair--a Med school milestone--and it was not long before I found out that Person is attracted to short hair!

Person's super crush. Hart hart pls <3

No, I did not get this cut, but it stirred insecurities I never thought I would ever experience with Person. All day long all I could think about was whether this cut would flatter me or not, and whether or not I am a coward for refusing to chop my hair off.

Seeking the comfort only a long shower could provide, I cut my afternoon classes and hurried home. As I washed my hair to a loop of Beyonce's ***Flawless, I came upon several realizations:

1. I am not a coward for not cutting my hair short;
2. When I seriously started considering cutting it so that Person might like me more, I sorta lost an internal battle; and
3. Keeping my hair at the length I want is just as brave as deciding to chop it off the way other people do.

I also realized that it is quite possible that no matter how nice Person is, I might slowly be getting consumed by my relationship with them that I have started to compromise the self-assurance I had with me when I entered this chapter of my life. I had to slap myself right there: girl, you ain't that low. You are awesome, beautiful, smart, and talented. Respect yourself, and do not bend over backwards just to please someone. Hold your ground.

If--when-- I decide to cut-- be it my hair, my classes, or my ties with people, memories, and insecurities-- it is because I want it for myself, and not so that other people may find me more attractive, responsible, or courageous. I am beautiful, and brainy, and brave by my own right, and I deserve respect from all people, myself included.

Pinapatay mo lang ang sarili mo.

Acads  + period + acads + acads + acads pa = loveliest Hell week ever.

Yung totoo, ano ang ginawa mo nung long weekend?

Wala.

Wala na naman.

As usual.

Tangina, what is it with you, Patty?  :| Parati na lang ganito. Parati na lang. Laging nagiging oversight ang acads.

And then I realize we truly are from different worlds.

Is that a bad thing? :/

Matthew 16:24

"Deny thyself, take up thy cross, and follow Me."

Dapat handa kang i-forego ang desires mo at mag-endure ng sacrifices para sundin ang Will Niya. Sabi ni Pads Allan, hindi mo daw dapat hayaang nauuna ang gusto mo mangyari bago ang gusto ni Lord para sa iyo.

This deep sense of peace about such important things in life is super comforting. <3 Thank You, Lord, for granting me this. <3

Anxiety

I should be writing a talk outline on "Standing Firm in Faith", but here I am.

Hi.

Do you ever get that feeling that things are too good to be true? Or if they are for real, what if they do not last long? What if they conflict with things in your life that are pretty much set in stone? What if, at some point, you have to let them go, no matter how happy they make you feel?

:(


:<

Mind Games

I should really stop this vicious cycle.

The assuming-expecting combo is my greatest flaw: happy as a puppy one moment then suddenly down in the dumps the next, I ride an emotional rollercoaster I built for myself with generally-nice gestures, sappy text messages, and 10-to-3 conversations about almost anything we can talk about.

Why can I not tell generic kindness from special treatment? Why do I fall for imaginary interest? Why can I not stop believing in fairytales? I am nineteen, I should've learned to be realistic a million eternities ago.

Ugh. Feels again. I shoul go back to the AVP.

It happened. ♥

“Do not fall in love with people like me. I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth. I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.”

―Caitlyn Siehl, Literary Sexts: A Collection of Short & Sexy Love Poems

\

Querida

Just this once, maybe you can close your eyes and think of nothing else. Forget the stack of papers waiting at your desk come Monday morning. Forget your 7PM meeting at Delmonico’s, the blinking red light of your answering machine, the dramatics of your diplomatic work— Just this once, sit with me and think not of workplace decorum or deadlines: in this moment, we are faceless strangers drinking in the hedonistic concoction of our emotions.

Just this once, maybe you can cut the chase and get on with it: maybe you can be drowsy enough to whisper sweet nothings into my ear and actually mean them, word for word. Maybe you can be stupid enough to make the move you have been hinting at for the longest time. Just this once, maybe you can be bold enough to kill the tension in the air and just press your lips against mine— softly, subtly, sentimentally.

Just this once, maybe you can forget that you are in love with someone else. You can forget how her nose wrinkles when she laughs, how she loves red lipstick but hates the mark on her wine glass, how she never cusses when she is with you. You can forget her favourite ice cream flavour, the scent of her shampoo, the salt-and-pepper shaker set she bought your mother for Christmas … and pretend that I deserve to be happy at this instant, in your arms, before sensibility clears the cloud of smoke that twists this sin into the sweetest summer memory.

Hold me close and make it happen: I will live this ecstasy over and over, swiftly, slowly; on some days with love, on others with guilt. Just this once, let go of logic and let this longing engulf our entire beings: defy the laws of physics, and let this minute stretch into an eternity of remembrances I shall hold close to my heart on the nights you come home to her embraces, her puppy-dog eyes, her back massages. Forget your inhibitions, forget your mind games, and indulge me so: just this once, just maybe, you can convincingly pretend you truly meant to win my love.

-Apollonia, http://phacthepetridish.tumblr.com/