Saying Goodbye

While having lunch with some friends at Morningside Thai on Tuesday, Chirag discovered that I don't wear contact lenses and therefore he recruited me to participate in his study of "corneal topography." So I made a date to meet with him at Smith Tower today to be his guinea pig. Aside from technical difficulties with one of the instruments, which prevent my corneal topographical measurements to be revealed to the public, it was a really fun afternoon. Chirag measured my visual acuity which was 20/15 in the right eye (OD I believe?? is that right, Aheelers?) and 20/30 in my left eye. I was really excited about the 20/15 in my right eye, but Chirag told me that it was that good because I was squinting. I decided that that probably means my right eye is 20/20, based on... well, nothing really...

So getting back to my point. Chirag and I had lunch, and then we went to my place where he kindly helped me move out some of the last remaning items in my apartment.

Now, I'm writing this after he has left. I'm sitting in an empty bedroom, on the carpet, decorated with vacuum cleaner induced stripes. The blinds are closed to my window, and I can hear the hum of the air-conditioning unit. My silver lamp sits in a corner, and it serves as a gentle reminder that I still have possession of my house. But, it's all coming to an end very soon, and I'm really sad.

I have so many memories in this apartment of late night study sessions, coming back from call at the VA at 2 am, Ahila's suprise birthday party, my birthday party that I threw for myself last year. I remember my parents coming over one time on their wedding anniversary because I wasn't able to go home due to an upcoming exam. I think I made them peppermint tea and fed them fancy cookies. I remember all the times Ahila and Yasmin came over, and we just goofed off to the music of "Dancing Queen." I remember having philosophical talks with Tibor... most likely with some sort of Tibor-ish food involved.

I have aching memories of a love lost, but I also have memories of that ache being gradually replaced with warm feelings of hope and and a sense of comfort. I remember one night, my father came over and I cried like a baby with my head in his lap.

I remember those nights that I spent time getting ready to go out with friends... We would always agree to meet at say 9:45 or so, but it would end up that we'd meet at 10:30 and get to the agreed destinated much later than planned. How did that happen almost every single time?! I would pick out an outfit, put on some fun makeup, and leave my home, pepper spray in hand. I remember how every Sunday I would leave my apartment in either a sari or salwar kameez to go to the temple. I would return the same evening from the temple with the same sari, perhaps a little more wrinkled, and with an extra plate of YUMMY prasadam in hand. At the temple, they know I'm a med student so they would always give me extra.

I remember when my AC unit busted during the first year of med school while it was 100 degrees outside, and I spent the night with Liz when she still lived here.

I remember those lazy Sunday mornings, how I would often spend them on my balcony with the pages of the New York Times magazine and a cup of chamomile tea, and the breeze would comb through my hair if the weather was nice. If the weather was really nice, I would sometimes meditate on my balcony. I remember how every year in the spring, I would enjoy watching the baby buds of the tree in front of my balcony spring open with bright green leaves, gradually changing to a darker shade in summer, then to a yellow color in the autumn.

I know that the carpet in my house contains remnants of tears shed - those belonging to me as well as those of my friends. I know for sure that those tears amplify the special quality of my home.

I remember one time Tibor came over unexpectedly and I didn't know it... He knocked at my door and covered the eyepiece just to be funny and disguised his voice. I refused to open the door because I'm an ultra-paranoid single female. When I finally realized it was him, I opened the door and chewed him out! Can you imagine... me chewing out someone as sweet as Tibor!!! That still makes me smile. I'm glad he's still friends with me :)

I remember Ahila coming over once and we practiced our physical exams skills before a test during first year. We had to remember to use the bell of the stethoscope to listen to the mitral valve.

I remember taking walks from my apartment to that park off of Morningside with Ahila, Yasmin and Bunmi on several different occasion. I have renamed that park "The Devi Park." There's really fun swings over there and really cute kids that play there... there's even this cute FOB family :)

I remember Match Day, what I wore and when Yasmin came to pick me up in her 'rolla. She looked really cute that day, as usual.

I remember the day of Baylor prom, and the three of us are getting ready in my bathroom. I was so happy when I found out that Yasmin was coming over that evening, despite the fact that she was super exhausted from her day. Sameer "Boot" Bootwala taught me some rugged Gujurati that night. "Eh boobeck.... pani apso ki nehi?!!" Hey dorkus, are you gonna get me some water, or what?!

All these memories, and so many more that I don't want to say goodbye to, but I will. I hope and pray that many more wonderful memories are waiting to be made in Atlanta.

I have this book called "Creating Sacred Space with Feng Shui" and there's a part in it that recommends that you call your home by a name, any name that you choose. According to Feng Shui, there's a life force contained in the home, and in this way, the home is a kind of living entity of its own. In the book it said how when you come home after being out, you can greet your home by the name you have chosen. When I first read this I thought that this was kind of silly (although the rest of the book was really interesting). But as the moving out date approaches, I realize that I feel like I will be saying goodbye to an old friend, someone that has been with me during one of the most exciting, most stressful, most difficult periods of my life.

It will be a difficult goodbye.

I'm scared

You'd suspect, after reading the title of this particular blog entry, that I'm about to expound upon my fears of being an intern and actually having responsiblity of children's lives. Yes, I do have fears about this upcoming initiation into the world of internhood, but that's not what this is about. This is about my dream last night.

I just happened to remember -- and I know it's weird that it just happened, but this is how life often works... you happen to remember your dreams at weird moments such as 11:37 on a Tuesday night -- what I dreamt of last night. I dreamt that I was friends with Ashlee Simpson and that she was actually really cool. And the reason why I thought she was cool was because she had a cool wardrobe - she took me on a tour of her closet. Is there a psychiatrist in the house, because I'm scared.

Oops, I graduated again

I'm really not obsessed with Britney or anything, although several of my blog entries appear contrary to that statement. However, after having graduated from medical school on May 23rd, I am now forced to release my persona of "Not a med student, not yet a physician" into the arena known as "personal history," and replace it with a new blog phrase, which for the time being, is now "Oops, I graduated again." This is true! I did graduate "again" for the 3rd time in my life. And the "oops" reveals not only how the past four years seem to have flown by (time flies when you're having fun), but also of "ohhhh shit what am I getting myself into for the next three years (i.e. residency)."

There's also that other phrase that comes to mind, one that has graced our personal storage of cliches since time immemorial: The third time's a charm, baby!!! And this graduation was certainly just that: charming! I enjoyed this graduation more than any other, for obvious and not so obvious reasons. My classmates and I were genuinely proud of each other - you could feel it in those moments when we were lining up, filling through snake lines behind stage just before parading to our seats in Jones Hall. Backstage, Jones Hall transformed into the baseball dugout that I remember from elementary school, where we'd slap eachother high fives before stepping up to bat. We applauded each other, knowing exactly of the choices that we've made to enter medical school, get through medical school and not just, in the words of an infamous President Emeritus, smash our pagers against the wall and apply for a job at Old Navy. This attitude permeated throughout the ceremony and reached its climax when John Rapp began to call each of our names, calling us to receive our diplomas (and receive our diplomas we did! The diploma covers were NOT empty!). I applauded for each and every one of my classmates, maybe a little louder for some, conjoined with a little hollering for those that will forever occupy special places in my heart. This felt so good, to be proud of all my classmates, and of course, to hear my own name called without a pronunciation error.
So this very fact, the lack of pronunciation error, is also reason why the third times a charm. They have BOTCHED my name at every single one of my graduations in the past. In high school, I questioned as to whether it was really me who was up next to walk across the stage. In college, it wasn't so bad, but enough to make me smirk at how large the world still is and wonder how many sets of Indian parents in the audience were thinking, "They will never pronounce our names correctly." But at my medical school graduation, John Rapp got it perfectly. After he said it, I hesitated a bit, wanting to soak in the moment of "the third time's a charm." Not only am I about to graduate from medical school, but they just pronounced my name right! Can it get better than this?!

And then there was meeting up with my parents after graduation. And this also was unlike any other graduation. They actually had tears in their eyes. It was very emotional for them, something that I may understand only if my own child graduates from medical school or receives a PhD or something like that.

The morning after graduation, I must confess, I sat in the prayer room of our house and I opened up my diploma and traced its letters with my index finger. The only words that were not palpable were the letters of my name, printed on the diploma, the diploma that will grace my future office walls.

So, yeah: Oops, I graduated again, but this one was mighty special.