Suturing Bananas

Actually, I never had the chance to suture any banana to practice my suturing skills in preparation for circumcision missions. Just stitched up pieces of tissue paper to imitate the skin which I found to be an extremely pathetic simulation.

Surgery has always been an appealing specialization to most of us. With all the drama in the OR, the lucrative compensation after a challenging procedure, and the “prestige” attached to surgeons who are thought to be first-rate and highly skilled, many of us dream to be one. And with our present number, there’s no denying the presence of heavy competition.

As of now, I want to be a surgeon, a neurosurgeon to be specific. The prime reason must have been my love for anatomy and the neurosciences plus the fact that in some ways, they loved me back. (Hehehe) But we’re just in our second year, things can change and who knows, when I enter the wards in my later years in med school, my passion would shift to somewhere else?

But since I’m all set up right now for surgery, I have always been excited to perform one myself. Scrubbing in and perhaps assisting in the OR once or twice would be a perfect gift for me (as I envy someone out there who has been in an open craniotomy twice last December as a Christmas present to him). But I don’t think Santa will be around this summertime so the most probable “surgical experience” that I could get would be the seasonal Tuli missions done by different orgs this April and May.

Before the summer break, that someone out there already taught me how to do the surgeon’s knot in a rather primitive way. We used yarn for the suture and my dissection instruments from our Anatomy class. I do hope that someday when I’m already a world-class brain surgeon, I’d remember this little funny fact: I started my career suturing paper.

Then, the surgical missions were all scheduled. I got a real suture kit from a friend (who is also obsessed in the field) for me to properly practice suturing. I thought of using bananas and even chicken or pork meat. Eventually, I failed to acquire any of those so on the eve of the mission, with my fellow future surgeons, we again stitched up tissue paper while looking up instructions in the net.

The big day came at last. Excited and thrilled, we watched a true doctor perform the simple procedure. He explained to us everything while he circumcised the first patient: from donning the sterile gloves, handling the instruments, administering the anaesthesia, clamping, cutting, suturing, and dressing the wound. He also gave us tips on some “crisis” management like when the patient begins to bleed profusely or when the anaesthesia wears out. Then, we were assigned to senior buddies whom we assisted doing the methods we just learned. Then, my buddy, Ate Trinee, finally asked me “Miguel, ready ka na ba?”

I donned my gloves slowly and perfectly. Had all the instruments ready in the kidney basin. Cleaned with antiseptic the whole pubic area. Asked Ate Trinee to serve me 5 cc of Lidociane. Warned my patient that the injection will really be painful. Inserted the whole needle just above the base and just below the pubic bones. Successfully infiltrated with anaesthesia the area of the internal pudendal nerve although my hands were shaking since my patient was crying. Clamped the foreskin to check whether pain perception was already gone. Clamped the skin up to a desired length then slowly cut it along the mark the clamp left. Blood started flowing. With my heart racing, asked Ate Trinee for OS to clear my suturing field. Sutured one, two, three, four then five points of the cut. Cleaned once again the area. Dressed the wound with gauze and antibiotic cream. Advised the patient to take antibiotics for seven days and to clean the wound twice a day. Then, God, I’ve finished my first surgery!

Okay, it was a simple surgery, very simple they even allow us to do it all alone. But still, the experience was worth it. After all those suturing using yarn and paper, I’ve actually sutured live human skin! And now, I can see them all coming. After doing circumcisions, I’d be scrubbing in in appendectomies, watching open heart surgeries, and assisting in craniotomies! And in the not so far future, I will be holding the scalpel myself as interns and residents stay at my side, while I'm saving a patient’s precious life. Whew!

And in that future, I can never deny that everything started with me suturing pieces of paper and, as I have imagined but failed to do, suturing bananas.

A Dark Christmas

The bright rays of the sun disappeared as we descended through the ominous gray clouds hovering over Mayon Volcano. It took around fifteen minutes for the pilot to decide that it was safe enough to land despite the downpour and gusty winds. For some seconds, I stole a glance through the small window at the terrain below before we finally touched the ground. The scene reminded me of toothpicks planted in a chocolate roll.


At the airport, the lights were off. We also had to get our luggage on our own from the cargo truck since the conveyor belts were motionless. Electric power had not yet been restored since Typhoon Reming wrecked havoc over our poor province two weeks ago. I found my mom waiting for me outside but before we left, she pointed to me the airport façade. As if they were made of paper and cardboard, the iron roof sheets were folded and crumpled so as to expose the wooden skeleton of the building’s ceiling. And I told them, “Wow, binagyo nga kayo.” My mom promised me I’d be seeing more on our way home.

It was really hard to fathom how strong wind can blow to deracinate coconut leaves and leave the long slender trunk freestanding on its own. But seeing the hills and sides of mountains on our way, I knew Reming was indeed a super typhoon. As for the other trees, of course, they were left leafless although fresh green buds were already sprouting from the branches. It was like having spring without the merry chirping of birds and without the blooming flowers to boot.

The concrete road before us suddenly disappeared and was replaced by black sand and gravel. Boulders, as big as houses, lined the sides of the makeshift road created by bulldozers while an assortment of debris lay strewn across. We were passing by Padang, a barangay in Legazpi City, which, in minutes or so during the typhoon, became a black wasteland as rocks, mud and water galloped from the gentle slopes of Mayon to the Pacific Ocean, leaving everything on its way buried dead or alive.

Then at last, we arrived home. The back of my head was already aching from my brief tour of our ruined province. In Tiwi, power was still out, all the more depressing my spirit. With no lights, no phone, no internet, and no TV, I started regretting going home for the holidays. That was besides the fact that half of our dining hall was roofless and I had to share my room with my mom because the accumulated damages to her room by three typhoons rendered it inhabitable.

Thinking of all those Christmas lights in Manila, and perhaps anywhere else outside Bicol, I dozed off with a candle beside our bed slowly burning through the night.

***

“4000 packs!” I gaped at my mom when she told me we would be helping pack relief goods for those 4000 households which suffered total and partial damages. Until now, two weeks after the typhoon, they were still rationing rice, old clothes and other basic stuff to all the barangays of Tiwi.

So we went to the town gymnasium which was conveniently converted into a warehouse storing sacks of rice, stacks of blankets, mosquito nets and old clothes, boxes of sardines, soap, instant noodles, and other canned goods, and piles of plastic pails, cooking wares and water containers. All the goods were donated by different groups like the UNICEF, SM, Ayala and other Manila-based foundations, and some local organizations.

After listening to some instructions and planning how we were to go about the packing, my cousins and I began arranging the pails in the bleachers. Then, one by one, we dropped into every pail a bar of soap, a 2-kilogram pack of rice, a piece of blanket and 2 cans of sardines. After around two hours of hopping bleacher per bleacher distributing the set of relief goods to the laid down pails, we finished 531 relief packages. Whew.

I was sweating all over when I told my best friend (Thank God, mobile networks were not down!) that I was doing humanitarian work for Christmas. At first, I may have been bitter about it. Had I stayed in Manila, I should’ve been enjoying the comforts of the city rather than doing volunteer work while bearing all the curses of a blackout. But, I never complained while packing all those relief goods. In fact, no one did. We were actually enjoying the rush of it all, especially when it was time to count how many packages were done. And thinking that it was for the needy victims of the calamity, well, for sure, some sense of charity was responsible for the smile across my exhausted but still very handsome face.

Christmas after all is about giving and sharing, right?

***

The lights flickered back to life the day before Christmas Eve. Electrified to euphoria, I thank God for granting my supposedly “Simbang Gabi” wish had the blackout lasted until after the ninth Christmas dawn mass. We were then assured that on Christmas day, our tree would be lighted and we would have Christmas ham for breakfast. It did pay off to live in a town with its own geothermal plant; we were the only town supplied by its 60 megawatt capacity since the electric lines to other towns weren’t ready yet. My uncle who works there told me we only consumed at least 0.5% of their generation, much less than what cost them to power up the plant and their transformers. But for the sake of Christmas, they made the sacrifice, saying that, after all, it was Christmas.

As expected, the celebrations everywhere were a bit subdued. Last year, carolers would come and go ad nauseam, but this year, we never ran out of coins to hand out to those street children. Since not all houses had electric power because the lines were not yet completely fixed, only a few lanterns were hung up in the streets. And since people would just spend more in food and the basics, the night was quieter without those wasteful firecrackers.

After the midnight mass, I watched people heading off to their homes for their Noche Buenas. Some perhaps were bound to grand parties with lots of food, drinks and delights. Many, I supposed, were going home for a simple midnight snack over a candle-lit table. And with an awful pang of sadness, I suddenly thought of those who might be eating just those canned sardines from the relief packs. Then my mind was lost in torrents of thoughts while I walked back home. As I continued on, beneath the stars of the clear midnight sky, I had a silent prayer in my head, a silent prayer of thanks.

Who really does care if you’ll have sardines for Noche Buena? There may be a lot of things that make Christmas happy: the lights, the presents, the carols, and the list might never end, but for sure, as we all know, it’s being with our families that matters most. And I thanked the Divine on that special night that our Christmas was happy as ever, as happy as it can ever be.

The storm and all the devastation it left will be part of every Bicolano experience and will be retold in tales that would last for generations. True, tragedies leave a staggering number of possibilities. Some would wallow in despair and anguish for all the losses while others would muster enough courage to pull oneself back together and rebuild what has been lost. And I’m always thankful that Filipino solidarity never failed Bicol and continuously never fails; that people of all sorts are always ready to help out fellow Filipinos in dire need of help. And this Christmas season, they gave light, home, and life to those who were supposed to be depressed and hopeless without them. I’m also thankful that the unique Filipino resiliency lives on in every Bicolano spirit. When all’s back to normal, for sure, the Bicolanos will rise as “oragons” once again. And lastly, I’m thankful that nobody loses faith in Christmas. It is this faith that makes Christmas here one of the happiest in the world.

Now, how could I ever think that a Christmas would be dark? All Christmases are bright.

The Pathetic Emperor

“Migz, pathetic. Pathetic talaga.”

With those heinously treasonous remarks to the Emperor of Nerdovia, the Lord Bocobo could have been stripped of his title, guillotined thrice and cursed to the seventh level of hell for all eternity. But, he was very fortunate; his life was spared from damnation. The emperor remained silent. The silence would have been an ominous sign but his face that forever radiated an aura of power and strength showed anything but rage. With an odd grin, the spoiled king said:

“Oo nga, pathetic nga.”

It’s really weird for someone who has always projected an image of invincibility to have a weakness so foolish and senseless as the one the Rex Nerdoviae has. He may have conquered lands and seas and ruled over mighty people but still, he plummets to the dark abyss of depression whenever he leaves his friends for a mere 2-week vacation. The condition is much worse when the vacation would be a month longer.

Ok, enough with the pomp and pageantry and let’s stick to the case in hand: I have a separation anxiety disorder (though it’s wrong to diagnose one’s self). So let’s probe into the diagnosis and probable differential diagnosis. The symptoms include physiological signs during the separation period such as nausea and dyspnea and of course, the mental and emotional distress. From my research, the differentials include Pervasive Developmental Disorders (autism), schizophrenia, and Panic Disorder with Agoraphobia, fear of being in an embarrassing situation. (www.mentalhealth.com) We can rule out schizophrenia since I don’t hear voices and I don’t talk to the wall, and Panic disorder with Agoraphobia. For those who really know me, I'm sure you would agree that I don’t have agoraphobia. With regard to autism, I think someone out there whom I know very much is planning to do an extensive research on borderline autism especially on adolescents and adults so we won’t rule this out completely. But, the main diagnosis still is separation anxiety.

Separation anxiety disorder is basically a manifest anxiety when a person is separated or about to be separated from people whom he is attached to i.e. parents and friends. Another sign revealed by our patient (that’s me) is fear of being alone. The disorder occurs commonly in children (Remember our first time to go to school? My memories are very clear and vivid: I was crying when my Mom left and when my Yaya was forced to stay outside the classroom back in the Montessori.) However, it can also occur in adults, in any stage of life, and even in pets. (www.wikipedia.com)

Now, some of you may actually believe me here (That would make me a good diagnostician but I’m sorry, I'm not. I want to be a surgeon.) and others may be totally freaked out by this diagnostic procedure happening in this blog. In the end, the entire diagnostic discussion is futile, since I’m the patient and I’m the doctor. In principle, self-diagnosis doesn’t work. So here I end my self-mental examination.

So, if we rule out a psychological disorder, we have nothing else to assume but the possibility that I'm just pathetic. But, such a cruel verdict to the emperor is never acceptable unless I'm done with my defense. First and foremost, my pathetic condition only lasts temporarily. Second, though I haven’t explored that option yet, I may not actually feel the “anxiety” if I replace it with something else. Perhaps, if I could induce myself into sleep (not coma) and wake up sometime after the duration of the separation, I’ll be totally fine. And for the clincher of my defense, I’ll be citing the etymology of the word pathetic. I know this tactic will be disclosed as a silly logical fallacy but I think it will pose some significance. Pathetic is derived from the Greek word pathos which means feeling or emotion. What if I’m just overly emotional and have lost my grip to the ultimate weapon of supremacy: apathy? People keep telling me that nothing’s wrong in missing someone, it’s just being human and sharing oneself to others. (See, I'm not really that selfish. Haha) But the catch here is that I just get profoundly melodramatic when those separation days are approaching. When I’m back to my normal stubborn self, the all-powerful obstinate bratty emperor is back. So the theory is I’m just human and my feet still rest on the ground.

Now, we have three choices: it’s either I am really presenting with an anxiety disorder, I’m just overly emotional or I'm just pathetic. You be the judge.

But before the defense rests, I want to stress that if suddenly I get those emotions and be able to utter things inexplicable for someone so goal-driven egoistic and bratty like me, maybe there’s some truth to it. It may reside in the deepest part of my entirety but it’s still there. I hope.

Now, I rest my case.

Great Time

Before the summer break, someone promised me that we will all have great times together when we return to school on June. All the cynicism in me ruled out that I shouldn’t believe him so I expected for the worst.

The tendency of resisting changes and maintaining a status-quo has always been innate in our system. We call it homeostasis, and being the same old stubborn Migz, it mounted an immune response to all changes. That was when June came along with 120 new faces to know, new names to remember and new personalities to understand. Insecurities slowly overrode and there I was, fending off the inevitable and crashing right into it in a fatal crash.

Now, the semester has passed. Perhaps the stress made us all unaware of our biorhythms but it’s true, the semester is over. And I’m here staring into space and asking, how did it happen? I thought I was right there with all my doubts and distrust trying to reroute the courses of things towards me. Then, I’m here clueless: What happened?

Change. I guess I have no choice but to admit that my “homeostasis” recognized a new status quo. Perhaps I did embrace those inescapable changes. After all, they were not that bad. In fact, the worst that I expected last summer never came.

It’s hard to fathom now that amidst all the emotional and academic strain, there are flashbacks of happy and cheerful memories of this semester. The stress was unbelievable. With exams forcing us to cram a book or two in our throbbing brains in a few weeks, the anxiety actually manifested both physically and mentally. But still, I can actually enjoy remembering my best friend and I devouring all by ourselves a family-size pizza and party-size spaghetti, ice skating and (most of the time) watching my friends fall on their butts from time to time, watching Superman first time in IMAX, learning DotA and a lot more nights and days of laugh trips and fun.

At some point I did smashed into my fears and crumbled into rubbles. But thank God, I picked myself back up. Then, things turned brighter and lighter. Those new faces became new friends. As told to me by my Lord Protector, “the nest just got bigger.” Of course there’s no point denying that the dynamics have changed but still, certain things remain. Friendships being fostered by time get stronger as we forge new ones. The bond is still there, undiminished.

The conqueror in me has found its waterloo. But in spite of it, I emerged glorious in this battle. However, I might have succeeded earlier if in the first place I trusted my best friend of his promise. Don’t worry, next time, I’d trim down with the pessimism.

At any rate, we all had great times together.

Competence

I had the cuff ready on her delicate arm. She was 8 years old and was complaining of cough and colds. I started inflating the sphyg, carefully listening for any pounding sound from her brachial artery. I heard silence, amidst all the commotion in the patient waiting area.

It was my first medical mission. My senior buddy, a junior clerk, asked me to check her BP and so I did. I was excited. With my stethoscope and BP apparatus, I asked her to sit down, and to give me her right arm. I had BP-ed myself and my friends many times so I knew I could do it. But still, no Korotkoff sound registered in my ear.

I looked at her. She was still and calm as I slowly emptied the cuff. Then, I dropped my steth gently. I was actually dumbed by that flop BP reading. I started to panic. In principle, I failed my buddy and my patient. Forward-tracking, what if I become a surgical resident in front of a very complicated craniotomy and am asked by my consultant to clip a ruptured aneurysm of the middle cerebral artery, and I mess up and all?

I’m just a first year medical student without any clinical experience save for a history-taking interview with a patient with subdural hemorrhage, who vomited all over my face, and another with bacterial meningitis. This medical mission was my first hands-on experience in doing simple physical exam and history-taking. This time, there was no room for any mistake since it wasn’t a classroom (or clinical) exercise. It was the real thing.

Before the mission, I actually had apprehensions on joining since practically the only thing I can do, or so I thought, was to take a BP reading. I knew nothing of auscultation of the lungs and the heart. But then, they told us they can teach us so I signed up for it. When we arrived, they asked us if we can do PE and history-taking. I proudly told them I can do BP so they assigned me to assist the junior clerks in the PE. And what happened on my first attempt?

The medical mission was successful. I even extended my shift until the afternoon. After that one pedia patient, I took several more BP readings and this time, I did hear pulse sounds. They also taught me to listen to breath and heart sounds. I actually performed the history-taking for two or three patients myself. The only thing I was not allowed to do was to diagnose and prescribe a treatment.

In the end, thank God, my first BP fiasco wasn’t really entirely my fault. The cuff of my sphyg did not fit my pedia patient. It was understandable that I didn’t hear a sound using an adult cuff.

I may not be that proficient in doing the “doctor job”, but I know I'm getting there.

Phoenix

The crimson sky was as angry as the raging tempest below it. The awful sounds of death rang across the still air as the foul ghosts of doom slowly crept among us, slashing, crushing and grinding every bone to pieces. Then, a deafening silence…

Then, the trumpets of judgment were sounded by the angel of death. It was the zenith of day and the air was damp that I could hardly breathe. Then, despite the unbearable warmth of humidity, I froze. I couldn’t believe it. I was perched high up in the pedestal of glory.

Then the cheers and cries of exaltation came. I was proud as my heart was stout. With my wings ablaze and spread far and wide, I soared up to the endless sky and felt all the torments of the past dissolve into nothingness. And to my Master whom I owe my strength, I offered my triumphant coup.

But our plight wasn’t over. The battle had just begun. The angels of distress again descended upon us and started purging, torturing and punishing every helpless soul. The fury of the storms swept across the plains of destruction as we all succumbed and perished.

Then, again, silence… the bloodcurdling silence of death.

Now, I’m just the ashes of my struggle, the ruins of my perseverance. We wait once more for the day when the scroll of judgment will be unfolded. Despite the post bellum happiness, I’m still cold. The clouds before us send ominous signs that chill the warm heart.

I’m the phoenix, will I be resurrected?

It doesn’t matter. Weakness it may seem but it’s a relief to an agonizing pain. It’s a choice inevitable. I have reincarnated.


***
Una salus victis nullam sperare salutem
( The one safety for the vanquished is to abandon hope of safety knowing there is no hope can give one the courage to fight and win.)

Treatment

It won’t be about any prophylaxis, operation or medical intervention. Treatment here would occupy a much higher level in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is a theory that deals with human needs having a certain order. The “pyramid of needs” comprises of the basic physiological needs at the bottom, safety, love and belonging, and esteem on the succeeding three levels. All four lower needs are termed as deficiency needs and these needs must be fulfilled first before satisfying the top most needs, also termed as growth needs, self-actualization and self-transcendence.

***

I am a spoiled brat. No questions on that. Growing up as an unico niño with *all* his wants and likes being given to him, I developed a megalomaniac form of narcissistic personality disorder compounded with a unique superiority complex. And the far-fetched but still probable consequence; I may be a borderline autistic. O God, why am I writing this? Disclaimer: I’m mentally fine and that’s from my psychological testing last summer. I might be exaggerating things. So just to be clear, I’m simply vain.

Then, I was all of these: a pampered prince, a self-centered hero and a stubborn king. I had twisted dreams and one by one, I had them come true according to my will. The power-hungry monster inside me slowly overwhelmed me, or so I thought. I began to think I was forever strong, glorious and infallible. Don’t get me wrong, I really was. And I was happy. It was like a game. I dominated the battlefield, and victory so precious was all mine and mine alone.

Alone, indeed. This would be the clincher. I was alone, bitter and frustrated. Then, as everything does, everything fell back into place. Like freezing cold water splashed on my face, illusions vanished and reality set in. I was alone and desperate. And I was clueless to the point of stupidity.

Where did I go wrong? Simple. I thought highly of myself. And you call that egocentrism cum egotism. I skipped Maslow’s hierarchy, aimed for gratification alone, and ignored the rest. I aimed to soar high but didn’t have the “wind beneath my wings” to propel me up. I was weak, and gone were all the delusions of grandeur. I was alone and helpless, or so I thought. The king in fact was a fool. No more, no less.

Thank God.

But still, I cannot deny that I love being treated like a king. I love being pampered like a prince. And the affinity for the limelight will always be there. But, the last two years of my life taught me a lot.

It doesn’t matter if I’m not treated like a celebrity with all the glamour and honors. It doesn’t matter if I’m not treated as the ultimate hero, the victor and the glorious champion of all. All those immature delusions I must outgrow.

Perhaps, all I need now is to be treated as a good son, a loyal friend, and of course, “a spoiled bratty younger brother.”

Where I Belong

I registered 38.5 degree Celsius without any sign and symptom of an infection. I’m sure it was neither bacterial nor viral, and yes, I knew at once the best diagnosis and treatment.

***

It was a very cold morning. The stubborn clouds would not budge to the morning sun so the serene mist hovered still among the dewy grass and bushes of the forsaken garden. As if I was a ghost, I walked towards the many people gathering in front of her. She, who eternally held the torch of our calling, was also disconsolate, as if the chill of the morning stripped her of her splendid beauty. Everything was overcast.

But naturally, the human spirit can conquer all of the gloom of that morning. Handshakes, friendly hugs and cheery smiles lightened up the atmosphere in a spilt of an instant. Everything turned bright as if night turned day in seconds. In the face of all darkness, true indeed, the human soul is light to everyone.

Then slowly, as if on cue, I became animated like I usually am. Greeting old friends and new friends alike, I was practically busy, no longer the silent spirit when I entered the scene. I was here and there, teasing him or her, patting his or her back and flashing the best smile I could muster. And I wasn’t alone. Everybody was as full of life as I was. The shadow that I thought was there a while ago vanished and cheerfulness of amazing levels replaced the morning mist.

Then, voices started springing from everywhere, jumbling and mixing into a chaotic array. The noise that began pounding and bouncing were enough to drown any soul who would fervently listen. And I was there, caught in midair amongst all the life and energy. I was busy, and then I was lost. I grew tired so I tried to rest and listen. But all I heard was the incoherent music of the camaraderie around me. I tried to shout but I couldn’t or perhaps nobody could hear me. I had to cling to someone but I slipped and fell. Slumped in floor covered with ancient dust, I was overwhelmed with all the excitement. Then I had no choice but simply to talk to someone who would surely listen.

I prayed.

Sa gitna po ng ulan, alam kong di Ninyo ako pababayaan.
Sa gitna po ng bagyo, ako po’y Inyong aalagaan.


Ngunit po, ngayon, hindi lang po ako sana
Ang Inyo pong kupkupin
Marami po samin ang tila nawawala
Sa gitna ng lahat ng suliranin.


Sa dami po ng mga pagbabago
Sana po’y manatili
Ang aming pagkakaibigan
Ang aming pagmamahalan


Ano man po ang mangyari
Alam ko pong may tahanang mauuwian
Sa gitna ng ulan at bagyo
Kami’y may mauuwian.

I know I’m really not lost. I know where I belong. Amidst all the chaos, I know where I can find my peace. I trust they’re always there as I promise I’m always here for them. Things change indeed but certain things will forever remain.

So, I stood up once again and found myself still on the same spot, in the middle of different people, some with familiar smiles, greeting, hugging, and cheering up the day. In front of us, she was still up there, less gloomy this time and ready to be hailed once more as the symbol of our noble quest. The clouds started to part and the mighty sun lit up that everlasting torch.

The day began.

***

My temperature was still spiking despite a tablet paracetamol. Actually, fevers don’t occur solely because of an infection. Body temperature is a function of the hypothalamus and you know what goes up there. Stress and pure emotions can raise one’s thermostat significantly. So, my treatment was simple. And it went perfectly well.

Separation Anxiety

It has been a week since we parted ways but I still have that heavy something clogging my airways. I call it separation anxiety and from the looks of it, I think I’ll be suffering it the whole summer break.

I know it’s weird. While everyone perhaps is enjoying all the perks of this vacation, from sleeping 16 hours a day to watching TV ad infinitum, I’m here silently praying that things go faster and the summer break end when I wake up the next morning. Some may actually kill me for this but somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind I want this break over and see the opening of classes at once.

But wait, I don’t want to be actually back in classes. I have a far more profound* reasons for this madcap proposition. Of course, I need a break from all those exams and lectures; I was stressed to the bones like anybody else. But something’s really weird in this break that actually stresses me too.

It’s just this. For two years straight, I’ve been with the best people, the happiest folk and the cutest creatures. I found friends, good friends, and close friends, and we really had great times together. No contention here, I love my IMED family. And now, this two-month respite would be the longest time that we won’t be seeing each other. Physically and mentally, we all need this rest. But why can’t I rest? A weakness perhaps but I see it more of a failure to reconcile certain tenets governing my life.

I’m not saying I don’t enjoy my stay with my family during vacations. In fact, I love it here away from the dirty busy streets of Manila. But, when I’m alone and thinking really deep, there’s this longing to be back, to hear again the noise of the city, to enjoy once again food trips and overnight juicy conversations, and to see all those happy faces which made me happiest for the past two years.

Is it really normal that you miss your friends already as soon as after you say good bye? What’s missing anyway? It’s just a desire of somebody’s presence. It’s a desire, can it be considered hedonistic? Or here I am again, overthinking again and just being overly emotional. Hey wait! These are just my feelings. Cursed hypothalamus and limbic system! Why did God create all those brain structures and functions? I think I need Prozium, and I need it ASAP.

A friend told me time would be the hardest to cheat. And as of press time, no time machine has been successfully made, not even in blueprints. She told me too that she believes I’ll be able to “survive” this summer. Seems like summer break for me is the school year and the school year is my break. Perhaps, I’m not just fond of doing nothing; my adventurous personality can’t tolerate two months of staying at home, doing nothing productive. Now I’m asking for a summer job and the idea doesn’t please me at all. Haaaay…Why should I be complicating things? In the end, my diagnosis would be: SORELY MIISSING FRIENDS. ACUTE SEPARATION ANXIETY.

And the prescription of my good friend: CHILL.

On the last day before the break, when I was having my heavily dramatic, close to theatrical, farewell with my friends, a very close friend told me just this: “Summer lang yan.”

Yeah, it’s really one summer break, what’s that to the five and more years we will be spending together? To 2011 and beyond!

On Conquering Love

(Pardon me, but I just realized that I really liked this line from my previous post: “Perhaps subconsciously, I've been dreaming to be the man who will conquer love, as they always say love conquers all.”)

It has eluded comprehensive definition, despite its universality. It has changed courses of history despite its intangibility. It has defied laws of men and nature, despite its ambiguity. Indeed, it has been more than proverbial that love does conquer all. And no fool has ever dared to ask the question: Can love be conquered at all?

I have always been cynical about love. Not that I am deprived of it but my stubborn personality has always reacted unenthusiastically to the whole idea of love, especially the romantic kind. I do recognize that love is one healthy part of human life, but, when we talk about all the passion and romances, my mind shuts convulsively. When they speak of eternal love, love that can move mountains, love, love and love, my mind can’t just bear the sheer impracticality and unfeasibility. It is just a feeling, a work of the human mind. Logically, it can be put down, too, as any other feeling can be extinguished. Yet, many succumb to it, saying that love drives their lives and keeps their world turning. Attested by the greatest of men, love, they say, is essential to life.

Now, we can see that it would take perhaps a million steps to mount an offensive battle against this incorporeal hegemonic demigod. Conquering love would be waging war to something that resides in and rules everyone’s mind. One will not simply anaesthetize love like numbing pain. It would be a complete revamp of the human system. After all, again, they claim that love is essential.

But, is it really essential? It is very true that the complex human nature requires more than just food, shelter and clothing to survive. Our being more than just animals makes our necessities go beyond the physiological ones, thus include the needs for belongingness, esteem, and of course, love. However, let us say that when man evolved, he never learned about love, at least perhaps romantic love. Or, by some marvelous way, we will have a total overhaul of reality such that love would be extinct. Then our world today would be a similar version of the world in George Orwell’s 1984 or in the movie Equilibrium starring Christian Bale. In the latter, people just take this certain drug, then all emotions fail and love ceases to exist. Everything becomes neutral, hence peaceful.

When love is wiped out, many things would also be gone forever. First and foremost, wars would be no more. Throughout history, men, driven by love out of their wits, have waged wars, crusades, and genocides. Love for wealth, power and God has been the prime mover of men to slaughter fellow men in the millions. Egotism, lust and greed have always been man’s weapon in slaying brothers, overpowering men and subduing nations. Love may have forged ties between men; it has also stained these ties with blood. Thus, when love has been erased from reality, life would definitely be less chaotic.

Love, abstract as the enormity of cosmos, is also found in the simplest of things. Love steers all, from the grandest of kings to the most lowly of peasants. Therefore, aside from all the bloodshed and mayhem, there would be a lot more things that would vanish along with love. When love would be dissolved into nothingness, then we would not be seeing a mother’s hand caressing her baby as she sings her lullaby. Along with love’s death would be the death of children’s laughter while playing under the summer sun. Gone would be the days when two lovers would declare before their God and the people their undying love. The beauty of songs and enigma of poems would be history, and life would cease to be beautiful at every sense. The chirping of birds, the scent of flowers or the bear hug from fathers would be devoid of meaning. There would be no more friends, no more families, and no more life as we know it today. As I’ve said, everything would be neutral, nothing more, nothing less.

Clearly, conquering love would mean conquering humanity. Man created love but in essence, it is love that creates man. Ending love would mean us stopping to be humans. And if we shed all traces of love, when we finally conquered love and ended this battle, we would be like dinosaurs, creatures ruling the world. And I must admit that that would not be a very nice victory. Therefore, all my mental faculties surrender to the fact that in the face of love, despite all distrust and disenchantment, we are left with no other choice.

I simply just can’t stop being a fool.