Numbers Matter

He came up to me and asked if I was a medical student. I replied, “No, I recently graduated from a post bac program here.” “Oh, I’m applying to that. Do you think I’ll get in?” GPA: 3.6 MCAT: 19 Physical Sciences: 8, Verbal = 3, Biology = 8 College: Never heard of. Probably insignificant. “Do you think you could put in a good word for me?” I didn’t know who he was, where he came from, or how he grew up. By physical appearances, he was black by race and didn’t seem native by tongue. But I realized something important today. If I was a medical admissions officer, would I give him a chance at my school? Honestly, I don’t know anything about him, except these numbers. And in a world of constant comparisons, I wouldn’t…couldn’t put in a good word for him simply because he asked me to. Recommendations out. Does he deserve a chance? I don’t know. Objectively, he probably doesn’t have a shot if he doesn’t get his MCAT up. This is how reality works, so as I apply through the upcoming cycle for medical schools, I should remind myself not to get boggled down by the amount of rejections I will receive. Personally though, I feel for him. I know where he is and how much he thinks he probably wants it. I know because I know of someone like him. I hope it shows through to somebody.

Can’t Remember

Unpublished on 12/22/14

The winter months have always been terribly ill-treating. The weather does not help and the people don’t get better. I’ve gone from anticipating the beginning of a new journey to dreading the end of an unfinished chapter. I can’t remember the last time that I haven’t been unaware in these last few weeks for the past couple of years.

I’ll subconsciously think to myself, “I’m not done, I need to go back and fix it. This isn’t what I wanted.”

Why do I never get what I want? Why does the end never turn out how I imagined? What am I doing wrong? Again and again?

This semester landed on a heartbreaking note. The graduate program I am currently enrolled in lashed me in the face. I was one letter grade away from my goal and that was taken away from me. Six questions. All it took.

Status: Searching

I’ve forgotten what it feels like to live with purpose and meaning. Every time I lose inspiration and motivation, I go back to the place that once brought me the most of these two – Ferguson. When did I lost it? Did I have it before? I think I’ve been trying to seek it all my life, and in doing so, I got myself somewhere only to lose a piece of myself. There has been multiple occasions where I’ve incorporated another identity, persona, to find what I lack and so hopefully desire. Knowledge. Culture. Respect. Exercise. Charisma. What makes me so empty when I have what people define as “so much”?

What has always been most fulfilling to me is being able to help people, but I need to do that for me first. I have intensely gone through Ferguson’s blog, and in search, I find words that I want to express and actively make known. I can’t though, I admit, I don’t know how. I have communication issues and writing makes me squeezy. Speaking makes me weak. I’m afraid I’ll say it wrong, that it’s not what I mean. Ferguson lays it down perfectly for me, so elegantly and beautifully thought out. “Yes! This is what I wanted to say, this is how I meant it, this is what you should understand about me,” are the words that flood my head as I go through his writing.

But I don’t want to get there with his terms. I don’t want to live in his shadow and find inspiration through his mind. But I can’t give it up because I’m not in a good place. Somewhere, sometime, I’ve forgotten how to write, speak, . . . and live. I’ve never actually known. This is where I am and don’t want to be any longer. How though? That’s always the question.

The Individualist

“I am myself. Nobody understands me. I am different and special.”

2015 and onward

1. Happiness is your responsibility. Do not hand it over to others.
2. Take initiative. Life will not fall into your hands if you don’t do anything about it.
3. Refuse to count on luck and do not attribute events to luck.
4. Be humble. Do not gloat intentionally. Your success is defined by you and not other people’s opinions.
5. A terrible, horrifying, sad, or boring experience is better than no experience. You’ll be stronger and smarter.
6. Do not allow yourself to be tied down to others. Their choices should not affect yours.
7. Use reason. Your faults and mistakes define you, but they are also yours to change.
8. Bitterness and holding grudges kill more dreams than you realize. Let go and move forward.
9. Work hard. And then harder. Continue. Thrive.
10. Learn what it means to take perspective. It is the most important discovery.


In Oscar Wilde’s novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Basil Hallward said to his friend Lord Henry Wotton “You like everyone; that is to say, you are indifferent to everyone.”

Stumbling upon this in an international blog, the author quoted this particular statement, followed by the comment- “Love, it seemed, was not above context but required context. To love everyone or everything was to misappropriate the emotion entirely.”

NH is hardly similar to Wotton, more so to Hallward, and so it only seems ironic to compare him to Wotton by this very remark. However, it is entirely, in its entity, true even in Hallward with regards to his obsession of physical beauty. NH is easily appealed to the appearance of world’s “beauty” and that to him, paints him an idealistic image of how he could contribute all the good he has to offer. He is amazingly wonderful, but also readily persuaded with randomness when it comes to an appreciation for love that drastically differs from mine. Whether it is my inner sensitivity or Disney beliefs, I would like to think that most people would want someone with a sense of stubbornness in who they choose as their lover. He, on the other hand, is casual.

How casual may you ask? Casual enough to bother me frequently and act on it. Casual enough that he would form a love connection with someone who didn’t suit him in any manner. Casual enough to plan a marriage with someone that his gut knew he would eventually depart from. Casual enough to assume an illusion of love is love, more specifically to interpret love as people who planted seeds of necessity in him. Casual enough to rebound from relationship after relationship in short periods without prior foundation, and claims to “love” every time with every girl.

How can one not generate a sense of futility after a break up if love was the product during that time? How does one not hurt, ache, with the desire to regain completeness only accomplished by the one who left in the first place? How does one learn to love again without realizing how it was misinterpreted, leading to its demise? How does one meet righteous love consecutively?

The answer is, you can’t, you don’t, you shouldn’t. And if you do, love no longer holds value. To say you love is unfair to those who love wholeheartedly, timelessly, unwaveringly.

~People may fall in love easily, but they should not fall in love casually. Casual-ity is an injustice to true love.


I often find myself being extraordinarily cruel to the one person I was always told to love- me. In reaction, I end up being cruel to others around me, filling their minds with repetitive concerns that I’ve committed an unneeded importance to. Honestly, there is nothing to gain except an unyielding pile of words that admits, confirms, or denies. There were younger days when I used to believe that the one for me would encounter all these spiteful attacks as relentless trials of conquer. I, now, continuously lie between the lines of always losing the war or picking at lost battles. I don’t fight valiantly, for I will always be discreetly armed in the stake of self-security. 

On evening of 2014 Independence Day, I met a persistent admirer that in face of emotional devastation was willing to take a possible destructive path with me. “He’s foolish,” I thought. “No one could handle this.” Little did I know, my “this” wasn’t all that spectacular. We’ll call him, for serious purpose, NH instead of its actual denotation of Noodlehead.

NH has had partners with bipolar disorders, schizophrenia, depression, anxiety; some were alpha females, obsessive-compulsive, perfectly average, smart, and all were (are) meaningful to him. I have subtly hinted if there were outliers in his net counting of 6, the answer was unclear. In my case, I have had two. 

In the last three years, my experience with love and lust revolved exclusively around two people- my first boyfriend whom I loved, and Ferguson whom I lusted after. I have been cruel to NH in the sense that I have placed my ideas of what I know or think I know from my relationships in comparison to his past. What I’ve been actually looking for is meaning. What do I mean to him if we invented a scale comprised of all factors involved in this idea of affection towards strangers? Could we standardize it to make it fair? If I could compartmentalize what I’ve learned and how significant each one was, why couldn’t he? 

My worries stem from the fact that NH is absolutely too caring for everyone that remotely plays a part in his random partakes. His frequent ability to fall in love, to gather a sense of happiness with devotion to women, detracts me from him. I didn’t think that one simple, single characteristic would have me crawling back to self torture, in effect tormenting us to sustain vows that we may not be able to fulfill at the moment. I wonder, and analyze and scrutinize how we differ in the way we value true love and how this may affect us. 

In retrospect, there is an evil variable called time that misconstrues our feelings, our memories, our way to process the same experiences, making it difficult to realize how much meaning one held when that era has passed.  Granted, we aren’t the same person, nor have we stayed static as our lives moved ahead. We have changed and the person that we want to spend the rest of our lives with has too. So why have I been so cruel and allow the past to haunt me, even to the extent of guiding me away from what I believe will be, a phenomenal journey with someone who, for once, deserves everything that I am, and accepts everything that I am not? 

~I know I’m not the Only One. 


“Spiritual devastation is more likely to come from an enemy with a smiling face than from one whose countenance exudes suspicion and hate.” – Neil Postman


In two hours of time, I provided a relatively succinct explanation to the reoccurring, reminiscent thoughts that have dictated my life for the past 1.5 years. A switch. A shift. A shit. And it all began with . . .

One day my friend, LL, texted me to meet up with her because she went through a two-day period of what she claims was “an emotional roller coaster.” A hyperbole much? She is (was) with a Law Student, whom she says “treats her very well [financially and domestically],” yet there have been multiple, if not consistent, times where she would say that he demeans her, insults her, and views her as inferior. Their decision to stay together stems from an awkward dynamic, which still makes me shutter. The blunt fact is that she has absolutely no affection, no love, and at minimal, baseline lust for this kid. She is merely with him out of conveniency, out of fear to meet other potentials near the end of our undergraduate career; he is precisely a safety net at the moment. I am adamant she will leave him once he is not longer of use to her in the appropriate time and place. Fortunately, her feelings are mutually reciprocated by this future lawyer. They are in an open, dating relationship.

Recently, due to excessive intake of pharmaceutical substances that affected her hormonal levels, she snooped on him. Yes, she got ahold of his phone and computer passwords and looked through every single outlet of leaking information that she laid her eyes on. Some of these channels led her to find out about his past ex and how he deliberately took himself off a pedestal of royal hierarchy to convince this woman he loved her. LL has always described him as a stern, rational, and argumentative type A that refuses to discuss about his sensitive side, those involving feelings and deeper emotions. And after a peek at his history, she can see how this particular experience transformed him that way. At the end, LL told me she felt more empowered, and that she aged years. The private information she got, allowed her to believe she could somehow be more internally manipulative to obtain domination in their personal interactions. But does that really interest me? Not really. So what does?

I thought she was wasting her time and I continually think the same. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t care to spent countless hours to find out about someone’s past who not only do I not see as a significant other, but also is someone I lack of future with. After exposing all her devious trades, we made further progress and conversed about once upon a time being in not-so-ideal relationships jointly.

LL is currently one of the only people that understands the works of my mind. She has been there since day one when I met Ferguson and she has not ceased to hear about how my life has done a 180 because of him. A change in how I think, how I convey myself, and how my persona has altered since Ferguson and I “broke up” was always apparent to me before, but it has not been expressed in a solemn manner. When LL talked to me about her stream of dramatic epiphanies, it finally hit me.

Frequently, I’ve noticed that people with varying degrees of separation have mentioned slightly mocking remarks to me. For example, they told me I’ve developed a syndrome of RBF (Resting Bitch Face), which honestly, to be fair, I do do it ever so purposefully on occasions. However, the comments that disturb me, are “dark,” “negative,” “sad,” and “cynical.” Do these adjectives sound remotely familiar of anyone? LL confirmed them.

To say the least, LL and I have collectively agreed that Ferguson stole my personality, my Happy-Go-Lucky default. Who was I, if not the majority of the time a bright, bubbly, and joyful burst of sunshine, showering positivity to all those around me? Ferguson, would concur, but now, I think I would give him a run for his money. Though I could never see him fully adapting my old identity, I certainly didn’t think through my decays he would pick some up too. He is not the man I once knew, not in familiarity or closeness. Whether I call it intuition, or he calls it sensing, there is more of a shadow of me that follows him than he would like to admit. My last encounter with him was amazingly smooth. I can’t recall any point where I thought our conversation was lacking in substance, in meaning, or in flow. Perhaps, we simply had too much to catch up on after our departure and going to Guatemala for the both us solidified more of a connection. Perceptive, I always was, and will continually be. I wrote about this in a preceding post and I think I already knew, or always knew. But now, I am confident he is more of me than he is of himself since we departed. He casts it in his writing, with his aura, through his smile.

Our exchange of letters, of ideas, of beliefs, of knowledge, of language, of bodies, of affection, of understanding, was all real. It has never been more real and I’m relieved that I had the opportunity to give you Happy-Go-Lucky before she went away.


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Bet On Me

“I’m betting on you.”

Today, I had one of the most meaningful conversations with someone I barely knew and have only met once prior to our scheduled meeting this morning.

Dr. K is a local dermatologist with the persona of a respectable father figure. He hand-picked and hired me from a pool of competitive and selective applicants to be one of his dermatology assistants for the upcoming summer and following year. I am humble, beyond grateful, and currently in a sea of sparse thoughts.

The dilemma stems from uncertainty of irreversible decisions that are not in my control. If fortunate enough through the works of God and fate themselves, I will have not given up this job in vain.


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