sotto voce

I’m not worrying. I figure I’ll make the choice when it’s finally time to decide. But my mind warned me that this was the same mistake I made the last time: keeping all the doors open instead of focusing on one.

This time I’m going to make a compromise. I’m keeping only three doors opened:

1. academia. (pro: 3 months holiday per year, cons: stuck teaching bratty undergrads and doing research)

2. physician  (pro: feeling useful every single day, cons: feeling defeated and useless every single day)

3. international healthcare consulting/project manager (pro: traveling opportunity, cons: too much traveling, how am i supposed to settle down)

The manic side of me thinks I should make the three a unity in form of career progression: 3 while I still have the energy/curiosity/drive, then 2 as I part-time it with building a family, and 1 as I retire. Sounds like a good plan??

Not really. My MIL calculated how old I’d be by the time I finish med sch: 40.

Fuck, I do not want to fight with my kids over dirty laundry and unmade bed when I’m fifty-something. But then again, she did it, so why can’t I.

And the normalcy! It makes me slightly nauseous. Am I not supposed to be a creative genius who comes up with groundbreaking **(BLANK)** . yeah Einstein, don’t call yourself a genius until you fill in the blank. But you know that I tried, and I tried, and I tried,... and I’m still trying.

One of her best friends is (was?) one of my best friends in school, but I never really hung out with her. She was abroad when I became close to this common friend of ours. After I started dating Andrew, I found out that he hooked up with her a couple times in junior year. They split after spring break, and she had been hating him ever since. When An and I visited my best friend on campus a couple months ago, she refused to acknowledge An’s presence in the room.

When we confirmed that she was the one gunned down, I attempted to figure out the kind of emotion I needed to feel. I couldn’t take the lead from An – because he felt nothing. She was too brief a fling to ever form any real connection. Honestly, I felt nothing but a morbid curiosity to know what happened. It seemed improper for me to grieve, and at the same time it seemed so insensitive to not feel the tiniest sliver of sadness. She was my friend’s buddy. She was someone I knew. We went to the same school. Aren’t we supposed to share common humanity?

Yet, despite my inability to feel the loss, I haven’t been my normal self since I heard the news. I couldn’t sleep. I’m distracted all the time. I can’t do my work without checking seven news sources simultaneously for the latest news. And the worse thing is: I feel ashamed to tell An that I’m affected by her death. There’s no good reason why I should be affected by her death. I initially thought that the more I learnt about her, the easier it would be for me to grieve and therefore, archive this bit of news as another young life lost to stupid, senseless violence. So I stayed up the whole night reading her old blog, googling her last name, figuring out who her friends and families are, what kind of person she is (beyond the stories that An told me about her). But my fact-finding mission only turned me into a nosy acquaintance who truly didn’t know her when she was still alive and therefore, why would I feel anything now that she’s dead?

"Ngga tau diri… Gue tuh ngga tau diri banget sih!"

I tried explaining to Andrew what "ngga tau diri" means. Insolent? Audacious? Unashamed? I can’t find the right word for it. It’s a phrase that describes someone who doesn’t know his/her place. He sneered at my definition. "Who on earth defines your place in society?"

I’ll tell you who defines your place in society. Money. Moola. Dinero.

We know that you should never spend above your means. So according to that wise adage, poor people like me should not apply to school they can’t afford. I had two full minutes of euphoria before the question of "How am I gonna pay for this shiiiiit????" starts hanging over my head. I’m too late to apply for any kinds of scholarships. I can’t apply for fin-aid because my PR-ship is still in process. I’m fucking screwed. And for the past two days, I feel like an insolent bastard – as we are figuring out how to pay for school. This would be the first time in twelve years that I’ve ever had to pay for school. Living with someone who’s been privileged enough to have his college & trust fund all set up by the time he was fifteen often makes me forget that our circumstances are worlds apart. If not for his encouragement, I would’ve never applied to this school – knowing well I can’t afford it. I’m toying with the idea of rejecting the offer (haha. after all these brouhaha. what irony) because I loathe to have to take a loan (especially in this kind of credit market). 

Why did I even apply to this school? Ngga tau diri banget! What audacity! (Not to be corny: but maybe, ... audacity of hope??).

We think this is a valuable investment. We’ve confirmed that a B.A. from a so-so university is worth shit. Finally I’ve gotten one foot in the door – a door that will open so many other doors for me. 

Meanwhile the memory of the past haunts me. My adolescent self staring at the floor, trying to block out the conversation my mother is having with these relatives – asking them to loan us money to pay for my sister’s medical school. The shame. the shame the shame. No offense to my sister, who’s an excellent doctor and I’m glad she’s thick-skinned enough to go through that and did her medical school. 

While I’m gonna shut the fuck up, stop complaining about my impoverished past (boohoo. get over it already) and get my shit together.

The good news didn’t come as a joyful surprise, more like an unintrusive period at the end of a sentence. I should be happy because my hardwork (what hardwork?) paid off. Despite my lack of experience, I was deemed competent to enter the program. But I’m not "happy". I was sad and upset and angry before this, because I felt like I’ve been denied something that is rightfully mine. Of course that’s such an arrogant statement. What gives me the right to be IN the program? It’s not like I’m special. But I can’t deny that that’s how I feel, that I feel indifferent (instead of ecstatic).

I look at my future classmates – some of whom are going straight from college – and marvel at their abilities to know that this is what they want to do in life. Such conviction coming from people who aren’t even old enough to order drinks. I suppose this is why experience matters. So that you’re able to say "been there, seen & smell the shit, done that—this is what I want". That’s what summer internships are for.

I’m jealous at these people who’re unwavering about what they want to do in life. Who knew from the beginning how to plan their college careers, which internships to score, which classes to take. Meanwhile, I meandered (almost in a circle) about my way only to saunter into this field hoping that this is the one that’ll be able to keep my interest. 

Don’t you want this degree then?

Hell yes, I want it. Because as I see it right now, this is the best route for me to take , just to be able to enter the fucking field. Every other entry-level job in this field requires experience. The ones that don’t are administrative. How many years do I have to waste filing records before I can move up? I did wish I had done internships in public health in college,  but hang on a second …. there IS a reason why the only internships I applied to are either research or investment banks, because they’re the ones that fucking PAY! The non-profits, ... you can just forget about it. They offer college credits. Yeah,.. college credits my ass – like I need more extra college credits (I graduated with seven extra credits = seven classes extra). the ones that pay, offer stipend that I promise you , won’t cover five square foot in the city. Dru always talks about his high-performing cousin who went to Uganda or Tanzania after college to work in a health clinic for a year before going to med school. Ahem..ahem… yes, and I wish I had the money to go to India for a medical mission when someone offered me to go in sophomore year. What’s that? WHO internship. Yes of course I’d like to go, except that – how am I gonna pay for the travel cost and the cost of living in geneva. There’s a reason why I only went back to Indonesia once in my entire college career.

I keep asking myself if I’m making all these excuses up. If I’m the fucking lazy one who’s unable to pick and choose what’s good for herself, and always end up in this kind of dead-end situation. Yes, I realize I did make a mistake in my first two years in college.

Instead of spending my hard-earned money on worthwhile summer internship, I spent it on shuttling back and forth between Middletown and Toronto, vacationing in Vancouver and Vegas, just to please the stupid fucking ex who has kindly left a huge emotional scar on me. 

Instead of planning ahead, I told myself: "It’s liberal arts college. Explore! Explore! Explore!". 

argh. this is tiring. no point mourning what’s past anyway.