Inktober 2018

Soooo…

It feels like ages since I last posted here. In fact, it has been. Guilty as charged. However, a recent conversation with someone made me want to post. While I seem to have a shortage of words worth sharing, pictures are something I have been creating.

I decided to give inktober a whirl this year! I’m not particularly good, but I find drawing fun, and hey maybe I’ll improve somewhat along the way.  Here are some of my scribbles:

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and a bonus Pikachu, because I’ve had Pokémon on my mind these days! 😛
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redvelvetjacket

When will the need to be heard, to be held so close to someone’s chest you can hear their heart beating against the rib cage; to be told you mean something to someone, when to yourself you mean nothing at all; to be foolishly happy and afraid of losing it all in the blink of an eye; to make someone’s life a little, if not a lot, better, and live knowing you’re of use, of significant importance; to be not scared of showing too much of yourself and end up being loved less for the mess that you are, to live each day like it’s the last, be met?

To have the same colours in my life that I use to paint empty canvasses with. To be the painting in the end, after hours of different brush strokes, corrections, effort, resulting in a piece that will tell you a story…

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Musings From The OT: The Surgeon. (Housejob Diaries)

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Sleight of hand, sharpness of wits. Blood stained, sweaty browed, stiff necked, he stands. Yet he stands upright. Stance firm, piloting up to four instruments at a time.

The surgeon, almost arrogantly confident, always a little too loud, always sure of himself. So much so, that you can’t help but wonder whether it is in fact blind certainty, or a facade to mask any lingering doubts. His decision is absolute.

Hands plunged deep inside an cavity, searching, rearranging. The vibrations of the operating table jolt me back to my senses. A reminder that that’s in fact a human being, under the drapery and bloodstains. A realisation, that what he’s doing is no less than assisting the work of God himself.

 

“As a surgeon you have to have a controlled arrogance. If it’s uncontrolled, you kill people, but you have to be pretty arrogant to saw through a person’s chest, take out their heart and believe you can fix it. Then, when you succeed and the patient survives, you pray, because it’s only by the grace of God that you get there.”
– Mehmet

Reflections from the ER 1: Housejob Diaries

Short and somewhat fragmented, much like my thought processes these days. 

 

Twice a week we are banished to the purgatory of the ER. A place where it is neither night nor day, summer nor winter; yet everything all at once. Bright lights rob us of any true orientation, disconcerting after a certain number of waking hours. The ER doesn’t play by the rules of other places. Things never come to a stop, but merely slow down, then speed up. An irregularly irregular pulse of activity. Time follows a similar pattern. It would be foolish to associate night with rest, or any other time for that matter. Rest, for the fortunate, is always stolen from within duties.

Here in the accident and emergency department, we juggle the accidental emergencies and tackle the emerging accidents. We main sharp-witted, shrewd, and often sure of ourselves, even when we are not.
The walls absorb as many prayers and curses as the floor does blood, sweat and tears. Wails and yells pierce the air intermittently, an argument dotted here and there. But that’s all routine.

 

 

Five People In My Life I’m Grateful For

 

…and what I learned from them.

 

The Unexpected Companion. 

The person who you’re lucky enough to cross paths with at the outset of an adventure and who sticks by you throughout the journey. They help coax you out of your shell, by their mere example and just the thing you need to push you out of your comfort zone. A person who, by virtue of their inner strength, show that an emotional display isn’t necessarily emotional vulnerability. You learn to read them, and they, you. Having weathered the same struggles, you remain allies for long after you’ve parted ways.

 

The Teacher.

The person whose logic and calming presence puts you back in the right place. A person who is a place to recalibrate your thoughts and feelings, almost slightly scaring you with the accuracy of their perception. A person whose silence speaks louder than their words, the volumes of which, astound you. They give you the patience and dedication that you didn’t know you deserved, and in turn, teach you to do the same for those who matter.

 

The Confidante.

The person with whom you don’t discuss the frivolous day to day, but things with depth and intertwined with such emotion that you would never dare to air in from to anyone else. Someone in front of whom your flaws are safe, and openness is the only way you know how to communicate. The person who teaches you acceptance, most importantly of yourself. Trust is key, and you can lay out your deepest darkest secrets, without hesitation or fear of judgment.

 

The Foil.

The person who isn’t quite like you, but in being different teach you to be a little more yourself. Or rather who unlock parts of you that you  never knew you had and just let it be. Who oil the hinges on your squeaky, awkward and let things move easily. They see the lighter side of things. Their strength lies in the fact that they’re someone for whom companionship matters, reminding you it matter for you too.

 

The Cheerleader.

The person who teaches you that to love and to rejoice in life are not outfits to be saved for special occasions, but something to bask in such that it shines through your being. They show you the importance of acknowledging your emotions, but greater still, to put up a smiling face against what the world throws at you.

 

 

 

Long time, no post!

This is a piece I wrote a while back, sort of a moment captured, which I once imagined would be the beginning or middle of a story.

~

She flaunted her flaws unapologetically. She wore no make up, save a touch of her usual red lipstick and the smudges of last night’s kohl below her eyes. Absentminded, She fingered the rim of her cup, the foam long since having cleared.

The café was rarely more than a third full just past 10 am on a weekday morning, and the peace was welcoming. Perks of working irregular hours, she thought, before catching herself. Perks of not working at all, she corrected herself bitterly.

She stared at the empty chair across from her. It was unoccupied, as it often was, but today she felt the emptiness. Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to clear the vague displeasure from her mind. It brought an irksome discomfort; though the solitude that she embraced once before had returned abruptly, it wasn’t wholly unwelcome.

So caught up was she in the nothingness of her current existence, that she didn’t notice the waiter approaching her, until there was a clink of china as he set her breakfast gingerly down before her.

With one sweeping movement, she transferred her hair from the nape of her neck to the side, the tumble of curls obscuring her face from the window she sat adjacent to. Giving her food a sideways glance, she knew that despite her sour mood, she was ravenous.