Sitting in the waiting area at the airport. In front of me an old man and his wife are sleeping peacefully. Every now and then he wakes up, startled by a quick dream maybe, and his beady little eyes pop out of his skull like two seeds popping out of a round melon. The bright roundness of his bald head shines like a lighthouse, in whatever direction he turns, and the wrinkles around his jaws roll like a scarf to cover his second chin. The roundness of his face is amusing, because it is so complete. And beparts his face a most comically serious expression. His wife, sleeping peacefully beside him, appears as a round unblemished peach. Face white with a touch of rose brushed across her cheeks, and brown hair cropped short to her head. They sit there, sleeping like two ripe pieces of fruit resting on black seats, atop aging bodies.

Around the rest of me are people who could all easily be converted into fruits. The ever inquisitive energetic little one and a half year old, running down the long hallway of pay-phones, pointing out each one to his mother and then running to the next one, without tire, like a cheerful strawberry, running his poor mother ragged – a tiresome young willowy pear, mad with his unfatiguability and speech. The middle-aged business man talking loudly in the chair five chairs down from myself, black rimmed glasses imparting a serious look, announcing his presence to anyone who dares listen to his loud, grating words. Laughing loudly, making plans with people we do not know – showing us his importance and many connections. Narrow, with crinkled smile lines running across his face, his head shaved close in the latest fashion though his hair is still plenty, a narrow cucumber with his ears glued to a mobile phone, cool as a cucumber. The asian sitting across from me, serious thinking face, the call of profit and business pregnant in all he does. His small travelling case and travel briefcase perched neatly together a mini skyscraper between his legs, and his eyes focusing intently on his business sheets, from which some secret message awaits, which he must decipher…he looks like a small root vegetable of some kind with lines unforgiving from skull to neck, a square firm, stern face with forehead creases, a thinking man.

Certain fruits and vegetables look wiser than others. I should know, I have studied these for many a year. The more lines they have, the more these fruits think. Certain fruits like pumpkins have many lines, the lines give this root vegetable its character. Thought lines give human faces theirs. This man gave away himself with his forehead.

The wrinkled leathery upright elderly asian gentleman looks sternly at me as he walks back to his seat diagonally across from mine. His face looks starved, like he’s been through times of little rice, or times of scarcity. And his darting forkfuls of food which he jabs into his mouth make me think this might not be far from the truth. He wears gold rimmed glasses, which look like two gold rings encircling his eyes so deep set in his wizened worn face. His expression is one of permanent sourness, he even grimaces when he eats! Daintily with knife and fork he cuts each piece of his meal and carefully jabs, times of scarcity means he is always careful about wasting nothing. He appears now, properly coiffed, wearing those black unflattering shoes seen only on the elderly, as they accept the shortcomings of their joints and realize that fashion no longer plays any part in their life. A long sleeved polo shirt and simple black corduroy pants complete his simple attire. He probably shaves, every day, and carefully maneuvres his full head of black hair with streaks of gray, into a crown. It is one of his pride and joys, and sits like a manicured lawn with dips and curves in it, gelled and shaped for the day.

two interesting things I've seen in clinics over the past two weeks, but they weren't even that interesting cases in themselves. more so illustrations of how humans can act in certain ways, subconsciously so, because of their inner convictions, and how this can be misconceived.

first patient that made me think... I saw in a scolio clinic last week as part of my orthopaedic rotation. scoliosis is a fairly common condition, more common in females, with 85% attributed to idiopathic causes. many are postural and related to the way people hold themselves, caught early and treated with braces - plastic uncomfortable full body ones that reach from below the nipples to above the hips, and strengthening exercises, xrays can show dramatic improvements over a few years....

some of the most amazing full back xrays showing most of a patient's spine from their cervical (upper neck) to thoracic (lung area) to lumbar+sacral (lower back and buttocks) present with a physically healthy patient who only has a slightly visible twist to (her - mostly females anyway) spine when examined from the back, and yet her xray would show a dramatic twist around the heart, then a further down a twist - compensation - in their lower lumbar regions. the consultants noted that these patients may notice a height decrease, as the twisting shortens their spine length overall (methinks maybe that is why I have appeared to get shorter in the past few years... ^.^) and yet this compensation allows them normal functioning for the most part, with only occasional back pain.

on a whole, exercise, maintaining a healthy weight to prevent excessive strain being put on the back, as well as normal activity prevent this condition from worsening and needing surgery....

in any case, we called in our next case, an asian sounding name I noted. The two appeared at the door and were ushered into the room, a chinese mother wearing large oversized sunglasses and the nondescript plain clothes many asian parents seem to revel in - even attempting to reason that pant lengths do and can logically reach below the shin or ankle, or wearing something other than a frumpy rainjacket ARE quite naturally acceptable - their frugality and lack of attention to 'themselves' make it all the more obvious that they are living, 'just for their kids.' (just kidding, I make this joke personally because I have finally found another asian mom who WOULD, it seem, be caught dead in massive sunglasses designed in order to go over a pair of normal glasses, cheekbones, in fact most of the face - and also hem pants to such a degree that even snow or rain up to their ankles would fail to make a mark on their clothes. As this would appear to echo similar experiences I have had, due to my um, upbringing)

She came in wearing the glasses and sat down...still wearing those darn sunglasses. My goodness they were big. And she kept her mouth slightly open most of the consultation, maybe so that she could jump in at any point of the conversation, just quickly blurt in a word or two in her staccato english.

"I'm sorry I can't take these off I just had an eye appointment two weeks ago so eyes very sensitive. Sorry!"

I chuckled to myself, I really, couldn't help myself from smiling. This was such nice familiar sounding English, why couldn't more people talk like this? Man, I can understand THIS English!

this mother then, and a high school aged girl dressed in a hong-kong look. short jagged hair, glasses, a uni-sex sailor-top emblazoned with nonsensical english words and a pair of cargo-like pants. replete with runners and a face devoid of makeup, eye brow shaping, anything to pronounce her as a 'feeemale'. It was almost like she had seen the race ahead, gotten sick of it, and stayed by the side of the road becoming a spectator to her own life. do I accept it? or just ignore it? this face and body that I have? What am I to do?

it is a familiar image to me, yet I also believe my own ideas about fashion sense have been unconsciously taken from years of mass marketing, my age bracket exploited if you will by the evil powers that rule our poor plebian brains... who want to sell everyone living in Vancouver a nice healthy clean bronzed yoga wearing lifestyle. and also having lived in Vancouver it would seem everytime I come back to this lotus of lands I feel the unspoken rules of this city, breathing down my neck to 'be beautiful', 'be perfect', 'be better'. it is this North American idea of beauty I have appeared to accept as the norm.

I remember being her age and extremely self conscious. I thought to myself, that maybe she was one of those asians, tightly held by her parents in many ways, a hard worker in school - academic excellence seen as a must in the household with all other things - clothes, appearance, other interests, sports, seen as less important in this rat race of life. And coming from a culture such as Asia with so much competition and full illustration of Darwin's theory of evolution 'the fittest stay alive', I can understand why.

In any case, her mother in large part (another peculiar thing I noticed, which I have noticed in some family dynamics during consultations - is who answers the questions. One begins to sense from the minute a patient walks in the room, who is in charge, what the atmosphere is like, what particular feelings the patient has about this very moment.) This patient it seemed, had quite an anxious mother. mum with the slightly open lips and wearing the large oversized glasses from her eye appointment two weeks back seemed to anticipate questions, would answer before anything had been said, interrupting the doctor to explain her daughter and explain again...mum answered most of the questions, leaving the eye rolling to her daughter, who seemed completely nonplussed at the consultation. this young woman had been diagnosed with scoliosis a year or two ago, and had been feeling in the past few months that one leg was now longer than the other. More so, that when she ran, one stride length was different, and that walking up the stairs meant that she swung one foot around more than the other. It all seemed very worrisome.

We asked our young patient to walk across the room a few times, assessed gait, and then asked her to hop up on the bed to have a look at her leg length. We asked her to take her shoes and socks off... she seemed hesitant to show her bare feet, so we told her that she could keep her socks on if she wanted to... this was a bit strange, I thought. Even with a burn covering the entire of my lower right foot, if I had gone to see the doctor about a condition I would definitely be complying with any requests they had, for the betterment of my diagnosis. She very slowly took her shoes off and rolled up her pants to capri length, a bit higher? the consultant suggested, and she grudgingly rolled up her pants another inch.

The doctor compared leg lengths using the length of the femur, asked her to bend and straighten a few times while we looked at her back, finally he had a cursory look at her xrays - a VERY mild case of scoliosis by the looks of it.

her back had no visible deformity or obvious dissimilar hip length, and her legs appeared similar in length.

management was assurance, assurance, assurance. a more advanced imaging modality was ordered just in case, but the consultant assured the mother and daughter that it all appeared normal, and that everything was fine. the daughter appeared somewhat satisfied with the answer, but her response also seemed indifferent considering the hefty claims she was making about her day to day functioning. She did not object or try to give a difference of opinion, there was no resistance it seemed, to the explanation that this specialist offered. Almost like a conversion disorder, with apparent disregard for the actual state of reality she seemed indifferent to what was being told to her. It was not a kind of rebellious attitude from what I could see, but a different response from one which I would have expressed, if I was in her situation.

He turned to us after the patients had walked out and told us with emphasis, "see what happens with a diagnosis like that? Now that poor girl thinks she's got a condition, and thinking that one leg is shorter than the other when she's running or going up the stairs. It's all rubbish. Just because she has been labelled as having 'scoliosis'. Horrible thing for girls at this age group, already so image conscious. She now has an image disorder because of it. Did you notice about the socks?"

The assistant nurse also noted that it was strange behaviour. He chuckled after having a look in the notes, "well, she didn't even undress for the female pediatrician, so I don't think I've done too bad."

This made me think, I mean, the first thing I noticed when she walked in the room was her apparent disregard and almost resignation at this life it seemed, if I were to draw from those few moments in a big way :) that two minutes of thin slicing, the first impressions a patient gives to you, whether you realize it or not, actually give you a hint.. it is the same with every person you meet...up to you to use that small inkling and feeling, and not relegate to previous prejudices and labelling, it is up to you to try and see each person as they are. keeping an open mind. if nothing else.

more later... 

:)

october 1st

You mean the world to me

You’re like the moon and I’m like the sea

Your quiet glow sparkles in my reflection

And you pull me in a certain direction

I think of you as one of my lights

A circular doorway in the night

Accompanying guidance in this walk of life,

Speaking words of wisdom, sitting by my side

Your hand, so warm, as you enfold mine

Lifted to your lips in repetitive time

Your sweetness endearing, your nature mild

Privately acting like a crazy child

…

When you hold me, it feels that the world’s come to a stop

And it seems like we’re locked in this far away spot

And you mean every word that comes out of your lips

For I sincerely think that you’ve fallen bewitched

Now for good or for bad, this spell’s taken to you

It seems that you’ve stuck on like super-fast-glue

I don’t know if you’re imagining things or you see

That plainly it’s just little old imperfect me

But in any case, I suppose, you will know soon enough

All these nice lovely things also come with some rough

In the meantime it’s nice to hear you chatter these things

But are you referring to some other fling?

=p

…

And your actions speak louder than words,

In a million different ways

And each smile and each question

Keep me ever amazed

Because I can see it, plainly in your eyes

Commanding, to draw me to your side

Like the reminder of you, stored at the foot of my bed

Turns on when it’s dark alleviating night time dread

I smile every night as I welcome sleep

Looks like a martian spaceship coming to land at my feet

Hesitancy from silliness happened to pass

But it was all worth it because I’ve met you last

…

I just want you to know, I’ve been sad since you left,

My heart’s a bit sore, my world feels bereft

But you’ll be quick to return and have missed me too

Happy birthday this year and safe travels to YOU!

I am happy to read of your thoughts each day

And hope we continue to remain this way

Forever and forever and forever a day

My love, this is all that my heart has to say.

The clock keeps ticking, the world keeps spinning on its axis and the day towards the end of my 5th year continually approaches. . .

Decided to cook lunch today for some of my good friends. I am pretty amazed at how painless today's experience was, actually. If you are acquainted with me, in any sense of the word, you will have seen, or heard from my own lips how inedible my own cooking is to others. That is not to say that it is poisonous, as I have lived off my own cooking now for the past 4 years (living off residence). However, I have always seen cooking as a burden and a hassle, something to be done with quickly, as a requirement for life but in no way a pleasure.

I don't know when this idea of mine that all the food I cooked had only a functional quality to it - taste was 3rd or 4th important on the list - I don't know when that changed, but sometime last year I FINALLY started to pay attention when I went home to Vancouver. Which ingredient was that mum? How did you fry this? Funny that for the past 4 years I didn't know that putting oil into a frying pan and turning up to the maximum heat would cause any food going in to splutter and jump around like IT was on fire, and cause little sparks of oily pain to shoot up my arms and all over the stove. No, I had no idea. Other things too, had escaped my observation thus far, about how some foods seem to cook much quicker than others and hence, the timing of the different ingredients is important. Also, how using garlic just makes a simple vegetable dish taste supremely better. For the past few years my flavouring had consisted of salt, pepper and chicken-powder based soup flavouring. How exquisite! A clove of garlic and suddenly the food tastes and smells like something you'd want to eat!

The wealth of knowledge buried in my Mom's 'veritable' bosom, ha ha and years of experience are something I had never tapped into.... The forces! I had never tapped into these powerful forces living close by me for so many years! And this year...for some reason... her experience, and little tips that could never be replaced by a cookbook began to stick in my mind. . . And suddenly flavours and smells and timing and just taste-testing to get something 'juuust right' started to make sense...

I made a fairly simple dish today, something healthy, crunchy and full of noodles. The sauce - thanks to you mum - was tasty and came off without a hitch. I was reminiscing as I sat by the stove with 3 pots going at once, how similar this situation mirrors the innumerable times when I would come home to my house in Vancouver. Mum, with the stove going full throttle and all number of things bubbling and spitting on the stovetop, 30 minutes to go, the chopping boards a mess and the house all helter-skelter, calm as a cucumber in the midst of her gourmet madness beckoning to me to 'come and see what I've just made'.. haha.. and how foolish I was then, to slowly backstep out of that disaster zone, a totally foreign concept this 'cooking' idea... leave it to the experts, that's what I say...

And today, I woke up at around 10am, quickly ran through the supermarket buying all my ingredients and came home, with some time for a quick shower before starting the meal! I think the thought I used to maintain composure was 'if Mum can do it in 30.... then 1 hour is all I need'... chopping up the peppers, slicing the garlic, hearing the water boil, adding oil and salt... it truly is a joy cooking for others.

I remember telling mum a few years ago, how much I enjoyed hosting parties and dinners - much like her. Cooking, feeding and cleaning. I would always urge her to 'stop working! just enjoy it!'. And yet, today, after my friends had left and the stack of dirty dishes still to be cleaned, I smiled to myself as I thought of my mother. The food, the company, and yes, the cleaning, the last vital part of a good meal. And to do it... for the love of these people... is all worth it...

=)

there are some days that make you feel as though you are utterly useless

being a part of the world, and that, in fact, everything has gone on functioning without you... even for that one day, and that, the world can function quite well without - YOU, thank you very much.

Today was one of those days. I decided to stay at home having gotten all my documents signed off for the week, and made a most-packed study schedule. In fact, so packed that by the time it was 4pm I was still at the hospital, and when I looked at the clock on my laptop, it seemed, only minutes later, it was already 6pm and time to get my trusty subway wrap from friendly Brandon at the subway cornershop.

It's as if, life, for me, today, did not change. I think I talked to 5 people all day, saw a handful of my friends, and holed myself up in the little room I call 'my galaxy' to study. . . the beauty of this room is it's absurd proximity to the toilets - infact the closest toilet of 4 single ones is closest to the room (not that I can hear anything going on in there thank God except for the relieved flush at the end of a person's daily run :) but what makes the room so annoyingly perfect is how self contained it is. The toilets are only 5 seconds away, there is a sink, a window, a big round table, and many flat comfortable chairs - which, sometimes, when I feel tired of reading or studying, string together like a crude bed and take short, meagre, hobo-like naps on. It is exciting, even, sometimes, to dream that I AM a hobo, lying on a cold park bench somewhere, fending off crows for my daily living and taking in the great beauty and filth that is a public park.

Yes, on days like this it seems to me that I have made the world no difference, and have taken food, water, and energy from it, giving in return pollution of my own unique filth and carbon dioxide.

It is on days like this that one becomes frustrated... I suppose.. with many things.

Amusing, as well, to think of oneself as a hobo.

On a park bench, on a day like this.

:)