Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both
parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard
Humanity i love you because
when you're hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you're flush pride keeps
you from the pawn shops and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house
Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it's there and sitting down
on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity
i hate you
-ee cummings
Monday, July 5, 2010
Vive America!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
soil
the sound that is heard when attention made paid is not
A cry of the feral cat in heat rather
the howls of humans coalesced
over spilled milk
stinks
over spilled milk
stinks
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Dearest Liv,
Above my desk hangs a cork board that boasts a few of my favorite things:
1. Two business cards. One from a German art buyer who I befriended in Nicaragua, another from a prominent medical coroner who (I met while shadowing a cardiologist) represents San Diego county. They were equally welcoming and inviting; the German art buyer, Roswitha, invited me to spend Oktoberfest with her in her Berlin home, and Othon, the medical examiner, invited me to watch one of his autopsies "whenever I'd like". I have yet to do either, but I plan to both.
2. A napkin from a bar in Nicaragua. On one side is Diane's contact information. She lives in Leon where she helps run a nonprofit organization that provides aid for Nicaraguan farmers suffering renal insufficiency. On the back side, is Oscar's email- a self-proclaimed famous poet who I also met in Nicaragua and who gave me, along with his email, a signed copy of his published book of poems (which, as a matter of fact, is excellent!) On the front cover, he also wrote me a page long personal note in endearingly poor english.
3. A photo of Roberto, Annella (Elyse's niece), Milla, and I at GasWorks park, overlooking Lake Union and downtown Seattle. Happy times when the whole gang was together and in the place I love most.
4. Two torn pages from the notebook where I feverishly scribbled ways I could improve my graduate school application... as transcribed directly from the prophecy of the Dean at my top choice medical school.
5. A polaroid photo of Marah and me in a limousine as we make a champagne toast in celebration of her birthday. Moments before this photo was snapped, we were standing outside our hotel in Portland, feeling defeated in our failed attempts to hail a cab. After what seemed like ages (but was likely only 5 minutes), a stretch limousine approached and we giggled about how "finally our chariot had arrived". To our surprise, the driver hopped out, opened the door for his customer to exist, then turned to us with a perky smile and asked where we were trying to go. What followed was free champagne and a 45 minute scenic detour through the Oregon wine country en route to our final destination.
6. My ID and building access cards to the fantastic institute where I work doing autoimmune disease research.
7. A small, dried "bouquet" of purple and gold flowers (thoughtfully chosen Husky colors), given to me by a tall, strong, and handsome young man (with science degrees from Stanford and Cambridge, and a World Championship rowing title to boot) on our first date. He ought not be confused with the one-armed-man previously discussed.
8. Last but not least, a printed email response from one of my most insightful voices of reason. Ted is a longtime family friend who I have called my uncle from as far back as I can remember. Though there are a variety of colorful and complimentary adjectives I could use to describe such a fantastic human creation, I would best credit his character by simply sharing with you the letter he sent me several years ago...
...in response to an expressed fear that my "life" might fall "victim" to my own academic pursuits, these words below now comprise the essence of my daily prayer...
Dearest Liv,
It is one thing to stay "focused on the academic path" and quite another for it to be integrated in who and what you are - it is not an external process! (that is to say, only you would know).
That having been said it is extremely satisfying and gratifying to consider oneself an adjunct to the great body of human knowledge - when all other things fall away, life is the study of one's own mind. As the pre-eminent psychologist of our times, the two things are, for you, the same. One does not distract oneself from "life" by becoming more educated - one instead equips oneself to understand it more keenly, to experience it more thoroughly and, by god, to defeat stupid people in stupid arguments.
For you, I think, to become less thoughtful, less brilliant, less inward would be a step in the wrong direction...in terms of "Academics" and "Life experience" you need not weigh one against the other; you are both, and should proceed forward as if you and they were one, which indeed they are.
Teddy
Friday, June 11, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
what do you mean "why medicine?" ?
Tomorrow is the first day to submit primary applications for the 2011 medical school application cycle. In observation of this occasion, today's feature is both inspired and brought to you by round two.
It's cold and rainy and I'm happy- unmissable signs that I write you from Seattle where my mind, body, and spirit are delighting in the much needed break from Southern California. Playtime has been highly self-regulated however, as I'm here in effort to isolate myself from the "real" life distractions that make conquering the MCAT a la carte, an unrealistic endeavor. And though I recognize it to be a full-time gig, I also find that I am made more efficient by taking the time once every so often to keep mindful of the ultimate motive behind my mental exhaustion - the prospect of becoming a physician.
But why?! !
The personal comments section of the primary medical school application begs this very question, and it too, was the first of those asked during the first (and only) interview I was granted last autumn. Those who have had the misfortune to experience me during a time of emotional crisis, can attest to the value I place on self-actualization and introspection. Even so, I can't help but feel a bit less than dubious toward the suggestion that I am equipped with the adequate insight to faithfully explicate such a personal inquiry, mediating naivete and flippancy, AND within the confines of a character limit. You see, pursuing an acceptance to medical school has come to dominate my existence so profoundly, that posing the question "why medicine?" might as well request that I elucidate the meaning of life - and from the mouth of a twenty five year old, an attempt to answer would at best come across cliched, at worst, arrogant, and in any case, foolish. Following my pattern of self-defeating behavior however, I will opt to elaborate.
Shopping malls terrify me and consumer culture annoys me. In fact, I find the prospect of debt so burdensome that I would rather live, still, with my mother and escaped from the immurement of financial crisis, than with exercised stronghold over my social integrity. As a young adult, I lament the economic consequences of these sentiments not having been shared by more, but as a former seventeen year-old and imminent undergraduate, boom times and a cultivated bank account once sufficed to distract me from the irony that was my high school summer-job.
Nearly a decade ago, I worked to improve the lives of women by selling shoes at the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale. While I cannot say enough good things about the company itself, I am unabashed to express my then hatred for this job - perpetuated less by the irremovable scent of foot on my hands, than by the dissonance engendered sensing myself contrived. Not easily defeated, I craftily learned to reconcile this imbalance by refusing to "sell" and instead, casting a diffident line into the pool that surrounded the Jimmy Choos and Christian Louboutins – shoes so great, they sold themselves.
I can draw parallels between my experience (not)selling shoes, and the esteem with which I regard medicine. Articulating the allure of a career in the medical field is about as redundant as highlighting the aesthetic benefits of a two thousand-dollar-pair-of-heels to a shoeaholic with a recent inheritance... be it shoes or a prospective career, I'd be hard convinced that advertising does anything but belie value where quality is implicit and necessity inherent.
But really, why medicine?
In an instant, I can bullet such career perks as intellectual challenge, livable income, job flexibility, and the cross-cultural perception of doctors as noble and necessary; but the weight of medicine's appeal resides in my faith that it couples more meaning than anything I can yet comprehend. It will only be once my brain has reached the terminal end of the convoluted road that leads to its very own heart, that I will be able to respond: "this is why medicine"... and so then, will it also be revealed the meaning of my life.
It's cold and rainy and I'm happy- unmissable signs that I write you from Seattle where my mind, body, and spirit are delighting in the much needed break from Southern California. Playtime has been highly self-regulated however, as I'm here in effort to isolate myself from the "real" life distractions that make conquering the MCAT a la carte, an unrealistic endeavor. And though I recognize it to be a full-time gig, I also find that I am made more efficient by taking the time once every so often to keep mindful of the ultimate motive behind my mental exhaustion - the prospect of becoming a physician.
But why?! !
The personal comments section of the primary medical school application begs this very question, and it too, was the first of those asked during the first (and only) interview I was granted last autumn. Those who have had the misfortune to experience me during a time of emotional crisis, can attest to the value I place on self-actualization and introspection. Even so, I can't help but feel a bit less than dubious toward the suggestion that I am equipped with the adequate insight to faithfully explicate such a personal inquiry, mediating naivete and flippancy, AND within the confines of a character limit. You see, pursuing an acceptance to medical school has come to dominate my existence so profoundly, that posing the question "why medicine?" might as well request that I elucidate the meaning of life - and from the mouth of a twenty five year old, an attempt to answer would at best come across cliched, at worst, arrogant, and in any case, foolish. Following my pattern of self-defeating behavior however, I will opt to elaborate.
Shopping malls terrify me and consumer culture annoys me. In fact, I find the prospect of debt so burdensome that I would rather live, still, with my mother and escaped from the immurement of financial crisis, than with exercised stronghold over my social integrity. As a young adult, I lament the economic consequences of these sentiments not having been shared by more, but as a former seventeen year-old and imminent undergraduate, boom times and a cultivated bank account once sufficed to distract me from the irony that was my high school summer-job.
Nearly a decade ago, I worked to improve the lives of women by selling shoes at the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale. While I cannot say enough good things about the company itself, I am unabashed to express my then hatred for this job - perpetuated less by the irremovable scent of foot on my hands, than by the dissonance engendered sensing myself contrived. Not easily defeated, I craftily learned to reconcile this imbalance by refusing to "sell" and instead, casting a diffident line into the pool that surrounded the Jimmy Choos and Christian Louboutins – shoes so great, they sold themselves.
I can draw parallels between my experience (not)selling shoes, and the esteem with which I regard medicine. Articulating the allure of a career in the medical field is about as redundant as highlighting the aesthetic benefits of a two thousand-dollar-pair-of-heels to a shoeaholic with a recent inheritance... be it shoes or a prospective career, I'd be hard convinced that advertising does anything but belie value where quality is implicit and necessity inherent.
But really, why medicine?
In an instant, I can bullet such career perks as intellectual challenge, livable income, job flexibility, and the cross-cultural perception of doctors as noble and necessary; but the weight of medicine's appeal resides in my faith that it couples more meaning than anything I can yet comprehend. It will only be once my brain has reached the terminal end of the convoluted road that leads to its very own heart, that I will be able to respond: "this is why medicine"... and so then, will it also be revealed the meaning of my life.
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