Saturday, June 12, 2004
Insomnia (2)
I'm STILL awake!!! Bugger, bugger. Bugger, bugger and bugger!!! Stupid, stupid jet-lag. This... cannot be. Nein. Niet. Rant. Rave. Foam.
And the tried and tested hypnotic drug - the medical text that needs to be studied... is in the other room. Under electronic surveillance. DAMMIT.
Okay then. fine. I'll write myself to sleep. growl.
1) celebrity
I've had close brushes with "celebrity" in the past. Perhaps it was the GEP experience : the constant feeling that we were being Watched - by people who were waiting for us to fail - that led (and still leads) many of us to instinctively shy away from celebrity. I know I'm certainly not alone - the other mad cows... scrapied sheep really, that the government groomed; the "potential leaders of society" - where did they all go? We were the third generation, amongst the original founding fledgelings, unleashed upon the world.
Where did they all go? Has anyone ever wondered how they all became faceless? The brand-name, apparently, dissolves away with time. Hardly anything worth holding up to the hostility of public scrutiny.
Are they really out there, leading the country? Then how come so many of my own once-dear friends - have left the country? And those that stayed have made their homes, and their lives their fortresses.
Celebrity. I've brushed shoulders with "celebrity" often enough. It comes in so many flavours.
Elaborate "high-society" lawn parties thrown by my dad's friends. There were a few, but I can't... remember them. Too little then. Not enough brains. heh. It meant precious little to me.
I do remember sitting opposite PM Goh once and thinking how haggard, and tired he looked. What went on behind those gentle - yet sharp - eyes, I wondered.
I remember the same man, a few years later, being verbally assaulted by a "subversive" young know-it-all, and handling it with amused ease. Somewhere inside that gentle smile... was a diplomat. And a dangerous one. One of the most celebrated of them all. I wondered then, what it might be like to look into PM Lee's eyes.... answer, shrug. Probably fatal. Haha.
I've encountered a few more of them, on-and-off over the years with my parents, or without, and dutifully said Hello. to them. Catherine Lim (eyes - sharp! in the early years. Then recently - dulled. slightly... vacant?)
Tony Tan. Tommy Koh. Prof Pang. Prof Chow, that endearing Incredible Super Fat Forensic Scientist Man, now, unfortunately deceased.
And the other ?lesser "celebrities", Andrew Whositwhatsit, the hunky swim coach from "Growing Up" -- probably clinically insane... heh. If you ever read this... it was fun working with you. heh heh. Remember Lt F***? those Teef. Heh heheheh.
Ms Wossname, another actress from Growing Up. Err. No impression there. cough. Perhaps it would have, uh. Taken more time. For an impression to form. heh.
I never really tried to empathise with any of them, strangely. I reserved my empathy for everyday people, and later in my life, for patients. "Favourite" patients, especially. Heh. Shrug, I'm human.
And then somehow I got thrown into the thick of it. From indifferent Watcher, to potential Participant.
And the GEP-kid in me was awakened. The "tatler parties", complete with press members. I... couldn't play the game. Didn't want to. Shrank back. Sure, I did it a little for. Hmm. Mebbe about 10 minutes. hah. Then it began to all feel a little ridiculous. And the enormity of my situation dawned on me. This pseudocelebrity... was almost anathema to everything I believed in. These games were so... trivial. And this was not for me. I would NOT lay my claim to a fame, which I did not desire, by being a faceless trophy who had to claw his way into the spotlight.
I didn't even like the damn spotlight. There were more important things at stake. There was a relationship which I'd chosen, as always to stubbornly defend. Even though insight had begun to make me realise that something... integral... was missing. There was a type of love, I suppose. Which Insight was beginning to tell me that I could not sustain, and that I might not even desire.
But DAMMIT it's so irritating when my mum (and dad!) are right!!! muuaarrrrgh.
I tried to empathise. To imagine what it was like, growing up in these people's shoes.
And it was not a pleasant sight. Euphemism-city. And so I ran screaming for the hills, at last. laughs.
My perception of "celebrity" had been rather unfairly biased. "High" society, pah. Give me my good old homebody parents anyday. I suppose we merit a stake to "high" society ourselves, but my folks are wonderful that way. They won't have any of it. They just... do the little things that make them happy. And I'm actually grateful to them for bringing me up the way they did. And for the chances they gave me, flying me over to the UK for med school. Someday I'll tell them how much all of it meant to me, and how much I love them. Someday, when I learn to break free of my stupid male ego. sigh.
Of late I've been hearing a little from another "celebrity". And, hyperventilate (heh heh. not) I actually met her last night, along with the best bud, who was typically... his -- not even corny -- self. groan. Where's a newspaper when you need to find something to hide your face behind.
Watching and listening to her, I began to wonder. I couldn't fish from her eyes, the way I normally can with strangers. These were... strangely closed. Though clearly alive. So I find myself trying to guess.
2) sacrifices
I can't begin to empathise, of course... but what sacrifices one must have to make, to choose this path of "fame" (even if, sniff, only local. I, Brit snob. heh heh. cuppa tea?)...
pause.
I can actually imagine quite a few, many of which must be rather unpleasant. Some quite probably painful. Nip/tuck? or wax/pluck? laughs.
And I can only *begin* to imagine. What annoyances to bear, what wonderous moments there must be, in recognition.
Different folks, different strokes, I guess. I've written a lot about my personal "significances", which involve my work - the people before me. The people, around me. Other people.
But there are so many other significances out there in the world, and everybody is chasing a different dream. Some people seek significances in themselves - and this is fair enough. The world of humanity really cannot function without all its individual cogs. To each his, or her own.
I see it now. And I also see that the "celebrity" I was nearly assimilated into... was not remotely representative of the whole.
The realisation that struck me a while later tonight... was that someday, in all likelihood I might well be part of that nebulous and diverse strata of society that comprises "celebrity" (err if I come back that is). Perhaps someday I will be that dodderring, crotchety old professor with the badass attitude. heh. Although, cough, the likelihood of that is severely diminished by my surname not beginning with 'L' and ending with 'E'. heh heh.
But yknow what? If I do... it would have been under my own terms. And I reckon that'd be A-okay. That'd be something I'd be glad to earn, rather than something I instinctively bolt from.
And I also see the sacrifices I have been making, which to now I've always taken for granted.
Those interminable chains of waking nights... and those incredibly slow last 2 hours from 5 am to 7 am physically willing time to pass... and shrinking almost tangibly everytime another patient steps into the casualty department (A different type of gut feeling. Slightly nauseating.) And always, that slightly oppressive fatigue that permeates the air. I think it comes from the sick patients, actually. Mebbe we should chuck em out. heh.
I can already hear the smartasses saying, you're a doctor right? You signed up for this right? Shut up already and do your job! -- and y'know what? You guys are unempathic fools, but I forgive you for it.
That ruined social life, that only leaves brief windows of opportunities for expensive, hazy Muscato-Asti wine-filled nights out with ancient friends (as an aside : Ice wine? Very sweet, very nice? HAhahaahaha. yeeech. After Muscato-Asti, Eis Wine tastes a little like nasty cough mixture. Sorry. Damn Brit Snob, Out, outt I sayy.) and 80 quid meals. Little desperate snatches at normality, done, uh, a little to excess.
But so, so nice. Ubon by nobu. Sigh. Sigh again. Swoon(hic).
And of course the sweaty tumbles in the sack with nurses. Not. Heh... for the pervs amongst you who think hospital life is just like Holby City... well. It actually IS! Except for re-minisce. Sigh. Who doesn't really, uh, get off (pun intended!) on that sorta thing. Too desperate, and also too incestuous for his tastes. Although, if they LOOKED like the cast on holby city now then, cough. Cough. Erg. I seem to have something in my through. heh heh heh.
And that is our life. Stepping back, uh, out of the. Chalk Pentagram of the mundane. HA. Kept my originality there - it looks pretty damn sad doesn't it?
Yet more - watching the docs back home combat SARS a year and a bit ago... people like Jen Jen... unsung heroes donning their hollywood outfits to grimly wage war against a killer disease - these were their sacrifices. Our sacrifices, although my time has not yet come. And might never come, God willing.
Watching some of them fall... not just out of fame and celebrity, but out of life itself, I realised the sacrifices that we make, for our calling.
And I know that I wouldn't trade it for the world. And neither would they.
3) Chocolates
These words I write often sound so detached... so high-handed
and probably also so naive. I guess it's partly my ineptitude with the language (sigh. all those wasted years as a debator... didn't pay off... I'm a doctor! batteries to power brain not included)
I dunno how to convey this any better... but I - and in fact, we. Us. Doctors, nurses. Radiographers, Physiotherapists. Healthcare Assistants. And all the other goody two shoes who work in hospital... we're not *quite* naive.
I'm not quite the same, I suppose. I am still pretty young in the job. I am naive in many ways, about many, many things. But I'm also cynical, and streetsmart about many others. And I've seen many, many different people - in the job, and out of it now to know that life really is, as the tired adage goes, like a box of chocolates.
Don't look at the other guy's box of chocolates. Don't look at his silver spoon, in his mouth, or her beginnings in abject poverty; don't look at his supposed boyish naivete, or her apparent coquettish streetsmarminess... (yes I made that word up)...
the thing really, is that we've all got different boxes, with different chocolates in it. They're our precioussss.
This one's for DW. It wasn't intended to be, when I began, but it seems strangely fitting I dedicate it to him anyhow. Uh. Just in case I don't manage to squeeze in a meeting with you before I fly.
And the tried and tested hypnotic drug - the medical text that needs to be studied... is in the other room. Under electronic surveillance. DAMMIT.
Okay then. fine. I'll write myself to sleep. growl.
1) celebrity
I've had close brushes with "celebrity" in the past. Perhaps it was the GEP experience : the constant feeling that we were being Watched - by people who were waiting for us to fail - that led (and still leads) many of us to instinctively shy away from celebrity. I know I'm certainly not alone - the other mad cows... scrapied sheep really, that the government groomed; the "potential leaders of society" - where did they all go? We were the third generation, amongst the original founding fledgelings, unleashed upon the world.
Where did they all go? Has anyone ever wondered how they all became faceless? The brand-name, apparently, dissolves away with time. Hardly anything worth holding up to the hostility of public scrutiny.
Are they really out there, leading the country? Then how come so many of my own once-dear friends - have left the country? And those that stayed have made their homes, and their lives their fortresses.
Celebrity. I've brushed shoulders with "celebrity" often enough. It comes in so many flavours.
Elaborate "high-society" lawn parties thrown by my dad's friends. There were a few, but I can't... remember them. Too little then. Not enough brains. heh. It meant precious little to me.
I do remember sitting opposite PM Goh once and thinking how haggard, and tired he looked. What went on behind those gentle - yet sharp - eyes, I wondered.
I remember the same man, a few years later, being verbally assaulted by a "subversive" young know-it-all, and handling it with amused ease. Somewhere inside that gentle smile... was a diplomat. And a dangerous one. One of the most celebrated of them all. I wondered then, what it might be like to look into PM Lee's eyes.... answer, shrug. Probably fatal. Haha.
I've encountered a few more of them, on-and-off over the years with my parents, or without, and dutifully said Hello. to them. Catherine Lim (eyes - sharp! in the early years. Then recently - dulled. slightly... vacant?)
Tony Tan. Tommy Koh. Prof Pang. Prof Chow, that endearing Incredible Super Fat Forensic Scientist Man, now, unfortunately deceased.
And the other ?lesser "celebrities", Andrew Whositwhatsit, the hunky swim coach from "Growing Up" -- probably clinically insane... heh. If you ever read this... it was fun working with you. heh heh. Remember Lt F***? those Teef. Heh heheheh.
Ms Wossname, another actress from Growing Up. Err. No impression there. cough. Perhaps it would have, uh. Taken more time. For an impression to form. heh.
I never really tried to empathise with any of them, strangely. I reserved my empathy for everyday people, and later in my life, for patients. "Favourite" patients, especially. Heh. Shrug, I'm human.
And then somehow I got thrown into the thick of it. From indifferent Watcher, to potential Participant.
And the GEP-kid in me was awakened. The "tatler parties", complete with press members. I... couldn't play the game. Didn't want to. Shrank back. Sure, I did it a little for. Hmm. Mebbe about 10 minutes. hah. Then it began to all feel a little ridiculous. And the enormity of my situation dawned on me. This pseudocelebrity... was almost anathema to everything I believed in. These games were so... trivial. And this was not for me. I would NOT lay my claim to a fame, which I did not desire, by being a faceless trophy who had to claw his way into the spotlight.
I didn't even like the damn spotlight. There were more important things at stake. There was a relationship which I'd chosen, as always to stubbornly defend. Even though insight had begun to make me realise that something... integral... was missing. There was a type of love, I suppose. Which Insight was beginning to tell me that I could not sustain, and that I might not even desire.
But DAMMIT it's so irritating when my mum (and dad!) are right!!! muuaarrrrgh.
I tried to empathise. To imagine what it was like, growing up in these people's shoes.
And it was not a pleasant sight. Euphemism-city. And so I ran screaming for the hills, at last. laughs.
My perception of "celebrity" had been rather unfairly biased. "High" society, pah. Give me my good old homebody parents anyday. I suppose we merit a stake to "high" society ourselves, but my folks are wonderful that way. They won't have any of it. They just... do the little things that make them happy. And I'm actually grateful to them for bringing me up the way they did. And for the chances they gave me, flying me over to the UK for med school. Someday I'll tell them how much all of it meant to me, and how much I love them. Someday, when I learn to break free of my stupid male ego. sigh.
Of late I've been hearing a little from another "celebrity". And, hyperventilate (heh heh. not) I actually met her last night, along with the best bud, who was typically... his -- not even corny -- self. groan. Where's a newspaper when you need to find something to hide your face behind.
Watching and listening to her, I began to wonder. I couldn't fish from her eyes, the way I normally can with strangers. These were... strangely closed. Though clearly alive. So I find myself trying to guess.
2) sacrifices
I can't begin to empathise, of course... but what sacrifices one must have to make, to choose this path of "fame" (even if, sniff, only local. I, Brit snob. heh heh. cuppa tea?)...
pause.
I can actually imagine quite a few, many of which must be rather unpleasant. Some quite probably painful. Nip/tuck? or wax/pluck? laughs.
And I can only *begin* to imagine. What annoyances to bear, what wonderous moments there must be, in recognition.
Different folks, different strokes, I guess. I've written a lot about my personal "significances", which involve my work - the people before me. The people, around me. Other people.
But there are so many other significances out there in the world, and everybody is chasing a different dream. Some people seek significances in themselves - and this is fair enough. The world of humanity really cannot function without all its individual cogs. To each his, or her own.
I see it now. And I also see that the "celebrity" I was nearly assimilated into... was not remotely representative of the whole.
The realisation that struck me a while later tonight... was that someday, in all likelihood I might well be part of that nebulous and diverse strata of society that comprises "celebrity" (err if I come back that is). Perhaps someday I will be that dodderring, crotchety old professor with the badass attitude. heh. Although, cough, the likelihood of that is severely diminished by my surname not beginning with 'L' and ending with 'E'. heh heh.
But yknow what? If I do... it would have been under my own terms. And I reckon that'd be A-okay. That'd be something I'd be glad to earn, rather than something I instinctively bolt from.
And I also see the sacrifices I have been making, which to now I've always taken for granted.
Those interminable chains of waking nights... and those incredibly slow last 2 hours from 5 am to 7 am physically willing time to pass... and shrinking almost tangibly everytime another patient steps into the casualty department (A different type of gut feeling. Slightly nauseating.) And always, that slightly oppressive fatigue that permeates the air. I think it comes from the sick patients, actually. Mebbe we should chuck em out. heh.
I can already hear the smartasses saying, you're a doctor right? You signed up for this right? Shut up already and do your job! -- and y'know what? You guys are unempathic fools, but I forgive you for it.
That ruined social life, that only leaves brief windows of opportunities for expensive, hazy Muscato-Asti wine-filled nights out with ancient friends (as an aside : Ice wine? Very sweet, very nice? HAhahaahaha. yeeech. After Muscato-Asti, Eis Wine tastes a little like nasty cough mixture. Sorry. Damn Brit Snob, Out, outt I sayy.) and 80 quid meals. Little desperate snatches at normality, done, uh, a little to excess.
But so, so nice. Ubon by nobu. Sigh. Sigh again. Swoon(hic).
And of course the sweaty tumbles in the sack with nurses. Not. Heh... for the pervs amongst you who think hospital life is just like Holby City... well. It actually IS! Except for re-minisce. Sigh. Who doesn't really, uh, get off (pun intended!) on that sorta thing. Too desperate, and also too incestuous for his tastes. Although, if they LOOKED like the cast on holby city now then, cough. Cough. Erg. I seem to have something in my through. heh heh heh.
And that is our life. Stepping back, uh, out of the. Chalk Pentagram of the mundane. HA. Kept my originality there - it looks pretty damn sad doesn't it?
Yet more - watching the docs back home combat SARS a year and a bit ago... people like Jen Jen... unsung heroes donning their hollywood outfits to grimly wage war against a killer disease - these were their sacrifices. Our sacrifices, although my time has not yet come. And might never come, God willing.
Watching some of them fall... not just out of fame and celebrity, but out of life itself, I realised the sacrifices that we make, for our calling.
And I know that I wouldn't trade it for the world. And neither would they.
3) Chocolates
These words I write often sound so detached... so high-handed
and probably also so naive. I guess it's partly my ineptitude with the language (sigh. all those wasted years as a debator... didn't pay off... I'm a doctor! batteries to power brain not included)
I dunno how to convey this any better... but I - and in fact, we. Us. Doctors, nurses. Radiographers, Physiotherapists. Healthcare Assistants. And all the other goody two shoes who work in hospital... we're not *quite* naive.
I'm not quite the same, I suppose. I am still pretty young in the job. I am naive in many ways, about many, many things. But I'm also cynical, and streetsmart about many others. And I've seen many, many different people - in the job, and out of it now to know that life really is, as the tired adage goes, like a box of chocolates.
Don't look at the other guy's box of chocolates. Don't look at his silver spoon, in his mouth, or her beginnings in abject poverty; don't look at his supposed boyish naivete, or her apparent coquettish streetsmarminess... (yes I made that word up)...
the thing really, is that we've all got different boxes, with different chocolates in it. They're our precioussss.
This one's for DW. It wasn't intended to be, when I began, but it seems strangely fitting I dedicate it to him anyhow. Uh. Just in case I don't manage to squeeze in a meeting with you before I fly.
