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[ memory | time dilation ]

Here one day. Gone one night. [Jul. 28th, 2009|07:52 pm]
[limbic stimulus |depresseddepressed]
[cochlear impulse |Gone Too Soon - Michael Jackson]

I can't believe that this is happening all over again.
And I only have myself to blame...

The world is truly bigger than we make it seem.
Being one in a million doesn't mean a thing
In a planet inhabited by billions
Nine hundred seventy three more screw-ups to go.
Odds stacked against the popular opinion,
Even worse than I'd want to know.

But life is too short for this game.
I can't believe that this is happening all over again.
Link1 defection|sympathize?

So you think I wouldn't? [Feb. 24th, 2009|01:04 am]
[limbic stimulus |angryangry]

And yes. This is from Metallica.

If there is anything I absolutely hate, it would be unsubstantiated accusations coming from people you trusted. People whose judgments were reliable so far but apparently and suddenly hit rock bottom in their evaluation skills. And I thought they knew me well enough.


I have more than half a mind to take them up on it, and prove them right.
Then we shall see.


So don’t you dare unless you are willing to face the consequences. If not, just shut up.


That includes you even thinking about it. Yes, you dude.


Link2 defections|sympathize?

She was still alive. [Feb. 19th, 2009|07:41 am]
As her mother lay there dying, she stared at me, eyes full of the whirlwind of emotions that were sweeping through her at that moment, tossing her around, tearing at her heart, searing her soul. She was trembling, and her eyes carried the hint of that one last tear about to crest the dam of her eyelids, heralding the torrent of pent up frustrations, disappointment and grief. She stared at the fluid-infused skeleton of a body that she called her mother, racked by seizures, bloated by a faltering heart, supported by a dilapidated respirator, dying from months of accumulating metabolic waste and acids.

Her meandering narration plucked painfully at my heart strings, as if the story of her mother, which had no relevance to me before, came alive with her clumsy yet personal recount of events. She confessed her irresponsible neglect, her stupid excuses, her insurmountable poverty, her 12 hungry parasite-infested children who would never get an education or know their father. It all just flowed out as my mind silently sifted through the flood of information, ravaging through her heart-wrought life story, discarding all the useless emotional baggage and meaningless sepia-tinted memories for the cold, hard medical facts essential for my arrogant medical analysis. After she listened to an oversimplified prognostication of her mother's condition, she committed her life insurance plan that was her last few pesos, already pillaged by the ambulance driver, to the futile battle of a disease that had already overwhelmed her mother's half-dead corpse.

Later I found her wandering the ill-lit corridors of the hospital as I returned to my callroom, as lost as the Tagalog-translated instructions I gave to her, as tired and slow as the malignant squalor gnawing at the pathetic life she has led so far. She almost did not recognize me as she fearfully asked from this white coat for another poorly translated version of directions to the laboratory. With a sudden flash of recognition, she complained to me wearily about the cost of my ordered laboratories I had already whittled down to the barest essentials, about the expense of the cheapest alternative medical regimen I could possibly design.

She asked me again if there was any hope to be found. Holding back the extreme irritation of someone who has stayed up for the past 36 hours and the pent-up frustrations of a doctor whose knowledge of the ideal has to be tempered by the real, I recounted to her the slow process of organ failure that had occurred over years of derelict inattention, exacerbated by the concocted remedies prescribed by ignorance, and sustained by the inadequacies of their socioeconomic status.

Finally, she makes the best decision she had since leaving her drunk drug-addicted husband: she decides to leave the hospital. As she made her final preparations, she thanked me profusely, offering one of her final pesos, giving her warmest hug, beaming an inspired smile. It was as if her decision had given her a new lease on life, rejuvenating her despite its mortal consequences.

As I recall this pitiful patient and her distraught daughter, I feel an inner emptiness expanding to reclaim my exhausted heart into that tantalizing wasteland of blinded numbness... it almost overwhelms me. Damn you corrupt powerful! Damn you apathetic animals! Damn you uncaring reality!
Link4 defections|sympathize?

Hey man, I'm sorry... [Dec. 21st, 2008|12:45 am]
[limbic stimulus |gloomygloomy]

It takes a lot for me to admit that I am wrong (because most of the time, I am not). This is one of the rare times that I will. Although in most circumstances, my acquired social impairment provides an easy escape for accusations of premeditation and accountability, now is different, now is the time to say I'm sorry 

I am profoundly affected by the fact that I ruined one of the most important events of this person's life. Good intentions don't even matter, and they never have in any given situation. Results are always of paramount importance. My apologies may seem superficial compared to the intense loss that I feel, that my friend must have felt. You see, in this world of socially-controlled reactions and thought-out "appropriate" asides, we have to think beyond what we see, and reason from assumptions. Exemplified of course by my friend's raw responses and wry smiles. But I know him, one of my best friends, someone in whom I confide my darkest truths (despite his and my other friend's vocal and non-vocal disbelief - which secretly hurts me a lot) and my most malignant lies. My judgment therefore has verifiable merit despite all the denial and negation, and I have to look beyond statements like "Okay lang" or "Don't worry", or beyond the palpable silence at the drinking table.

Of course, I reasoned that something worse has happened to me, although not aesthetically but contextually. But the more I reason down this path, the more I find myself in the trap of consensual enabling: I had control of the situation, I had the power to influence the circumstances... but my attempts to improve them have failed. And even if it can be reasoned that things are rectifiable, this thing is irreversible, un-repeatable. Never mind that my resources were scarce and that time was of the essence and that I was stripped of logistical empowerment. Had I been in his situation, I would have been recalcitrant at according forgiveness.

So, to my friend, I'm sorry. I am deeply and truly sorry. I would give anything (and anyone) to change what happened.

They say that history repeats itself. I say fuck to that and to fatalism. WE repeat history and it is our fault, our fault alone.

I really hope that we can look back at this and laugh at what happened. But in the meantime, this holiday season will be marked with more pondering and reflection. Question is, what have I discovered in the process? How many people of significance have I hurt before? How many more have I coerced into doing things they didn't want to do? How many people's lives have I ruined?

Sometimes, despite my apparent expertise on biopsychosocial pathologies, I can be one of the most gago persons in the world.

Tonight's instruments of Regret? Pulse and Tingle.

Link6 defections|sympathize?

Empathy [Jul. 17th, 2008|07:31 pm]

Difficulty is defined by relativity. To say that the past few days have been difficult is to turn up my nose and snob (literal) earth-shaking and population-massacring realities. The feeling of being a mere footnote in the minutiae of the world's history is overwhelming and I bask in it, awash in the oppressive and crushing humility being forced on my supposedly indestructible ego. In this place, there is no one else to shield me, no one to feel with me. It is a desolation cruelly contrived specifically, and only, for those like me who understand and empathize and feel.

I remember crudely reconstructed memories of being taught empathy. In my life education, it has been one of the driving forces of my decisions and has carved my history into the bedrock of unchangeable regret. I find great difficulty (the word!) ignoring what I adjudge to be oppressive, or unfair, or sad. And while this empathic impulse is magnified a hundred thousand times when these things happen to people I hold dear, there is still an unbearable self-torment to act on empathy when faced with people who are dead to me as they are alive, persons who are side comments in the novel of my life: complete strangers

I guess that, despite the utter fortuity of circumstances that pushed me into becoming a doctor, I was willing to be one, was willed to be one by the subconscious need to pursue empathy into its biopsychosocial conclusion.

Trapped in a snare of my own wicked creation, I cannot escape the onrush of each and every situation that materializes within my imagined sphere of control. I am troubled to no end by my pathology, it has become a burden that cannot be cast off, a tumor that is slowly consuming my heart, yet whose excision is too dangerous to perform without peril to my life, to my soul.

I am irredeemable from the dark night of constant empathy. I can only hope that the few stars in the empty twilight aren't blotted out by the oncoming storm of Armaggedon. And the threat looms near, hanging only by the age-worn string of the sword of Damocles, waiting to cast upon me my inescapable fate, bound as I am to a throne crafted from the bones of old ghosts.

Link3 defections|sympathize?

A different 1 vs 100 [Dec. 10th, 2007|07:23 am]
[Tags|, , , ]

Japanese people do have an expansive mind...


Emo Hate Crimes [Dec. 9th, 2007|12:17 am]
[Tags|, , ]
[time-space variance |Pondering over a curious volume of forgotten lore]
[cochlear impulse |'tis some visitor, tapping at my chamber door]

Guess who this person resembles?Pre-USC Chair years

Link8 defections|sympathize?

Sex Stories [Nov. 28th, 2007|01:23 pm]
[Tags|, , , , , ]

 We made our way to the summerhouse and hid in its shadows. We lay on the cool floor and I twined my legs around Homer's body, gripping him like a hunter hanging on to its prey. He made love to me with his fingers and I came in the palm of his hand. He stroked my breasts and neck. "Don't wash it away" he said. "I want to be able to smell you tonight."

The Olive Readers by Christine Aziz

This passage was nominated in 2005 for the "bad sex in fiction" awarded by the Literary Review.

The following are the rest of the passages in that year. Just goes to show that sex as a subject is not necessarily titillating...


Me in Pictures [Nov. 28th, 2007|10:14 am]
[time-space variance |dumdeedum]
[cochlear impulse |hmmmmm]

Got this from another person's blog. Thought it was interesting. hehe

1. The age you will be on your next birthday

2. A place you'd like to travel to

3. Your favorite place

4. Your favorite object

5. Your favorite food

6. Favorite animal

7. Your favorite color

8. Town in which you were born

9. Town in which you live

10. Name of a past pet

11. First name of a past love

12. Nickname

13. First name

14. Middle name

15. Last name

16. A bad habit of yours

17. Your first job

18. Your grandmother(s)' name

19. Your major in college

Link2 defections|sympathize?

Striptease [Nov. 19th, 2007|08:57 am]
[Tags|, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ]
[time-space variance |Empty Space]
[cochlear impulse |Pavarotti]

Tell me what you see

It sometimes takes extraordinary effort for doctors to test patients. In this respect, ophthalmologists have one of the hardest jobs. In fact, in the Ophtha clinic, the whole consult is 90% percent testing, and 10% interview.

As with any consult, a physician starts with the patient's general information, his chief complaint, and a rundown of the present illness. A survey of systems is done (does the patient have other related/unrelated symptoms?) and then Past, Family and Personal/Social histories are then elicited, focusing on ophthalmologic problems. All of this is done is a span of 5 to 10 minutes. You'd be surprised how fast you get once you get the hang of it (students can spend as much as 30 minutes on a patient!!!).

Then comes the fun part, which is the 5 point examination.

But I hope that allays some fears people have during an ophthalmologic consult.
Link4 defections|sympathize?

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