My So-Called Life VI

Several hours remain before I’m off to move my belongings to my temporary home at Waterloo. Somehow it feels exciting, but at the same time, I feel apathetic about the process of moving into this new place. The excitement and thrill had expired the last time I’ve been through this.

I feel the need to recall what happened during the past few months since I’ve been at home. There are a lot of things I don’t miss, but there are still a few things that need mentioning, as these experiences are probably the most important and strange convolutions of my life.

This is the vaccine for this crude, infested globe. It’s still not enough to cover the toxicity of such a fake world, but I don’t care about the vaccination. I care about what it did.

Once upon a time, I had a companion to pull through the hill to professional school. When the hour struck 9:00AM, when CHEM123 was all I could think of, I lost this comrade as he pushed me and walked on the other end of the hill, not knowing what could be there, and not knowing that that side was mudslide-prone. I picked myself up, brushed off the fresh grass off of my pants as chlorophyll stained my jeans with a pitiful streak, and walked forward, not bothering to look at the little speck in the distance and continued forward. I continued, still tripping over rocks and twigs, but on my own. I have Mrs. Bruce’s voice to thank, teaching me about porches, ceilings, and my favourite singer, LEOA GERC. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. I don’t think I’ll see him again. I don’t miss it when I don’t think about it. But when I do, I long for a companion to keep me company as I walked up this hill. I finished the term with my name on a list. I don’t regret that; I have nothing to be regretful for.

April 24th. I sat in front of my computer, finally opening Final Fantasy XI after an 8 month absence. I wasn’t playing the same game anymore. The only thing that pull itself out of evolution was the only important thing about it. I was still surprised that Kris still loved me, even having not being able to speak for so long. It was just her and I. Each dormitory room was open and empty. Mine was the only one closed. It was an eerie feeling. I was lonely in an empty building. It was silent for once, and somehow this silence, although relieving, was also uncomfortable. It felt like the life had died, and I was the only one sitting there, waiting for something or someone to take me away. I was taken away the next afternoon. I said good bye to NE118. I don’t miss it much.

Several Thursdays passed. The first Thursday of June, I was packing my bags once again. I picked up my boarding passes after freshening up after my first day at the hospital, and made my way to the YYZ. I finally told my parents I had a girlfriend, by the way. They weren’t all that thrilled when it was accompanied with a request to fly to California to see her. I did it anyway. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to pry away from them. I would might as well do it softly with a soothing fire rather than a crowbar.

I got off the plane.

Just like the day when I came of my dad’s car when I passed the test for my driver’s license, I couldn’t stop smiling when I saw her face, so perfect with a beautiful smile and a beautiful posture. I knew I came to the right place. It felt more like home than home itself. I found myself unconditionally and unforced happiness when I was with her, just laying with her and watching a movie; laying together and making up for lost time; watching the beach that I’ve never seen before; and walking downtown without much care in the world other than what’s in front of us, and who’s hand we were holding. Good bye was the last thing we wanted to say. Life never gives us what we want.

I got stranded in Las Vegas. Can you believe this? 2AM in the morning, lights all lit up on the strip. I never got to drive through it. I slept in a dark hotel in the corner of Las Vegas. The shower never worked there. Somehow it was a strange and irritating feeling, thinking that I should be with her, lying together and talking rather than having to hold a large mass of plastic and wires up to our ears, just to talk to each other. We were a lot closer than before, so why couldn’t I just come out of the room, walk a few steps and be right in front of her? My body didn’t want to understand why. It just wanted what I wanted: someone to hold.

Life passed by slowly for a while. We counted the months like 6 months would pass instantly. It was “one month passed” for a fairly long time. My phone bill came up to 48 dollars worth of picture messages.

Many months have passed since then. One and a half month passed, I was slicing dried meats, making elegantly unsophisticated business lunches, and speaking English for the non-speakers. Never would I have thought that I would actually enjoy working at a place I had so much potential to hate. Maybe times have changed. Maybe diversity isn’t such a myth anymore. My kind isn’t a bane, but rather the safety and lifeline. I like that feeling. I also remembered that 454 grams is 1 pound, and 16 ounces is one pound. Valuable experience comes from the places you least expect. That’s one fact that made me smile on my PCAT.

On my last day, I had Hawaiian pizza for lunch. It had pineapples in it. Doris knew me so well. If I had more affection and sentimentality, I would have cried when I hugged her. “You’re like my son,” she says. My soul cried when I laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking what great potential friends I have made. I realised how nomadic I already am, not being able to establish good friends. It worries me how my future will turn out. At least I know what mortadella and proscuitto cotto tastes like. And what Stephanie’s makeshift chicken salad taste like, being the only person she asked to be a test mouse. At least I know I’m not a complete sociological freak. At least enough to hear of Sandy’s hard life as she confessed her problems to me one night as these convoluted thoughts encircled her in a jester’s dance. No, you won’t hear of those. The hospital taught me confidentiality. You’re not going to get anything out of me. No way.

I stopped working at the hospital last week. There’s not much to say. I met a friend that wrote the PCAT with me. Our paths have parted when the test room became vacant. Who knows when I’ll see him again. Maybe it’s for the better. Maybe he’ll get further than where he wanted. Friendship is the only thing I gained from working at the hospital. Linda taught me a lot of elementary pharmacology and how to deal with idiocy and language barriers. So did Grace. I haven’t seen them in a while.

I laid on my bed, staring at my ceiling, listening to Bebel Gilberto and Boards of Canada, like usual. Kris went out with her friends. I came home by myself. I finally decided to turn on my laptop, sit myself in my room in the dark, and began to type. I felt relief, knowing I have somewhere to announce my lacklustre life. This is where I stopped writing.