Friday, February 04, 2005
The Letter.
At the seminar room today, sat around the table, 4 new anaesthetists introduced themselves. All boys. It is that time of year again where doctors nomad themselves all over UK hoping to find a greener pasteur. If only the public knows what a hassle it is to move between hospitals every 6 months, let alone every 4 months.
Dr.B was talking about the logbook.
“You must must do back up. I couldn’t beliiieeeevvvveee how obtuse some of you can be. You play with your computer when you’ve not done any sodding backups whatsoever”, one short huff and a sharp glance at me.
Steady….steady old man.
The boys listened on, they must be having second thoughts about being here. I should have stayed there instead of this holocaust camp. I saw one looking like that.
I am normally observant about how people talk, dressed, smile, their teeth, their hair, and of course how they smell, but things around me didn't really zoom in very well. Something else was occupying my mind. It was a letter. A very long letter flicked through my mail box this morning. Neatly typed and sealed.
I read the first page, just before leaving the flat. It was an effortless read. It’s just the right consistency, not pushy but not too cryptic. Straight to the point but yet elaborate enough, allowing me to create a snapshot of how the writer was feeling. If it’s a river, it’d be one with honey, and if it was something hot for supper, it’d be Grandy’s chicken porridge.
I was consumed by the simplicity of it but I am still marvelling at how spellbounding the content was. Never before I was described as perfect as that yet as simple as that, and at the same time as rewarding as that, yet as untouchable as that to somebody, and all that just by being me. All I’ve ever given was time and words of no where near one would call a wisdom, but you have framed the words I uttered into a string of white, beige and grey pearls. Very humbling.
I took stole a glance at the letter, peeking from my sling bag. Teasing me to pick up and read again.
“Isn’t that right Dr.Ahmad?”
“Uhhh?”
All thoughts disintegrated, I am back in the seminar room. I need to stay in this room.
************XXXX************
Dr.D started his powerpoint slides.
“Now you must must calibrate the machine to two points. One to the atmosphere and one to the sphymomamamamama yayayayay blahblahblahblahblah…..”
I wonder why the skin behind his ears is so dry.
I trace the groove on the seminar table. The vertical blinds on the window behind Dr.D started to bellow.
Reading the letter, gave me a feeling akin to that being craned up to the sky and plummet into a gigantic bath, full of all the citrus known to mankind from the forbidden garden. Soaked and lathered, rinsed to leave any epidermis , aseptically cleansed, any soul reborn and refreshed.
If there is one thing impossible that I could wish for, it would be to be able to feel what you feel. I feel you, and I understand, but only to the 6th floor. Even if I could extricate myself from this lift, I am not sure if I could climb the stairs to the next level up. I’m all cobwebbed.
It’d dishonest and malicious of me, upon realizing my capacity of uninstalling negativity and installing positivity , or lack of it, to still benefit from your friendship.
“I don’t deserve you”, has been subconsciously sowed into this fertile hippocampus. Having said that, anything can be sowed and grown on it.
That axiom, lingers. It’s like listening to a hypnotic cling-clang of the wind-chime. When there’s a wind it will frolically intrude and make you listen, even if you know that’s not what the sounds of the open field is like or is all about , but when the wind is gone, you wish that it clings. Even just for one more time.
I’ll stop blowing, so the wind-chime can rest, so they can play in the open-field. After all I am all cobwebbed. I am sorry.
Dr.B was talking about the logbook.
“You must must do back up. I couldn’t beliiieeeevvvveee how obtuse some of you can be. You play with your computer when you’ve not done any sodding backups whatsoever”, one short huff and a sharp glance at me.
Steady….steady old man.
The boys listened on, they must be having second thoughts about being here. I should have stayed there instead of this holocaust camp. I saw one looking like that.
I am normally observant about how people talk, dressed, smile, their teeth, their hair, and of course how they smell, but things around me didn't really zoom in very well. Something else was occupying my mind. It was a letter. A very long letter flicked through my mail box this morning. Neatly typed and sealed.
I read the first page, just before leaving the flat. It was an effortless read. It’s just the right consistency, not pushy but not too cryptic. Straight to the point but yet elaborate enough, allowing me to create a snapshot of how the writer was feeling. If it’s a river, it’d be one with honey, and if it was something hot for supper, it’d be Grandy’s chicken porridge.
I was consumed by the simplicity of it but I am still marvelling at how spellbounding the content was. Never before I was described as perfect as that yet as simple as that, and at the same time as rewarding as that, yet as untouchable as that to somebody, and all that just by being me. All I’ve ever given was time and words of no where near one would call a wisdom, but you have framed the words I uttered into a string of white, beige and grey pearls. Very humbling.
I took stole a glance at the letter, peeking from my sling bag. Teasing me to pick up and read again.
“Isn’t that right Dr.Ahmad?”
“Uhhh?”
All thoughts disintegrated, I am back in the seminar room. I need to stay in this room.
************XXXX************
Dr.D started his powerpoint slides.
“Now you must must calibrate the machine to two points. One to the atmosphere and one to the sphymomamamamama yayayayay blahblahblahblahblah…..”
I wonder why the skin behind his ears is so dry.
I trace the groove on the seminar table. The vertical blinds on the window behind Dr.D started to bellow.
Reading the letter, gave me a feeling akin to that being craned up to the sky and plummet into a gigantic bath, full of all the citrus known to mankind from the forbidden garden. Soaked and lathered, rinsed to leave any epidermis , aseptically cleansed, any soul reborn and refreshed.
If there is one thing impossible that I could wish for, it would be to be able to feel what you feel. I feel you, and I understand, but only to the 6th floor. Even if I could extricate myself from this lift, I am not sure if I could climb the stairs to the next level up. I’m all cobwebbed.
It’d dishonest and malicious of me, upon realizing my capacity of uninstalling negativity and installing positivity , or lack of it, to still benefit from your friendship.
“I don’t deserve you”, has been subconsciously sowed into this fertile hippocampus. Having said that, anything can be sowed and grown on it.
That axiom, lingers. It’s like listening to a hypnotic cling-clang of the wind-chime. When there’s a wind it will frolically intrude and make you listen, even if you know that’s not what the sounds of the open field is like or is all about , but when the wind is gone, you wish that it clings. Even just for one more time.
I’ll stop blowing, so the wind-chime can rest, so they can play in the open-field. After all I am all cobwebbed. I am sorry.
