Panicky

There's something very comforting with old worn-out T-shirts. My personal favorite is the one I'm wearing right now, a light blue shirt with holes, a remnant from a summer camp (my only summer camp, as a matter of fact)  long, long ago. Wearing this shirt calms me, somehow. 

The past few days, I have been feeling... panicky. 

In my laptop is a countdown timer, set for the medical board exams in August next year (or rather, what I think is the date for the board exams next year.) August sounds like a long time away. My timer says I've got 8 months and 15 days. But... days just seem to go fast forward, somehow and I am quite aware that I have somehow not spent the past 7 months of PGI well. So I'm panicking because I know so little and the sheer amount of stuff I have to learn is so immensely overwhelming that it makes me want to just curl up in bed and sleep in defeat.

Already, I'm at my last week of my first month in Pediatrics. It felt like just a few days ago and I have barely eased into the routine when voila! My one month is almost up. And I have nothing to show for it. I can't seem to make my mind wrap itself around studying pediatrics.

But I have one more month of pediatrics. This is my last chance to study pediatrics as extensively as possible. I hope I don't mess it up the way I did with IM and Surgery. 

Okay. So now that I had it out of my system, I'll study a bit of pediatrics before dropping off to sleep. 

Ilaw

I spent a relaxing Friday afternoon sprawled in bed, watching a movie with Mama and Ex. I love these quiet, homey times with Mama. Mama has been with us for six days now and the change in our house is drastic, to say the least. Our alarming pile of dirty laundry is gone. We had proper, nourishing, home-cooked meals. We even bought a nice orange divan for the sala. Mama bought me a blue dress and a huge bag for hospital duty. And, to top it off, Mama upgraded our internet subscription!

I am reminded of the Filipino phrase, "Ilaw ng Tahanan." Mothers are the best!

It feels lonely, now that Mama had to go back home. The house is quiet, with none of the bustle of a functioning household. In two days time, the house would go back to its usual state of neglect. The dirty dishes will start piling up on the sink. All the beds will be unmade. The refrigerator will be empty. The alarming pile of laundry will start to appear. And each of us will go our own separate ways, minding our own separate business, occasionally bickering about who will do the dishes or go to the grocery.

As the eldest, I suppose I should step up on the role of mother. But I'm just too exhausted. And yes, I confess, apparently too lazy and irresponsible.

We get along as best as we could, though. And our arrangements work for us. Or rather, we are just kind of holding it together until Mama comes again to visit.

Love Is

Love never gives up.

Love cares more for others than for self.

Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.

Love doesn’t strut,

Doesn’t have a swelled head,

Doesn’t force itself on others,

Isn’t always “me first,”

Doesn’t fly off the handle,

Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,

Doesn’t revel when others grovel,

Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,

Puts up with anything,

Trusts God always,

Always looks for the best,

Never looks back,

But keeps going to the end

Silent Rage #1

I deserve better than this.

Rage of the Doormat

For the record, I'm not happy with the way things are. I'm just too much of a doormat to stand up for what I feel are my rights as a person. I'm too non-confrontational. And it takes too much effort to fight.

But I am getting tired of this pattern. Even a doormat has it's limits. And I'm very nearly there.

I don't want to be angry. But that's what I am right now. Angry. Seething. Boiling. I can feel my rage building up inside. So I take deep breaths and try not to hyperventilate or do something stupid and destructive which I will later on regret. 

I suppose I brought this to myself. I've never been  quite clear regarding what I want. I'm too nice and too easily manipulated. And I hate myself for being weak. 

I'm just too freakin tired of being this angry almost every single day. Only my inability to hold a grudge keeps me hoping for things to be better tomorrow.

I'm tired. And disgusted with myself. They always say it's the quiet ones who are scary in their anger. If this keeps on, I'll probably explode. Spectacularly.