Here beats a riddle in metric
perfection:
A pooling of water in moldable vase,
Ivory frosting to layer on settling
cake,
The tabula rasa awaiting its trace.
Half-baked clay, a bubble catching
breath,
An anxious snowball hopped on down a
rolling hill,
This lonely grain of sand’s asleep in lustrous
jacket.
Here’s pen hovering over paper,
hands on clay,
A wind-hungry sail ready to take
course.
Here breathes a brand new pair of
scissors
That cut itself out from a plastic
cell.
-Unknown
I’ve never been good at keeping a diary; indeed, I’d be the first
to admit that inconsistency is my greatest flaw. Thus, it is not at all
surprising that my first reflection about medical school should be written
nearly 2 years after the initiation of our blog, covering half of our entire
tenure at Keck. Those 2 years though, those 730 days, I now realize have been
some of the most powerful forces in shaping who I am. I’m typically not that
person who likes to write about themselves at length, but I will try my best to
capture this personal time span in the broadest way I know how. Take from it
what you will; just like anything that happens in life, it is not meant to be a
teaching point, some kind of universal lesson, but it is a significant
experience in the short history of my life, and I hope that you can take something
away from it. That’s it; disclaimer over.
Not a waltz but not a
foxtrot either
I spent the majority of my first year of med school slipping
in and out of a haze. It’s that feeling that you get when you’ve been
anticipating something for so long that you become suspended in a surreal state
once that moment, that something, arrives.
Like when you stumble through the finish line after months
of marathon training, or when you finally
