On Depending Upon Others

One of the most frustrating things, for me, is feeling like I can't do things independently. This is why coming to India always drives me a little crazy. In a country where my accent gives me away immediately as a "foreigner," where I look like I should fit in but I definitely don't, where my lack of fluency in the local language morphs me from an articulate young woman to a stuttering, shy child, I am constantly frustrated. I want to be able to shop, visit the tailor, go buy a snack, or go visit my grandfather independently, but I can't, because it's dangerous for a young woman to be alone in this country, especially a woman who barely knows the local languages. 

Yet I hate having to constantly depend upon my relatives for help with everything from shopping to tailoring to traveling and more. I hate that I depended upon my great-aunt to get me great deals on clothes, yet she didn't tell me when I was paying too much for saris yesterday. I hate that my aunt and uncle and cousins in Chennai act like I'm inconveniencing them terribly when I ask for someone to travel with me to Tanjore to visit my aged grandfather, who was too ill to travel to Chennai himself. I hate that I rarely have privacy in this country. I hate that when you depend upon others for a while and come to feel that they're not only mentors but friends, they can change their behavior towards you in a flash, leaving you blindsided and wondering what you did that was so wrong. 

When I came to the airport last week to check in for my flight, I was surprised to see a family friend around my age in the same line. I didn't realize she was going to India on the same day as I was and I was even more surprised when I realized it looked like she was in line alone. Then I saw her mother in line next to her. When I said hi to her after a while, I mentioned that at first I thought she was going by herself, and she said, "Oh my God, do you think I'd go to India alone?" Well, I reminded her, I was doing just that. Because the truth is, I want to be able to do things by myself, especially things that scare me. Things like going to India. Because at least right now, at the end of the day, the only person who's always with me is, well, me. Better learn how to depend on myself as much as possible.

On Doing Things That Scare Us

I feel like there's no point in life during which people like to tell you how to live, more than during your twenties. It seems like every time I open up Facebook, someone else has posted yet another Buzzfeed or Jezebel "list" of things one must do in one's twenties: places to travel, cities in which to live, things to do, books to read, movies to watch, things about which to be nostalgic. I suppose the digital era magnifies society's desire to tell us twenty-somethings what to do, but it still seems as if this urge to guide the lives of young adults has always been there.

"Do something every day that scares you" is an urging that makes an appearance in all of these "lists" in various forms. Either it's written verbatim as one of the items, it's reworded in some clever, themed way, or it underscores the entire list itself ("7 war-torn regions worth visiting in your twenties." I'm kidding. Or am I?). 

Now, most of the items on such lists kind of confound and mildly annoy me. I think it's up to me to decide how I'm going to live my twenties, and more often than not, reading about how others wish they had lived theirs doesn't really change my behavior or ideas. As John Mayer sings, "Is there anyone who really recalls ever breaking rank at all for something someone yelled real loud one time?" And to be perfectly honest, I think people who tout traveling at a young age sometimes just sound really entitled--not everyone has that kind of money to spend, or the freedom (literally or figuratively) to just drop their lives and go gallivanting across the world.

However, I've always liked the idea of doing something every day that scares you. It's a simple concept, it doesn't have to cost anything, and it leaves a lot of room for interpretation. Different things scare different people. Hell, I'm scared of birds and fish, and doing something that scares me could be as silly as staring at a fish tank for a while. [I've done it. It's unpleasant.]

But the truth is, I'm a pretty fearful person. I am terrified of rollercoasters. I am so entrenched in my fear and aversion that when I went to Universal Studios earlier this year, I literally brought a book to read while my friends went on their joyrides. When I was in dance performances in college and the choreographers wanted us to do flips, I point-blank refused to participate in such shenanigans, cause I just didn't like being upside-down, suspended in the air and at the mercy of both gravity and some random guy who was just as frightened of dropping me as I was. I have tried a rollercoaster once or twice. I even tried a flip a couple times. After the rollercoaster, I promptly decided that the fear and knee-knocking and trembling and anticipation weren't worth the 10-second euphoric high afterward. When I tried flips, I ended up dropped on my head. On more than one occasion. So, that was a no as well. 

And so trying to do things that scare me, things that REALLY scare me, often hasn't yielded the best results. Or at least, not the sort of results those lists would have me believe I'd get. Doing something that scares you should lead you to unexpected places, both literally and figuratively. It should expose you to unexpected vistas, set up that perfect photograph for your Facebook cover photo. So far, doing something that REALLY scares me has only shown me that I had good reason to be afraid, and I'll continue to live in fearfulness, thank you very much. 

Still, I guess fear is unavoidable. After all, the unknown is at the heart of life. No one knows what will happen tomorrow, or a year from now. No one knows how we'll look or who we'll be or where we'll work when we're in our thirties, giving advice to those twenty-something whippersnappers. And let's be real: that's scary, whether we feel like it is, or not. Because not all of it is in our control. And perhaps that's the real reason we are afraid. There's no way to mend that. There's no way to control it all. So we keep living. And we keep scaring ourselves. And we keep learning which fears are worth holding onto, and which we can let go. That's what I'm trying to do, anyway.

Shooting Stars and Flowers Coming My Way

At the beginning of September, I moved out of my apartment and home to live with my parents because there was mold growing on a bunch of my clothing in my apartment, and that mold made my lips swell and gave me hives and sent me to an emergency room.
About six weeks later, someone decided it would be fun to vandalize [albeit mildly] my car, and I spent a considerable amount of time and energy and a small (though not negligible) chunk of change buying a new mirror for my car and getting it fixed.
Then last week, I see that I've gotten at least one, and maybe two, incredibly harsh evaluations from people I worked with on my Pediatrics rotation, the rotation in which I worked harder than ever before, yet got a few evaluation scores lower than I'd ever received before.
And today, I hear that it's a very real possibility that someone got ahold of my social security number, somehow, and is actively using it to commit, you know, tax fraud.
The world is doing a GREAT job of sending shooting stars and flowers in my direction. If President Obama does not win the election tomorrow, I may be forced to give up on everything. I cannot catch a break.

Undergraduate Failings

I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm not really cut out to be a good college student, in all her stereotypical glory. I only just realized this sobering truth in its entirety this weekend, during the Centennial celebration for my lovely alma mater.
In the days leading up to the start of the Centennial festivities, I had whipped myself up into a reminiscent frenzy, thinking back fondly on sun-dappled courtyards and classes full of critical thinking and writing and reading; adrenaline-fueled days and nights of dance practices, performances, and midterms, with little time for sleep or food, but plenty of coffee; and the general freedom to pursue learning in its various manifestations that college affords us. I imagined myself descending upon my college campus (which, I should probably add, lives right across the street from my medical school campus) in a triumphant return, mingling with friends from various circles, both academic and social, and shedding all remnants of the social awkwardness that plagued me through much of my freshman year. It would be wonderful, I thought, and was exactly what I needed after a long seven weeks fraught with frustration and heartache, with small happinesses sprinkled throughout. Take me back to where my young adult self first began, I thought, and my heart and life will flourish once more, invigorated by the tree-filled vistas of college.
Here's what actually happened: I rather enjoyed a talk by a prominent genetics researcher, due partly, I'm sure, to the fact that I was able to sit alone in a large venue for the talk. I tried to ask a question about gene therapy at the end of the talk, but the question period ended before I found my way to the mic. However, the question period did include a woman asking an inscrutable question about seahorses and platypuses (surely the plural of that should be platypi?), and another woman inanely telling the speaker that his IQ must be "as high as a hot summer day in Texas," which was mildly infuriating because, well, a hot day in Texas is slightly above 100 degrees F, and an IQ of 100 indicates average intelligence.
I went to Alumni Pub Night the following evening, again anticipating self-assuredness and effortless mingling, a cool beer in my hand throughout. I spent the evening chatting with friends who all still live in the same city where we went to college, and I drank a very sweet cider which, at first sip, I wasn't sure was alcoholic. (It was, I later discovered.) I stood about awkwardly silent at times, unable to muster up the social energy to shout over the loud music just to have small talk with people I see all the time anyway. I saw almost no one I had been friends with in college, but had since lost touch with. I did, of course, see people who had never been my friends in college. I was also mildly alarmed at the number of men there shooting close-lipped smiles at any women who happened to glance their way. One of them asked my Taiwanese friend if she was from Korea as I stood by acting nonchalantly deaf. I feigned my disinterest so well that the next time I looked around, she had slipped away from the entire scene, leaving me frighteningly within range of Mr. Smiley's advances. I retreated post-haste. The night passed by in a vaguely-bored blur, and I woke up the next morning utterly exhausted from having only 5 hours of sleep the night before.
My next, and last, attempt at partaking in the Centennial festivities also fell flat. I headed over to one of the dorm common areas as the sun was beginning to set on Saturday evening, excited to participate in a reunion with both alumni and current students involved in South Asian Society, my extracurricular of choice when I was in college. Of course, I was the second person there, and the other girl there and I sat around coloring (the activity was intended for children of alumni who were on campus for the weekend) for about a half hour before anyone else showed up. In the mean time, we ended up talking to the wife of an alumnus, a dentist, who was spectacularly rude enough (at least in my opinion) to tell me that she thought the idea of being a specialist in pediatric genetics was "depressing," and that being a doctor was "a hard life." Thank you very much, woman with whom I have no connection. I am aware that the life ahead of me isn't going to be easy as pie. I appreciate your words of wisdom. Eventually, other alumni from our club trickled in, and we enjoyed some catch-up conversation before everyone else headed off to the glitzy "Finale" event, held in one of those amazing tents, complete with open bar and tons of free food. I hadn't bought a ticket to the Finale since I had  originally planned to attend the football game earlier in the day, and I wanted to give myself plenty of time to study for my exam coming up on Friday. Sadly, I decided right before the game to skip the game and study in the afternoon instead, and by then it was too late to buy tickets to the Finale. I had originally told myself that I would study on the idyllic campus of my daydreams for a couple hours before watching the light show that was to take place on the Academic Quad later in the evening while my peers were at the Finale, but after watching my friends walk off in their nice clothing, I just felt too defeated by the whole affair to stay around, and instead I bought Taco Bell and went back "home" to watch television online with my Dog-in-Law. I later heard that the light show was was downright breathtaking, but I couldn't bring myself to drive all the way back to campus for the later showings. I just gave up the whole night, and, indeed, the whole Centennial affair, as a bust.
I've realized, as I hinted earlier, that I don't naturally function very well in prototypical "college" situations. I don't like shouting over loud music at bars. I hate talking to random guys at bars. I'm not very good at mingling. I am, at heart, an introvert, and when I'm in big social situations, it helps me tremendously to have one person, be it a significant other or close friend, to cleave to throughout the event. I have a couple people in my life who have played such a role for me in the past, but I don't feel like I've had a huge group of friends who make my heart swell with emotion because they so wholly represent college to me. Actually, I should amend that: I can call to mind a few situations and friend groups who do indeed make me feel that way, but I don't feel like I am able to recall the emotion when placed back in the same friend groups or situations. All of that just seems lost to me. Is it like that for most people? Am I the odd one out? I really just don't have a clue. All I know is, I'm fairly certain I like the idea of college far more than the reality of it.

At a Loss

I'm a pretty smart girl, but there are some things I will just never, ever understand. And I'll never figure them out. And I've done some truly stupid things. And sometimes I wonder how clever I really am.

Jury Duty = Staycation

Early last summer, when people were just beginning to realize that the economy was very bad, indeed, the term "staycation" came into vogue, showing up in the features sections of all sorts of newspapers. In a staycation, the articles explained, one explores everything one's own city has to offer in the way of culture and entertainment, thus simulating a vacation without having to pay for travel or a hotel stay. When I went to Chicago with a few girlfriends at the end of last May, I really enjoyed exploring that city's parks and museums and architecture, and told myself repeatedly that I would put together a Houston staycation once I got home, encompassing parks and museums and other landmarks. As is typical for me, I never turned my thoughts into action. And then fate stepped in.

Some time last fall, I received a summons for federal jury duty. Have never actually served on a jury before, and using the pop cultural reaction to jury duty as a guide, I was most displeased. I couldn't get out of it, though, so last Monday, I reported to the federal courthouse in downtown Houston--and got selected for the 14-person jury out of 42 possible candidates. Just my luck that the lawyers didn't think I'd be biased, right? Jury duty itself hasn't been nearly as much of a drag as I had anticipated; the other jurors are pretty amusing middle-aged people (12 of them women, including me, and 2 of them men), and there's never a dull moment in the jury room. The courtroom gets very cold and sometimes boring, though, and actually being a juror, ie having to decide on a person's guilt or innocence, is not an easy thing--and is actually much more trying than one might imagine.

For reasons somewhat unbeknownst to me, we tend to have many lengthy breaks during any given day, during which the lawyers work their lawyerly magic or shout at each other or something. These breaks give us jurors a chance to thaw out, (see above for reference to the courtroom's cool temperature) and have also given me a chance to check out the sights around the courthouse. There are two parks within two blocks of the federal building, and a third not four more blocks away. City hall is two blocks away, and the Central Houston Public Library one block beyond that. The library is particularly impressive: three floors high, an entire section devoted to foreign-language books, another to music, and displays of new books everywhere! I don't have a Houston public library card, but I might have to get one some time in the next four years just so I can take advantage of that sweet library. I'm hoping to explore the area a bit more tomorrow, including the tunnel system under the Bank of America building that contains restaurants, (I can now put names to a lot of the buildings I've admired in our skyline! How cool is that?) the entertainment complex Bayou Place, (which includes the Verizon Wireless Theater, where I saw Imogen Heap perform in concert less than two weeks ago) and the Hobby Center vicinity. Additionally, I drive through the quirky Montrose area on my way into downtown, and have pinpointed a number of restaurants, coffee houses, and possible study locations to explore at my leisure over my next four years in medical school.

Moral of the jury duty story: Life is exciting when one makes it seem so.

In My Day...

Today seems to be the day to romanticize the past [and revile the present] in lab. As I walked by our second-year grad student at her lab desk, she stopped me to say that she just wasn't in the mood to do anything today, not work on her papers, not work on her presentations, not shop for furniture, and not even work on her computer. To put it simply, she's kind of in a funk. Not ten minutes later, one of our postdocs told me, "Chaya. Life just gets harder from here on out. I'm just telling you that right now. It just gets harder." As I told her, that's probably true. And as she herself admitted, there are also many good things that happen in adulthood, things that seemingly outweigh the difficulties. But to her, the difficulties still win out.

It is true that as we grow up and begin our careers and train for our professions, as we build relationships completely outside the realm of our lives with our parents and siblings, as we, effectively, develop our own personas, new and whole perceptions of who we are as people and how we fit into the world, our responsibilities grow. We take care of ourselves physically, financially, and in other ways: we do our own laundry, clean [or not clean] our apartments when and how we want, and take ourselves wherever we want to go [literally], instead of waiting for our parents to take us there. Yet with all this new responsibility comes so much privilege, so much power. Isn't it great to develop a stronger sense of yourself, to make deep and lasting friendships, to mold your opinions and beliefs and wash your own clothes and drive yourself wherever you want to go?

Why do we romanticize our pasts so much, anyway? Yes, life is hard now. There are always struggles. But wasn't life also hard three years ago, when I spent the entirety of my freshman year trying to figure out how to transition to college life, constantly sick because of the mold infestation in my dorm room, struggling with making friends and figuring out who I was? Weren't there responsibilities in high school, too, when I woke up at 5:45 (I can't believe I did that anymore) to get to school by 7:10, spent seven hours in school, drove home in a car without air-conditioning in Houston, and also had homework to keep up with?

I'm not saying that romanticizing the past is a bad thing. In fact, it's probably a great coping mechanism. If we don't pick out the best parts of our pasts to focus upon as we look back on different stages of our lives, we would probably have a pretty hard time moving forward, especially if we truly believe that things only get harder as we get older. Additionally, romanticizing the past is one way to help ourselves grieve the closings of different chapters in our lives. If I weren't convinced now, as I am, that South Asian Society (the club that has shaped my college career in deep, unalterable ways, the one I have loved for four years) is somehow "different" now than it was when I was a freshmansophomorejunior, then I would be devastated at the prospect of leaving it behind at the end of this semester. It helps to tell ourselves that things were better before, because doing so makes letting go easier.

But maybe we should go about all of this in the opposite direction. Rhapsodize about our futures instead of longing for our pasts. The truth is, the future is bright, and we have a lot to look forward to. Yes, we'll miss what we had before, but we'll also continue growing and moving and becoming the people we were always going to be, and that's a good thing, if you ask me.

Or maybe we should just forget about yesterday and tomorrow and figure out a way to love today for exactly what it is.