Valentine ....

... by Carol Ann Duffy ... a little dark, but a most interesting metaphor ...

"Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife".

Colorblind ...

... by Counting Crows

I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am taffy stuck and tongue tied
Stutter shook and uptight
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine

I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folded and unfolded and unfolding
I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine

Not love perhaps ...

~ by A. S. J. Tessimond

This is not Love, perhaps,
Love that lays down its life,
that many waters cannot quench,
nor the floods drown,
But something written in lighter ink,
said in a lower tone, something, perhaps, especially our own.

A need, at times, to be together and talk,
And then the finding we can walk
More firmly through dark narrow places,
And meet more easily nightmare faces;
A need to reach out, sometimes, hand to hand,
And then find Earth less like an alien land;
A need for alliance to defeat
The whisperers at the corner of the street.

A need for inns on roads, islands in seas,
Halts for discoveries to be shared,
Maps checked, notes compared;
A need, at times, of each for each,
Direct as the need of throat and tongue for speech.

Elizabeth Bishop ...

... is a poet who I came across the other day in an anthology ...

One art ~
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.


Insomnia ~
The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.

By the Universe deserted,
she'd tell it to go to hell,
and she'd find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well

into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me.

Once ...

... a musical for our time ...

Say it to me now ~
"I'm scratching at the surface now
And I'm trying hard to work it out
So much has gone misunderstood
This mystery only leads to doubt
And I didn't understand
When you reached out to take my hand
And if you have something to say
You'd better say it now

Cause this is what you've waited for
Your chance to even up the score
And as these shadows fall on me now
I will win somehow

Cause I'm picking up a message Lord
And I'm closer than I've ever been before
So if you have something to say
Say it to me now ..."

If you want me ~
"Are you really here or am I dreaming
I can’t tell dreams from truth
For it’s been so long since I have seen you
I can hardly remember your face anymore
When I get really lonely and the distance calls its only silence
I think of you smiling with pride in your eyes a lover that sighs

If you want me, satisfy me

Are you really sure that you believe me
When others say I lie
I wonder if you could ever despise me
You know I really try
To be a better one
to satisfy you
for you’re everything to me
And I do what you ask me
If you let me be free"

When your mind is made up ~
"So
If you ever want something
You call, call
And I'll come running
to fight
And I'll be at your door
And there's nothing worth running for

When your mind is made up
There's no point trying to change it
When your mind is made up
There's no point trying to stop it

You see, you're just like everyone
When the s*** falls
All you want to do is run away
And hide all by yourself
When there's fall, fall
There's nothing else

When your mind is made up
There's no point trying to change it
When your mind is made up
There's no point even talkin'
When your mind is made up
There's no point trying to fight it ..."

A&E ...

... is what I have spent the last two and a half month doing and to be honest, it is not my favourite department/subject on earth ... the work itself can be tedious (with about an interesting-rate of 1/10), the staffs can be difficult (some are absolutely amazing though), the hours are just plain awful (all those evenings at the department, seeing only the moon) ... I sometimes wonder why I choose to be a clerking machine for 4 months ...

Then, on Friday, we had a stimulation day (where plastic robot acts like patient) and for once, I actually know how to deal with an acutely ill patient. My technique is still pretty poor (I am never going to be a vascular surgeon) but I somehow managed to absorb some knowledge about patient management (and not only when they have psychiatric problems or falls or being confused or generally unwell - yep, I am sent to see such cases all the time).

So maybe, just maybe, these four months are not wasted. Somehow, in the midst of the repetitiveness, I have learnt something ... Maybe there is some goodness to be found among the mundanes ...

The Lives of Others ...

... (German: Das Leben der Anderen) is probably one of the best films I have seen for a long long time ... Watching the lives of those around you, with the ability to affect their densities ~ Will one try to do good? Will one seize the possibility, without guarantee of success? Will love for mankind triumph over national pride? Can one do the right thing, even if one has gone down the wrong path for so long?

There has been a lot of arguments about "The Lives of Others" as some critics felt that it is not reflective of what happened in Eastern Germany with the Stasi force. There has been no documented case of Stasi operative trying to save their subjects. Yet, this is where the beauty of the film lies ... It allows one to believe in the goodness of humankind, even in the darkest of place ...

"Remembering Maria A" by Brecht was read during the film and summarises the possibility of holding onto something good:

"It was a day in that blue month September
Silent beneath the plum trees' slender shade
I held her there
My love, so pale and silent
As if she were a dream that must not fade

Above us in the shining summer heaven
There was a cloud my eyes dwelled long upon
It was quite white and very high above us
Then I looked up
And found that it had gone

And since that day, so many moons in silence
Have swum across the sky and gone below
The plum trees surely have been chopped for firewood
And if you ask, how does that love seem now
I must admit, I really can't remember
And yet I know what you are trying to say
But what her face was like, I know no longer
I only know I kissed it on that day

As for the kiss, I long ago forgot it
But for the cloud that floated in the sky
I know that still and shall forever know it
It was quite white and moved in very high
It may be that the plum trees still are blooming
That woman's seventh child may now be there
And yet that cloud had only bloomed for minutes
When I looked up
It vanished on the air"

Goodbyes ...

... are probably one of the hardest things to say, especially after you have spent an intense weekend with a group of people who you dearly love but do not see often, due to the geographical distances, various commitments, the general busyness of life ... Such weekends always remind me of the scene in "Snoopy, Come Home", in which Charlie Brown said the following wise words, while looking at the abandoned dog-house of Snoopy:

"Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like, and just stay together forever. Someone would leave. Someone would always leave, and then we have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. You know what I need? I need more 'hellos'."

I wonder why too ... maybe that is the answer to our sadness sometimes ...

Life's unexpected ...

... is always around the corner, waiting to make itself known ... sometimes, it is hard to know how to react, when it drops by to say hello. January has passed in such a flash with job application and random A&E shifts, but I will always remember the miscarriage I witnessed on a cold winter night ... the unexpectedness of the situation, the anguish of the mother, my inability to face the pain, the helplessness we both felt ...

I thought that with times, I will grow stronger as a doctor and be able to face with what life throws at us, as we are constantly witnessing pain, illness, devastation, disappointment, death at first hand ... In a callous way, A&E has hardened my heart, as sometimes it is tough to love some of the patients we see ...

Yet, whenever I am struggling with such emotions, I will encounter a case which makes me genuinely care again. The pain is sometimes harder to bear, but as Mother Teresa said: “I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no hurt, but only more love.”

The unbearable lightness of being ...

... is a book by Milan Kundera. It's involves 4 characters, with Czech modern history as a background, and a lot of philosophical rambling. It has many awesome ideas in the book (and some not-so-great ones). I particularly like the following paragraphs;

"We all need someone to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under.

The first category longs for the look of an infinite number of anonymous eyes, in other words, for the look of the public. That is the case with the German singer, the American actress, and even the tall, stooped editor with the big chin ...

The second category is made up of people who have a vital need to be looked at by many known eyes. They are the tireless hosts of cocktail parties and dinners. They are happier than the people in the first category, who, whey they lose their public, have the feeling that the lights have gone out in the room of their lives. This happens to nearly all of them sooner or later. People in the second category, on the other hand, can always come up with the eyes they need ...

Then there is the third category, the category of people who need to be constantly before the eyes of the person they love. Their situation is as dangerous as the situation of people in the first category. One day the eyes of their beloved will close, and the room will go dark ...

And finally, there is the fourth category, the rarest, the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers. Franz, for example. He travelled to the borders of Cambodia only for Sabina. As the bus bumped along the Thai road, he could feel her eyes fixed on him in a long stare."

This is a fairly interesting way of looking at people, and in many ways, it is true ... the eyes are personalification of what is important in their lives ... The first category can represent power/wealth/being known, which is similar to the second category, except in the scale and the "controllability" of the eyes. The third group is love (in its various forms, be it the flickering love of a lover, the adoring gaze of a child, the approving nod of a parent), whereas the last group consists of those unknowns which we hold dear; the lost love, the One, the never-ending possibilities, God ...

Do people metaphoresis from one category to another, because of the changing nature of their beliefs and the harsh experience of life?

India ...

... is definitely one of the most fascinating countries I have ever visited ... it was just so different; the people (always smiling, no matter what they are facing), the crowdiness (I will always remember the Sunday market outside Jama Masjid), the slowness (my sister called it "Indian Stretch Time"), the chaos (you do as they say, not by the rules), the randomness (haggling involves asking for 50% off original price --> walking away --> the shopkeeper calling you back and selling it at your price but with 50 rupees extra --> more head shaking --> deal closed), the poverty (a child offered to jump into a crazy waterfall for 50 rupees: 60p), the sense of hope (they will knock and knock on a car window for some changes), the sense of desperation (homes made out of cupboards, sheets of fabric) ...

It does have some awesome architectures (Taj Mahal, Agar Fort, Hawa Mahal, Humayan Tomb etc), interesting history (Mughal emperors, Hindi kings, British Indian Company, Gandhi, Pakistan), a certain degree of religious tolerance (from an outsider's point of view, although I have no doubt that it is debatable), exotic food (way tooooo spicy for me, but prawn curry at United Coffee House is awesome!), creative modes of transports (I have been on an elephant, a camel, a horse, a rickshaws, an auto, a very slow slow moving train, a bumpy 40 seats plane) and the most amazing massage ever (although it did involve a lot of flours and hot oils?!?!?)

I have also observed my own family in close quarter (I have not spent more than 5 days with my family in one go since 2003), got to know my brother-in-law, learned a tremendous amount about myself and having my habits and views challenged.

Rabindranath Tagore wrote a poem on Taj Mahal ~

"You know Shah Jahan,
life and youth, wealth and glory,
they all drift away in the current of time.
You strove therefore, to perpetuate only the sorrow of your heart
... Let the splendour of diamond, pearl and ruby vanish,
... Only let this one tear-drop,
this Taj Mahal glisten spotlessly bright
on the cheek of Time for ever and ever.
.... Oh king, you sought to harm time
with the magic of beauty and weave garland
that would blind formless death with deathless form...
This mausoleum stands still and unmoving in its place."

Never let me go ...

... is the title of a book by Kazuo Ishiguro and was very popular about a year or so ago ... I suppose we are all trying to find someone who will hold onto us, who will never never let us go, who are our anchors, stopping us from being swept away by this world. Yet, sometimes, as Tommy said in the book; "I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end, it's just too much. The current's too strong. They've got to let go, drift apart. That's how I think it is with us. It's a shame, Kath, because we've loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can't stay together forever".

The desperation, the helplessness ... summaries so well of life in London ...

In the book, there is this idea of Norfolk being a lost corner, where all the lost property found in the world goes to ... If only such places do exist on this earth, so that "when we lost something precious, and we'd looked and looked and still couldn't find it, then we don't have to be completely heartbroken. We still had the last bit of comfort, thinking one day, when we were grown up, and we were free to travel around the country, we could always go and find it again in Norfolk".

This is, however, a dangerous ground to tread on, as during the process, we develop ways to cope with our losses; pretending, devaluing, decentralising, replacing ... and eventually, we do not even recognise the tremendous darkness of our losses ...

Memories ...

... are powerful - you can distort it, relish it with happiness, relive it with anguish ... but can we ever unload its emotional impact? We may put on spectacles with tints of rainbow, viewing snaps of our lives in the colour we choose ... Yet, deep within, we still feel the pain and sometimes, the joy, it brings ...

Robinton Mistry wrote in "a fine balance"; " How much Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passage of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated - not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain".

Definitely a source of pain, but maybe sadness and happiness generate a different type of pain ...

A man of wisdom ...

"Flatter me, and I may not believe you.
Criticize me, and I may not like you.
Ignore me, and I may not forgive you.
Encourage me, and I will not forget you.
Love me and I may be forced to love you.”

~ William Arthur Ward

This is definitely how I feel ... love and encouragment are impossible to refuse ... Is is true for you?

Rainer Maria Rilke said ...

... For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.

... Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.

... Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave.

marriage ...

... is probably the subject which I have been talking the most of this week ... it is emotionally draining ... I talked about it with my little sister, my friends, my patients ... sometimes you wonder how many "couple therapy" one can endure in a day ... it is strange in that those at the start of this life-long marathon sound so optimistic, so hopeful of what the future will bring ... next along the lines are those who have been married for a while, with their soles of sorrow, painful joints ... and at the end, there are those who have endured a quarter of a century together, with their broken promises, bottles of tears, glasses of misunderstanding shattered on the ground ...

... it does make you wonder ... but hey, some people do make it through intact and smiling ...

Jeff Buckley ...

... amazing version:

Well I heard there was a secret chord
that David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this :
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah ...

Well your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
And she tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah ...

(Yeah but) Baby I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor, (You know)
I used to live alone before I knew ya
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
and love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah ...

Well there was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya
But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah...

Time ...

... can be measured by the moving hands of a clock, as it ticks away the seconds, the minutes, the hours ... but what does one turn to when we reach the days, the months, the years ... do we refer to a calendar? or our diary? What is the mind map of our life on earth? If I ask you: "Where were you last year when they were showing the firework?", how will you search for that day in your mind ...

Some people may anchor it by their travels, "ahhh, I missed it as I was at the Big Apple"; or by their jobs/studies, "On-calls, on-calls, on-calls"; or by their relationships, "I watched it with my ex"; or by their feelings, "Very stressed out that day - can't remember what I thought of the firework"; or by our beliefs, "God seemed a distant memory then" ...

Maybe how we divide our lives, both in reality and in our minds, shows what has the uttermost prominence in our lives, but as C.S.Lewis said:

"The Future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of sixty minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is".

"read my mind" ...

... is a song by The Killers and probably one of my favourite songs at the moment - it always brings a smile to my face when it plays on my ipod as I walk up towards the hospital in the glorious autumn sunshine ...

... it asks this question "Can you read my mind?" and one of the classic questions in Psychiatry is "do you think people can read your mind?" (for the non-medics: thought broadcast is one of Schneider's symptoms of first rank for schizophrenia). Most people just look at me as if I am mad ...

But how would one feel if people can truly read your mind? Most people will probably shrink from such an idea, as no one wants their inner thought to be known to all, as it may reveal how shallow/deep/lonely/envious/funny/sarcastic we are ... It also renders conversations to be meaningless (as you can read everything off a speech bubble and the conversation will take on so many tangles, spreading like a spider web). We all have listened to people revealing their deepest fears/latest invention/new-found-absolutely-can-do-no-wrongs-other-half, when we are secretly thinking what to order from the menu ...

Yet, what if we can select whom we reveal our thoughts to? What will happen then? Will it make life easier, more bearable? When we can "tell" a passerby how much we love their gorgeous blue shoes, our parents how much we appreciate their sacrifices, our friends how much our lives have shined because of their lights, the person how much we have liked them since the beginning of time, those we have hurt along the way how truly sorry we are ...

But as Dana Gioia wrote,

"So much of what we live goes on inside–
The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches
Of unacknowledged love are no less real
For having passed unsaid. What we conceal
Is always more than what we dare confide.
Think of the letters that we write our dead."

flowers ...

~ by Wendy Cope

"Some men never think of it.
You did. You'd come along
And say you'd nearly bought me flowers
But something had gone wrong.

The shop was closed. Or you had doubts -
The sort that minds like ours
Dream up incessantly. You thought
I might not want your flowers.

It made me smile and hug you then.
Now I can only smile.
But, look, the flowers you nearly bought
have lasted all this while."