It’s three in the morning Sunday night. All the festivities have finally come to an end. Maggie (my roommate) and I just had one of our late night cuddle on the bed with the pooches chats- one of my favorite things over the last year. In the span of an hour, we talked about families, friends, current loves, lost loves, the Holocaust, car alternators, vodka, Stolat!- the Russian celebration song- that was actually a Latin medical song. We discussed our relationship, the graduation ceremony, made an itinerary for Maggie’s busy last day in San Antonio tomorrow, and, most importantly, talked more about the uncertainty that lies ahead of us: me driving a U-Haul alone through murky swamp lands of Louisiana; Maggie preparing for her move in just 48 hours- unsure of where she will be one month from now and with whom she’ll be able to have late night bed talks. :(
Although I didn’t think I would be nervous coming up to the ceremony, when my dad and I were walking into the building, he asked me if I felt nervous. I stopped, looked at him, and said, “I feel like I’m going to vomit.” It was not so much the fear of tripping up the stairs or not getting a loud applause, it was the fear of what this day embodies for me. No longer can I say, “Sorry, I’m just a student; let me get someone who knows what the hell they are doing.” I am supposed TO BE that person who knows what the hell they are doing. But, though I have MD behind my name now, I don’t feel any less nervous than that first day of high school when I was 15—and I DEFINITELY don’t feel like I know what I am doing.
Now that it’s finally quiet, the fam is home, the booze has all dried up, I realize how much I am going to miss my friends and my life here. Medical school definitely sucked, don’t get me wrong. However, bonding together through something so incredibly painful and anxiety-provoking, while simultaneously rewarding and fulfilling, has been one of the best experiences of my life.
I look upon this new phase of my life with excitement and terror, ready for a new life and reluctant to leave my old one (hence why I keep pushing back my final departure date from Tejas). But I look upon the friends I have made over the last six years in Texas with only one feeling: overwhelming sadness.
It’s unfortunate with great beginnings comes the loneliness of seeing the end of what once was a great beginning.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
I'm sitting on my balcony in Athens, overlooking the Acropolis. Lindsay and Chris are coming into town today, and we are going to have our own rooms, hallelujah!! Yesterday, I was feeling pretty cranky and homesick, tired of sharing rooms with snoring strangers and taking showers in tiny closets. As I sit on my private balcony and look out at the pantheon, eagerly awaiting the arrival of familiar faces, I am feeling very rejuvenated.
My roommates in my Paris hostal were two girls from Poland. I told them I was part Polish and threw out the few words I remembered my grandmother teaching me. They then asked me what my last name was, and I tried to pronounce it in Polish, "Zoobovsky," that way i thought i remember my grandparents saying it. However, they looked at me really confused, so I wrote it down. "Ohh! Zoobovich. What you cant even pronounce your own surname?" I tried to explain that in English, it sounded nothing like that, but they were having none of it. After a few mroe minutes of friendly banter, I was promised a free place to stay and tour guides if I ever came to Poland, and I promised them the same in DC. Before leaving, we exchanged emails and will obviously be life-long facebook friends.
Quote of the day: "Let's see some ancient shit so we can get and iced coffee and take a nap." -LD