The mind in pieces

Some days I dream about how I might die. But not in the sense of being morbid, depressed and life-is-over sort of way. But just how I would die. I was riding on the train this morning when the train made a very strong screeching noise as it sped along in the heavy rain. I had this sudden vision of the train derailing falling 20 metres to the ground. Death would be swift, I hope.

The image of the grave is imprinted in my mind. The tanah liat, the body being lowered into the pit and the sound of the tractor lifting heaps of soil and dropping it over the body. The darkness. The loneliness.

My mind fleets to the last patient I certified. It is policy here that asystole has to be demonstrated on the ECG before the doctor can start the process of certifying a death. The nurse hands me a flat line. From the end of the bed, she was as still as death. I checked for pupillary response - there was none. Felt for pulse and could not feel one. As I auscultated for breath sounds, a soft guttural groan emanated from her. I jumped. I felt a whoosh of warm air on my face.

And then she was truly gone.

I read the newspaper the other day. A 60 year old man had been bashed to death. He was a volunteer at a mosque near Bras Basah. He was found dead bleeding from the head. Suddenly murder had become personal to me. Violence had touched my family. And I was wary of this world and the evils that lurked. Murder no longer existed just in the movies and novels.

I feel like I'm in a million places at one time.

I came across a picture. You were smiling at the camera and I was peeking behind you. The caption read, "Me and my belo sister." The feeling is indescribable. You had become a picture. A memory. It felt surreal. It was you in the picture and yet at the same time it wasn't you. Anymore.

I had coffee with a good friend today who recently flew into town. We braved the torrential rain and arrived at this hidden, suburbian cafe looking like drenched cats. And for a while, I was transported back to Melbourne on a lazy Sunday morning, having brunch and ordering latte after latte. Even that seemed like a distant memory. But yet it was only three months ago.

What is it with humans - nothing quite sticks. Nothing quite satisfies. Nothing quite lasts.

I'm reading three books concurrently and this is enough to muddle my head and distract me to do a million things at one time yet seem to achieve nothing at all.

No God but God by Reza Aslan -> so far an illuminating read as so said A.S. Byatt.

Alfian Sa'at Collected Plays One -> glad he ditched medicine for the arts that's all I can say.

PACES for the MRCP -> this book is enough to make me re-think if I can be bothered to go through exam after exam...

I was standing in the middle of Bedok interchange when a woman rushed past by me and knocked my shoulder so hard - it hurt. She didn't apologise or even turn to see what she had knocked into. I couldn't seem to muster any energy to feel angry or to even scowl at her back. I walked on to wait for my bus. It came and I tapped my card. I sat at the back, left corner, and stared out into the window. A sense of dejavu came over me.

Seems like I have been doing this all my life.