What did I do to deserve this Life?

Okay, so I haven't written in forever...

I really have been meaning to write. But somehow I feel weird writing about trivial things in this blog - like what I did in school today that was cool and doctor-ish, or a sweet new kitchen gadget I got (teapot and dessert shooters, if you were curious), or whatever else. I don't want to write about silly things... cause it makes me feel guilty.

I had a conversation with a classmate today, Mike. He's got an interesting background, Palestinian and having moved him from Jordan. He is worldly, knowledgeable, and contemplative, but might not ever to admit to any of those noble qualities. Mike is one of the most reflective people in our class, at times making him the most self-critical as well. We've had a few conversations before and I'd like to think we're becoming good friends. In the least, we value each other's company amongst the craziness that is med school.

We talked about tons of things, but mostly of a revelation of sorts that Mike had recently - why do I have the things I have? Material, opportunistic, whatever - what did I do to deserve it? I think we both agreed that though a small part of it had something to do with working hard (eg getting into med school), even that was predisposed  by pure circumstance. The circumstance that we are here, living in the Triangle, near the best universities in the country, with the ability to buy the books we need and pay our rent and on and on. So sure, we've worked hard, but we are ABLE to work hard because of so many other things that we had no control over.

So what is it then? Luck? Fate? God? Maybe a bit of all three. Hell, maybe all three are really one thing.

My problem with thinking about why I even deserve what I have is this: that 1) I wont like the answer (being "You don't, you just have it anyway") and 2) that I'll feel guilty about it ("Other people work twice as hard and don't have half of what I have"...like survivor's guilt). Not liking the answer is perhaps okay, but feelings of guilt can be debilitating, at least for me. If I constantly feel bad for all the things I have, how will I ever put those things to good use? Not even for me, but for someone else?

But Mike made a good point after I expressed that sentiment. He doesn't think avoiding the question "Why?" is going to maintain one's ability to do good with what one has. Instead, he argued that asking "Why?" would push one to do better.

Interesting.

If I wonder about why I have been so "blessed" or "lucky" with the way my life has turned out, and don't answer the question with the naive response, "Because you worked for it," then clearly I am aware that the forces at work in this world are seemingly random and often unfair. If I at least wonder, then I can maintain some humility, release myself of entitlement and self-righteousness. I can remind myself that for whatever reason, I have so many gifts in my life. I am going to be a doctor, I have a beautiful family, I have a roof, a car, I have people who care, I have food to sustain me - I have life. And I shouldn't take any of it for granted. People have died for much less.

That's not a novel thought. How often have we heard, "Don't take things in life for granted - they could be gone tomorrow." But Mike offered me a new way of approaching that ancient piece of advice, and I am grateful for that. I am appreciative.

So, a new year's resolution of sorts: to ask myself, at least once every day, "Why am I in this moment? What have I done to deserve to be here, with this, right now?" Hopefully that brief reflection will remind me that though at times the world seems heavy, the stress is high, and my problems seem endless - those problems do actually end - at least, luckily, for me. For everything I have, for all that I am able, I should be grateful - and I should pay it forward.

The American Life

Back home. It's been a week. What have I managed to do? Eat loads of processed food, go out with friends, relax on the beach, upgrade my computer, go to class, and study. And read Al-Jazeera to catch up on Israeli/Palestinian news.

I really miss being there. I miss the people, the food, the tension, the frustration. Sounds a little strange, like I prefer being in a conflict zone because it's somewhat glamorous - at least more so than my life in Chapel Hill. Maybe part of that is true. At times in the West Bank we were a little unnerved, walking around Hebron with snipers peering at us from rooftops, or walking through Shu'fat Refugee Camp with boys throwing firecrackers at our feet. In Chapel Hill, I'm just scared a cop will bust me for jay-walking. To travel 10km in Palestine, we crossed through checkpoints that took hours, where people screamed and pushed and shoved their way to the front while more soldiers perched above us watched carefully, their machine guns slinging at their sides. In Chapel Hill, I just drive. My biggest annoyance here is a red traffic light.

All the "glamor" aside, I just miss being there. I miss walking through Azza Camp on my way to the UNRWA clinic and seeing all the political graffiti on the walls. I wish I could still walk through the cobblestone markets in Bethlehem, or sit on the roof of Mary's house and eat with the lifelong friends I made while I was there. I miss the long, heated walks up hill after hill. I miss the knafeh, the falafel, and the bread.

I don't miss the sadness I felt while I was there, though. Perhaps I haven't had a chance to miss it because on some level, I still feel it. It is hard not to feel hopeless, but optimism is the only choice. Hell, the people who have been living through it for generations at times seem more optimistic than I would think possible given what they have gone through. There are definitely ones who are not, however. There are people who think all the Israelis should up and leave; some think violence will work; others cheer on those who throw stones at soldiers because even though it gets them in prison or even killed, it is supposedly their only way of letting out their frustration.

It's such a multi-faceted issue. What's that analogy? An onion? You peel back one layer and there's just a dozen more to peel through. The more you peel, the more you cry.

The next step in life

Just a quick post.

Last week I went to Allison's last dress fitting for her wedding gown. It was the first time in months that I had been able to do wedding stuff with her. I helped a tad on invitations, save-the-dates, etc., but I haven't been able to do much. I feel bad about that - sometimes even annoyed. Annoyed that my intense relationship with school had me resenting people who had time for other things, things I didn't have the time to be a part of. Kinda sucks, right?

Nonetheless, I finally got to go with Al to her dress fitting, just me and her. The dress was more beautiful than I remembered, and she looked stunning in it. I felt honored just to be there helping her into it, tying her bustle, giving my opinion that probably shouldn't mean much but is actually worth something to my best friend. I'm not sure if she saw me, but I definitely had a few tears caught in my lashes. I stared at her through the mirror and all I could manage to say was, "God - we have known each other a really long time." It will be our 12-year anniversary on her birthday this August, she informed me.

I love and adore that girl. She is one of my oldest friends, and this coming year will be the first time in five that we will not be living together. It is sad to think about, but I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that mine and Al's lives are finally taking their different paths. We've been going down the same road for so long, and that's all changing now. It is, for me at least, an adjustment. But I still do, and will always, love the girl I met on the first day of 6th grade, and the woman she has grown into.

Man. I am so going to cry at her wedding.

Life in motion

I. Love. Dancing.

I cannot emphasize this enough. Dancing is my savior.

A few weekends ago, I went up to D.C. for my second Monsters of Hip Hop dance convention. I learned from Rhapsody, Marty Kudelka, Tony Czar, Kevin Maher, Chonique, and Laura Edwards - HELLO! How freaking cool! These people have choreo'd for the top in the industry and they are insanely good.

And so are the dancers that attend these conventions. I was in the advanced class - definitely at the bottom tier of that class, amongst a bunch of teens that looked like they dropped out the womb doing the Dougie. I am in awe of all of them. I mean these kids are amazing - they dance with such precision, such passion, and such damn swag. I totally dig it.

It was a great weekend, to say the least. Coming away sore and sweaty, but smiling nonetheless. I thought what I really missed about dancing was being on stage. That's still true to some extent - I miss the cheering sections, the blazing lights, the heart-pounding music, the feeling of triumph at the end. But that weekend made me realized I missed a lot more than that - I missed learning in a creative environment where those that surrounded me taught me something by just being there. You learn so much more about dance when you watch good dancers, and I was surrounded by hundreds. I missed being with my friends - my dance friends, who despite our backgrounds and our future goals, all had one thing in common: dancing was in our blood.

Dancing IS in our blood.

Perhaps what I miss the most is the escape that dance gives me. In this life dominated by routine studying and stress, my dance class once a week is the place here I let loose. Monsters weekend was a whole 2 days of it! Imagine that. Two days to do nothing but dance. When you dance, its impossible to think about other things. You can't stress about your test coming up, you can't brainstorm for your MedSoc paper, and you definitely can't try to sort through any drama in your life. All you can do is focus on what move comes next. When you have that part, something in you wants you to just break out and show the world how damn good you look when you dance. And then you just let it all out on the dance floor. God, that is a good feeling.

I just finished up a Healer's Art course in school that takes a deeper look at what it means to be a physician and tries to remind students about why they chose this profession. Pretty good class - definitely a little "kumabaya" at times, but a good release from the normalcy of science classes. Anyway, during the first class we talked about what part of us we thought was missing during med school. Naturally, I said dance - more so my escape . It wasn't fully gone, but it was definitely reduced from before. On the last day of the course, a friend in my class told me that no matter what, she just envisioned me dancing. Dancing, dancing, dancing, prancing anywhere and everywhere - and letting that lead my life. She didn't mean she saw me being a professional dancer ; I'm nowhere near that nor do I want to be. But it was nice to see that someone else saw the dancer in me too, the part of me that loves to let loose, to have fun, and to be creative. A part of me that I am trying desperately to stay connected to while in school. A part of me that I want to not only keep, but to grow. A part of me that I love. A part of my life.

Life in crisis

All this stuff with Haiti... it's sad. Thousands are dead from one of the world's worst natural disasters and there is so little infrastructure in the country that many people can't be helped. People are dying for broken legs for cryin' out loud.

What's worse is that we choose to recognize this problem after something terrible has happened. There is no "preemptive attack" on poverty, no prior action. Instead, the world waits for something awful to happen: a tsunami, a hurricane, an earthquake. Why do we have to wait for a crisis to kick things into gear?

You know what else sucks? When you don't have TIME for a crisis. Can you imagine? You might wonder what kind of life anyone would lead that would make them too busy for a crisis. But it happens.

A girl in my med school class (I hope she doesn't mind me relaying her story) - her dad still hasn't been found. He was in Haiti with some students, some of which have returned home safely and others who haven't. When she was telling me this, she sounded surprisingly calm. It was Thursday, a few days after the quake and about five days before our first test of this block. The long weekend was our chance to study - her chance to go home and be with her family. She said it sucked - no matter what happened, she'd have to go home, but it sucked because she had to study. "There's no time for a crisis in med school," she said.

Well ain't that something? A situation so grave, so close to your heart - and you have to worry about taking a test because you fear getting behind. Granted, she felt that way because she said her dad would want her to focus on school. Most of our parents would, and perhaps in her situation, I would hang onto that notion as well. But it just seems wrong.. and sad... that school makes us feel that way. We're in school, in this type of school, because it's our life long goal to be physicians. We want to help people, serve them, make differences. But while we learn, we regret taking a few days to deal with something personal.

This is not how it's going to be when we're actually starting our careers, is it? I hope not.

Life's not so bad

I haven't blogged in quite a while, but a "moment" today made me rush to my computer.

It wasn't even a miraculous moment, nothing jaw-dropping, nothing so unbelievably awesome that TLC would pay millions to make a movie out of it. It was just a simple, pleasant moment that reminded me that people are good in this world.

About an hour ago, I was driving from my house to my apartment. It's bright outside, the sun is shining and it's a crisp 34 degrees. Chilly, but warmer than its been all week which made it beautiful weather. I'm listening to 100.7, an oldies station that is perfect for driving in weather like this. A great song comes on - "Jessica," by the Allman Brothers. If you've never heard it, its worth a listen. One of those songs that you'd want to walk down the street to, a little pep in your step, maybe a twirl every now and then too if you're so inclined. Alas I was driving, so no twirling for me. Still, driving through a town I love on a beautiful Sunday morning was a great place to be in listening to that song.

I pulled up on an exit ramp off the highway. While sitting at the light, I noticed a homeless man approach a guy in an SUV. I have to admit, my first thought was "Man, poor guy in the SUV. He's being harassed by a homeless man." Not my proudest thought. Given the great mood I was in, I'm surprised my first thought was so negative. That'll be something to reflect on later.

Anyway, while sitting at this stoplight watching the homeless man "hassle" the SUV-man, something kind of unexpected happen. The SUV-man got out of his car. He was probably around my age, maybe a few years older. He trotted to the back of his car, popped the trunk, and grabbed a sleeping back out from the back. Then handed it to the homeless man, got back in his car, and drove off with the rest of us as the light turned green.

Hm, I thought. That was really nice of him. I mean that was really nice of him. It looked as though he had the sleeping bag and maybe some other "camping gear" in his trunk. Saw this guy, presumably asked him where he slept and if he was warm, and then decided to sacrifice his sleeping bag for this guy.

I don't know why such a gesture was so astounding to me. Maybe because I hadn't seen such acts of kindness in a long time. Nothing so simple, so direct, so quick. With all the stigma applied to the homeless (by myself included, given my initial thought), it's kind of amazing when you see someone hop out of their car in the middle of traffic to let go of one of their possessions to make it someone else's.

People are good. The guy that gave up his sleeping bag is a good guy. I dont even know him - maybe he's a murder looking for redemption... but in that moment of giving, he was a good person. I'd like to be a good person. I want to erase my mind of negativity, clean my soul of judgment, remember that every person is a part of humanity, a smart, beautiful, unique species that is just mindboggling to be a part of.

And I don't want to forget that on a sunny Sunday morning, with clear winter air and great tunes, I was reminded that in this life even the simplest of moments are worth remembering, cherishing, and emulating.

Life goes on

It's so weird how quickly things change and how quickly we can recover from them.

Eddie passed away 2 weeks ago today. His funeral was a week and a half ago and was probably one of the saddest and most somber that I've been to. More than my own grief, I felt so incredibly sad for Eddie's family. It was heartbreaking to watch them cry; every time a family member began to wail you could hear the entire crowd start to cry quietly in their seats. It is so sad to think a life ended so quickly, so presumably before its time. It was obvious that many people loved him. The hardest part for me was seeing his open casket. I'm in the midst of anatomy dissections in school, using a human cadaver. Seeing Eddie made me think of the cadaver I had propped open on a gurney, skin reflected, muscles detached, bones exposed. I sobbed.

But the world doesn't stop turning, as much as it seems like it might in those first few hours of mourning. Things continue as they always had. I go wedding dress shopping with my best friend - an odd change of scenery from a church full of people cloaked in black to a shop with hundreds of white dresses. I eat my next meal. I check my email, go to class, repeat the days. And I still do dissections on cadavers. I spend some time reminiscing about Eddie, about other friends I had that died at young ages, and I feel sad, but not compelled to stop the daily happenings of my life. At times, that makes me feel guilty.

I suppose, though, that Eddie and Erica or any of the others that passed away would not really want anyone to put their life on hold because of something beyond their control. The only thing that is certain in life is death - people will be born, and by natural law, they will die. When they die is what brings us to the point of heartbreak. And for some, like Eddie's younger sister, time might stand still for quite a while. For others, it won't take long at all. But in the end, everyone moves on after a passing. They have to.

In Indian culture, the appropriate time for grieving is 11 to 13 days. That time ended yesterday and I find myself thinking, "How soon will I forget about this?" When will the day come that someone says, "Remember that kid Eddie? What happened to him again?" I hope that his death, or anyone's for that matter is never in vain. I hope that I will continue to remember my passed friends as beautiful people with big hearts, not just those who met a tragic end.

It is hard to deal with death. After all, I'm studying to be in the business of SAVING lives for as long as I can. I don't want to hate death because I know it is inevitable, perhaps I even know that it should happen. But something perturbs me about how quickly we grieve and move on. How quickly I stopped crying, started hanging out with friends again and studying for exams. It seems that 1 day, or even 13 days of grieving doesn't do justice, doesn't pay the proper homage to the deceased. But can we - should we - really spend more time than that? Is that what they would have wanted? Or would they have simple said, "You are still alive. Just keep living."

Life is too short - really

I complain a lot. About school, about people, about bad food. The worse part about it is that it takes something all too dramatic to make it all clear.

Today, Eddie passed away after his car hit the side of a bridge. He didnt have on his seatbelt, so he flew out of the car, over the bridge and onto an interstate.

I knew Eddie in middle school and high school. He was such a promising kid - even though he was a year younger than me, he was in my math class, which was already an 'accelerated' class. It put him at 3 years ahead of the curve. Allison and I have a favorite memory of Eddie when he was in our math class in 7th grade. Mrs. Covington, our teacher, had left the room. We all kinda poked fun of Eddie, and that day it was decided that we'd put him in a box. Eddie was an awesome sport, he was all for it. We closed the box and when Mrs. C came in, she had a nice surprise waiting for her. It was hilarious, a moment that I will never forget.

As we got older, Eddie fell into some bad places. Life threw him some crappy circumstances...I maybe saw him once or twice a year when I got to college, always at a party. He liked to have fun, a little more than most. But lately he was putting his life back together, finishing school, getting his head on straight. I never knew him too closely, and maybe his best friends would agree or disagree with how I saw him. After all, they were by his side the last few years. What I do know for sure, though, is that Eddie was a good kid...he had a lot going for him, a lot to live for, and a lot of people that loved him. Twenty-one years is not enough time.

After breaking down in my "Medicine in Society" class a few weeks ago, I came to realize that my experiences with death straight suck. Rarely an old person, passing in their sleep; always a young person being taken away too soon. Something about it isn't right, isn't fair... First JR, then Erica, then Jynette, then Mike. Now Eddie. It's just not fair.

See you all on the other side...