Gentle Love

“Come to me, Gentle Love.”

She beckoned him close to her. She could see his shadow fall across her doorway, sensed his hesitance and he halted just before the entrance to her room.

“My feet bring me to you all too easily, but are you certain I am the Love you seek? I may not be the Love for you.

I am not the Love of passion, the flames of ardour that will consume your nights. It seems as if that is a Love more suited for you than my own temperament.”

“You may not be the Love of passion but I have found that passion fades in time. You may not be the flames of ardour, but like all fires, the flames will eventually burn out. You, on the other hand, are comparable to the embers of a fire. And like all embers, given the right spark, will burn brightly once again,” she smiled, almost cheekily.

He stepped a little closer, to her pleasure, but stopped short once again and she could sense his uncertainty.

“My love is constant, but I am uncertain of your heart. Like all of us, each of us is often merely a slice of time, and I am past my prime. I no longer possess the power to drive people to madness, to blind them with the promises they make. I am a different Love now, a quieter, gentler Love, and I am uncertain if those are your wishes.”

“Ah, Love, I desire not madness, or flights of fancy. I have had my share of being swept up by the ideas that have been offered to me, the sweetness of the promises that were said. It is for some, but not me. No longer.” She recalled those early days, the headiness that love often offered, sweet headiness, but now she craved something else, and she suspected that he was more than he seemed to think he was.

“Are you certain you will not regret this Love? I may not be the sun in your sky –” He stepped towards her involuntarily, his voice breaking slightly at that note as she cut him off.

“And the sun burns too brightly, and it does exactly that – it burns. You may not be the sun, but Gentle Love, you are more like the rays of sunlight that stream through the morning windows, that slowly spreads the warmth, without preamble, without fuss.”

“There are so many of us, and we are all so different, that you must be certain that I am the one you seek. It is easy for you, but when we are rejected, we die from heartbreak, and fade away.”

“I want you. I want to grow old with you, for you are a Love that will not fade with time. I seek you, and no one else.

If you will have me, that is.” She lay her arm on his gently, wearing her heart on her sleeve entirely.

He held her tenderly and told her with all the sincerity he could muster. “You have invited me into your heart. And I am yours.”

A Humble Thank You

The country has welcomed me with open arms.

I am loving this hospital. There’s a friendliness to this place that I’ve never experienced before, an atmosphere that renews my faith in the medical profession.

From the very first day, meeting our British rugby playing, wisecracking, singing registrar, Dr. Toby Commerford and our wonderful Goth intern, Dr. Miranda Siemenowicz, I felt very much welcome. The moment Toby picked up the phone to answer Miranda’s pager and pretended to be her for a whole ten minutes while the rest of us almost pissed ourselves laughing, I knew that this would be a very different experience indeed.

I admit having felt at times, as a medical student who feels very much like she doesn’t know anything, like a rather useless commodity, one that’s often in the way and of not much use.

For the first time in my five years, I actually feel like part of a team.

I’m not the only one who shares the same view, for the fact is that our past hospital has been an entirely different experience to this warm and friendly place we’ve had the good fortune to be attached to. There’s a significant difference in the way our group’s reacted, and the difference is amazingly obvious.

I actually look forward to waking up for 730 starts, and time actually flies by in the hospital. It’s amazing the difference that one person can make to your attitude, and the fact that I feel like I’ve learnt so much more in the past two weeks than I have in the past year speaks for itself.

Granted, it’s been a rough year.

Perhaps I’ve been foolish enough to let my personal problems affect my studies, depressed enough to not take full advantage of the resources that have been offered.

Then again, sometimes it does take just one person to make all the difference, and Toby has been a wonderful mentor, and possibly one of the best doctors I’ve had the opportunity to meet, and someone who has actually made me realize why I entered this profession in the first place.

He takes incredible care of his patients, even the demented, unappreciative ones. He’s conscientious, and takes great notes, so the next people who refer to the notes will have a good picture of the patient. He won’t discharge a patient until he’s done absolutely everything he can to help them, and I’ve seen him follow up two patients, whom everyone else had told him to discharge despite not knowing the absolute cause of their hospitalization, only to diagnose them with very serious diseases which may have been easily missed due to attitudes.

He bought a demented old lady who insults him every single day a bottle of lemonade because she mentioned she’d like some. He bought us, two medical students who he’s only met for a week, lunch, because we weren’t earning an income. He actually bothers to sit down and take us through diseases, tests and conditions, finds interesting signs for us to elicit, feel and listen to. He has been patient while I stumble through presentations, unrelentless in his teaching, and always gentle and uplifting in correcting my many mistakes and lapses of judgement.

All that, and he remains a wonderful, cheerful person to everyone else.

If I can be half the doctor he is now, I will be blessed indeed.

Thank you Toby Commerford, for reminding me once again about the role that we hold as doctors-to-be. Thank you, for making me realize the reasons why I chose medicine in the first place. Thank you, for giving me the confidence, for helping me take these baby steps. Thank you, no matter what happens, for I will always remember you as the doctor who, in the truest sense of the word, was a doctor for the people.

Retrospect

When I was six, I met best friend number one. I still wanted to be a boy then, and acted as tough as the next bloke who came along. I was still invincible, and no one could mess with me. She amazed me with her girliness, and her My Little Pony dolls. I loved her to bits the moment I met her, but I switched schools and lost touch as you do when you're that age.

When I was seven, I spun a story about ghosts and ghouls haunting the school, and led a group of kids into an expedition to try and find them. I got into trouble with the prefects, and ever since then nursed a slight annoyance for figures of authority. I rediscovered best friend number one again, who had joined the same school, and despite our parents’ initial objection to our friendship we’ve been friends ever since.

When I was eight, I met best friend number two and three. I was crawling under the tables in computer class, caught up in a fantasy world of castles and dragons and unicorns. They joined in my make believe world and we became friends despite my notorious dislike and unsportsmanlike behaviour when it came to losing computer games. Best friend number two and I started drawing comics, and we filled books with sketches and stories of Rose Mary and Mary Rose, Ace Krusher, Acorn Oakley and Venus Mathison and the Insiders.

At twelve, I came to terms with my jealousy. I slowly accepted that friends were not mutually exclusive, and that others could be friends with mine.

Puberty came with a vengeance at thirteen, complete with zits, teenage angst and self-centredness. My feet took me everywhere that year, and I frequented best friend number two and three’s houses. I endured bullies, my mother’s threats at changing schools due to my unimpressive grades and the trials of puberty.

When I was fifteen, I discovered a particular self help book and that changed my life around. Apparently, the change ran deeper than I realized and affected more people than I thought it would, in a very positive way, but I was not to know that until years to come. I became active, began to challenge myself, and made changes with my character that stayed with me throughout.

Seventeen was a nostalgic year, the year leaving high school and all the friends I had made behind. I was on the yearbook team and some other clubs, which was just an opportunity to skip all the classes we could. It was a year of uncertainty, because we had no idea what was going to happen in years to come. Yearbooks were signed, promises were made, and opportunity awaited.

Eighteen introduced me to a new crowd, the boarding school crowd, which I hadn’t encountered before. It was a culture shock, but I slowly came around to a new way of thought, and slowly got used to social norms and customs that I had never gotten used to before. It was a very fun year, despite the stress and struggle of the express course I was doing. It was a year of firsts; the first time I lived away from home, the first time dealing with a love triangle, the first car accident, the first taste of independence.

Nineteen brought me to Australia, a land where I would taste the many challenges of my life. We had random road trips, travelled to different states, experienced the world Australia had to offer. It was then when I suffered my first attack of depression, when I realized that sometimes people changing affect you in more ways than most, that there was more to life than these four walls. It was a year when I started to see my sisters as adults and my parents as people with thoughts and dreams.

At twenty, I was one of the older people in college, but that didn’t stop me from hitting the party circuit as hard as anyone else. It was a year where I made a bunch of crazy, crazy friends, and some saner ones, experienced all that college life had to offer, gained the tag sober Asian cunt, and assimilated into a life that was so foreign from my own. It was a year where the limits of my friendship were tested, a year where I had to change the clothes of friends who had passed out in their own vomit, play mother to a group of wasted friends, but had the most interesting experiences of my relatively sheltered life.

When I was twenty one, I moved into my first real house and fell in love with the idea of entertaining, and have been ever since. It was a year with a great household, and I lived with two girls who would become a couple of my closest friends, who then promptly left at the end of that year. I had my first relationship, and my first breakup.

At twenty two, I learnt that life wasn’t as easy as it looked, but I breezed through it. Housemates changed, and it was a different dynamic, but one I was comfortable with. I spoke more of my mother tongue than I ever had before in my life and learnt to cook for large amounts of people. I met a person I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. It was a quiet, peaceful year.

At twenty four, I learnt the meaning of regret. I lost a relationship important to me, and hurt many others around me in the process. I let myself down, but soon picked myself up again. I learnt to confront my weaknesses, and tried to strengthen my relationships. It is a year filled with trials and tribulations, challenges and promise.

But life’s like that isn’t it?

Filled with promises.

The Chapter of You and I

We once walked hand in hand and talked about spending the rest of our lives together. I would lie my head on your shoulder, and you would hold me close, and we were content in our own little bubble, for we were in love and that was enough.

We hit our rough patches, you and I, and I remember the lowest ebb of your life, where uncertainty hit, and you were a man plunged in the depths of depression, and I could only watch and cry silent tears for I could not reach you during those times; I could only be there by your side and hope that you knew I was there for you.

It was one thing after another, and perhaps our relationship went too fast, too quickly, too much in the first year.

Perhaps I was concentrating too hard on making things work. Perhaps so hard that I realized my feelings were no longer what they were.

Used to. You told me you hated that word.

I do too.

I know I caused you pain, and a part of me can never forgive myself for causing you that pain, never forgive myself for the way I came to the decision. You seemed to take it rationally, and I was so relieved for that, so relieved that perhaps I didn’t realize that you were hurting a lot more than I could imagine, perhaps my insistence at friendship was premature.

We started having coffee, you and I, the same way I did with all friends. It was an attempt at normality, an attempt at salvaging a relationship that was no longer there, for each time we met it seemed we ended up only hurting each other more and more.

I still remember that day you walked me home, and you told me, “A hug. For old times’ sake.” And you hugged me as tears streamed down my face and I watched you walk away, seemingly tall and strong, so much more than the broken wreck that I was.

I had no idea you were walking away.

Was our rapport only there because of our relationship?

We worked well together in the first place, so well we fell in love. Why can’t we try a different kind of love?

I wonder if it is possible for two people, who once shared so much love for each other, to heal and be friends again. I wonder if we are irreconcilable, if our shared values and laughter and good times are worth nothing now we are apart.

It makes me sad to think that we shall never walk the same path, or you are not willing to try.

You said, “We’ll talk when I’m ready to talk.”

But you’re not even trying.

My door will always be open. Hate me if you need to, curse my name if you must, say what you will. I cannot undo my mistakes, but I can only try to make things better, the only way I know how.

I still want you in my life, but it seems you are not ready yet, and I cannot wait forever.

Perhaps it is easier for you to cut me out of your life entirely, to ignore the memories we had made together, to turn your back on our past.

Who am I to say?

This is my apology, my confession, and my goodbye.

I can only wish you all the best. I once told you you were strong, and you had so much potential, and I still believe in the man you could be. I can only pray for your happiness, and that you can forgive me for the hurt that I caused you. I can only thank you for the memories you have given me, for those times you have supported me, for the overwhelming love that I could not return.

Walk away if you must, but I cannot, and I thank you for the starring role you played in my life.

And let that be an end of that chapter of you and I.