Priorities

Dear Friend,

Something I seem to be noticing more and more is that a lot of people have really screwed up priorities. Sure, I don't mean they're always malicious; but sometimes in trying to do something they completely neglect a completely much more important aspect of the situation.

Is it more important to make someone really happy, by allowing them to be completely miserable and hurt for a long period of time beforehand so the happiness is an amazing contrast? Or should you allow them to be happy for a long period of time, and then be still really happy?

Should you put someone through pain and suffering to give them a pleasure they had no idea was on the path, or should you tell them what's at the end of the road?

It's just a thought that came to my head recently when discussing a few philosophical things.


I think that no amount of misery and unhappiness at someone's expense makes up for making them happy unexpectedly at the end of the road. Sure, if they're happy going along the path, you can allow them to make what they want of it and then unveil the final stretch at the end to make them really happy. But if they're absolutely miserable not knowing where the path ends, you should really let them know to alleviate their pain.





Sean

xxx

P.S. This is about life and divine intervention.

The Oath of Being a Medical Student

Dear Friend,

At the time of being admitted as a member of this medical school:

• I solemnly pledge to consecrate my life to the service of vodka;
• I will give to my off-licenses the respect and gratitude that is their due;
• I will practice my alcoholism with no conscience nor dignity;
• The health of my liver will not be a consideration;
• I will not respect the secrets that are confided in me by drunken randoms, even after they have passed out;
• I will maintain by all the means in my power, the honor and the noble traditions of attempting to get out of bed for 9am lectures the next day;
• My fellow students and drinkers will be my sisters and brothers;
• I will not permit considerations of age, country of origin, strength, colour, taste, nationality, logo, viscosity, popularity or any other factor to intervene between my ethanol and my blood;
• I will maintain the utmost respect for cheap shots;
• I will not use my hangover to violate the right and liberty to my fellow students to coerce me into drinking again the next night, even if I'm chundering;
• I make these promises drunkenly, freely and upon my dishonor.

x

Transformations (5 minute Poem in lieu of not being bothered to study)

Dear Friend,

Transformations

A creature spins its cocoon,
enchanting, silver beauty shrouding the
peculiar form.
Hidden from scrutiny, protected,
the spirit changes slowly;
but from the outside, it is a mystery.

Over time, the observers watch and
question: what is its fate?
The unyielding exterior and myths of
beautiful, flying sprites beneath
gather hope and excitement around.

The time comes, when the dark blanket
unveils the true form inside. The joy and
anticipation thickens the air as
the true interior is absconded.

But alas, it is a moth.



(This is really shit and was done in 5 minutes, but it's supposed to represent more than just caterpillars, butterflies and moths, if you can remotely understand the deeper meaning)


xxx

What do you hate? [Rant]

Dear Friend,

Hate is a very strong word; but that's okay, because people have very strong emotions. Sometimes strong words like hate or love probably don't even remotely sum up what a person could be feeling, so given it's the closest approximation, I personally don't have a problem using them. By this I don't mean I misuse or disrespect them, but I use them when appropriate and without worrying myself to death about how strong those simple words are. Today, I shall focus on hate.

I hate:

• Trifle

My family love trifle. They fucking love it. To the end of this earth and beyond they will still love that disgusting mess. From an early age, they knew I was unfortunately not of the correct calibre to enjoy such a nauseating treat. Urgh, I am boking right now typing this. For some reason, trifle makes me feel absolutely sick at the mere thought. Jelly = yay! Custard = yay! Sponge = yay! I enjoy them all seperately, but together they make this absolutely vomit-worthy concoction that I cannot remotely fathom why it is enjoyable.

• Feeling tired

Given that I have insomnia and that I have worked 13 hour shifts for a year. Feeling tired is something I am all too familiar with. A little bit of tiredness can be dealt with: a splash of cold water, a coffee, some fresh air do the world of good. However, eventually you get to the stage of tiredness where your brain shuts down. Once you reach this point, it's game over. You could be anywhere and doing anything, but despite all your efforts and logic, your brain decides that you are going to sleep right now. You are willing to do absolutely anything as long as it results in you getting some sleep. All logic, self-control, reasoning and reality goes out of the window and you would even welcome death if it meant you didn't need to be awake anymore. It's a horrible feeling.

• Feeling left out

You know when your Chinese friend invites you to her birthday party and you're the only caucasian person there and every stares at you? They all speak in Mandarin - which you can't understand - and refuse to speak in English, even though they can to let you in to the socialising? After a few lone drinks you go up to someone and try to introduce yourself and say hello in Chinese, but your Chinese is shit and you accidentally call their mother a horse? Then you try again an ask if their mother is a horse? Then you call them a horse? Then you try to ask them if they have a pen and ask them if they're a vagina? Then they all stare at you horrified and start  bitching at a million miles an hour in Cantonese (because they can speak both) just because you might be able to understand Mandarin (even though you just demonstrated you can't: Is your mother a horse? =/= Hello, how are you?). Okay, this might be an extreme example; but you generally get the gist right? Injokes you're not in on etc? 

• Being told what I am, and am not capable of.

It started way back in primary school doing the SRA reading cards during "language" (Later to be called English in secondary school). I was the youngest in the class at 6, while everyone else was 7 or 8 and the teacher decided that based on age I was not capable of progressing to the "top" Language set and must spend a year "learning the alphabet" which I had already learned 3 years previously. The fact I was taking 3 books out of the P6/7 library each day to read when I went home didn't register. It was the fact I was too young to be academically competent. I don't know if you know what SRA reading cards are, but there was a massive box with tons of these cards with a passage and then questions on the passage. There were colours, and the colour indicated the "difficulty" of the card. Everyone started at the bottom and worked their way up, being able to if they got 4 cards all correct out of the 20 in the colour: naturally, the more bright students would progress faster and soon be at the top colours, whereas those who found reading slightly more difficult would progress more slowly to an appropriate level. The system worked, and if they still use it in schools, should still work. However, after doing the ENTIRE bottom colour getting everything correct, the teacher decided that because of my age I wouldn't cope with the next colour and so had to do that entire colour again "But I've already done them all!" "Well then you'll be extra good at them this time." "I already got full marks." "Prove it by doing them again."
This sort of thing happened in every class, so that when we went to secondary school, I was in the bottom "set" for all my classes until the first class test a couple of months in, when the teachers realised I was capable of more and I was moved to the top ones in each.
Though this isn't to mean the secondary teachers let you fulfill your potential. In 6th year when I asked to do 4 Advanced Highers I was told it wasn't permitted and I may not take those 4 courses, but 3 instead. I didn't take no for an answer and signed up to all four behind the Senior Management's back secretly, then three months down the line, they realised what I was doing. I was commanded to drop a subject and concentrate on three, because "you are not capable of doing 4! It's too much of a workload: we recommend 2, maybe 3 at a push, but four is too difficult and you'll nto succeed." After refusing to drop one and sitting all four exams "on my own head be it if I fail" what did I get out of it? As? Yes. Then the school had the cheek to be "Oh, we knew you could do it all along! We're so proud?" What a load of shite.
You'll never be able to progress to a good enough level of flute for your age if you start this late? Sorry? Do I hear young musician zone finals?
When someone tells me I can't do something, it motivates me to prove them wrong, that my entire life what my mother's said to me is true: you can do anything if you put your mind to it - don't let other people tell you you can't.

• People who make fun (in a genuinely malicious way) or are ignorant of the less fortunate.

Call me "noble" or "pretentiously good" or whatever you want, but it is one of the things that infuriates me to no end. One could winter's evening, after a particularly hard day shift at the Royal Vic Hospital having been covered in Winter Vomiting Bug Vomiting and Diarrhoea I was on the bus home. Irritable, tired (almost at that abhorrently tired stage) and cold, I was not in the best mood. My family know this very well - after a 13 hour vomiting elderly day shift, do not fuck with Sean or provoke him in any way. A family get on the bus, with their obviously severely mentally disabled young child in a wheelchair. What happens? The two 14 year old girls in front of me exclaim, "OH MY GOD! LOOK! IT'S A FUCKING MONGO!! EHHHHH! MONGO MONGO MONGO! EUUHGHHGHGH". I think that was one of the moments I was most angry in my entire life. What absolute arseholes. I went absolutely ballistic at them - they didn't take any of it in because they were too bloody ignorant - telling them how disgusting it was that they found such a thing a source of amusement. Eventually I had to get off the bus in fury. I stood there at the bus stop for 15 minutes seething with (probably) actual steam coming out of my ears.
Another example? My flatmate, Evil Claire, had some of her friends from Kirkcaldy over the other week for her birthday. The entire night, they had been sociable, friendly and came across as genuinely nice people. At the end of the night, this lovely idea was shattered into a million pieces. "I was raised racist, so that's how I am and I'm proud of it." Excuse me? What? "I can't change it, I mean, I believe it too. Those fucking foreign cunts shouldny come here and steal aw' our jobs eh? Ken whit a mean?" No, I don't "know" what you mean: they don't steal your jobs because if they get them, it's because they're more qualified. We are in a multicultural society where there is no place for racism. Me: "What problems do you have with them being here really? They're here because back in their home countries, their children might be starving to death on the streets, or dying from malaria? Do you honestly grudge a mother trying to do whatever she can to keep her children alive? Uprooting her whole life to another completely different country to try and do the best for her offspring?" Their response: "Well, aye. If the mother canny afford tae because their country's fucked up, thae kids deserve to die, eh?"
Now, anyone who knows me, knows that children suffering is my button. I'm the kind of person who cries at the unicef adverts and will burst into tears at the thought of a child dying. I'm the kind of person that would jump off a building in an instant if it ensured the protection of a child. Figure how angry I was?

• The feeling that if you didn't make the effort, they probably wouldn't speak to you or even notice your presence.

You know, especially in the internet sense? That 'friend' you have, that will chat (sort of) if you message them, but they'll never message you. You know they're there, but seem completely oblivious to your presence. They say how much they miss you and want to chat more, but when you're there, they don't try, and if you do, you hardly get much apart from one word answers from them. They claim they're "playing a game" or anything like that, when this might be the only time when you get to speak to them because your laptop's broken, or they're in another country. So one time, you wait and see if they try to speak to you; despite your best efforts you wait as a sort of test to see if they do. If they desire your chat as much as you desire theirs. And they don't, clearly. Note above, that 'friend' is now a lost cause.

I can't be bothered typing anything more that I hate because I'm cold (another thing I hate) and my fingers hurt and I need a cigarette.

Ciao bella

Sean

x

Dear Lecturer

Dear Lecturer,

The slot for that incredibly difficult biomedical lecture is from 12pm - 1pm. You delivered it in under 30 minutes. Most of this is completely new and unknown territory to us and hard to understand as it is. Talking completely in acronyms and metaphors while going through the lecture slides faster than the speed of light is not conducive to effective learning for potential doctors: there's not even enough time to speedily jot down the lecture title before you've gone three slides of important information along. There is a reason you are inundated with questions from your students after every slot. Please stop trying to kill us while trying to teach us how to save others.

Best Wishes

Screwed.

Transitions

Dear Friend,

Are you resistant to change? I am. In fact, being out of my comfort zone in general terrifies me. It's the reason why I used to refuse relationships: there was too much of myself in uncertainty and at risk. Moving house, changing shampoo, living with someone new or having a close loved one move away. All of these things stress me out. In the past two weeks, all of these things have happened, at the same time.

Kincaid's Court

So, after a whole year of working, making up my own schedule, being free, not having to study and living comfortably, I'm finally here: at university. Again a huge change, and one I was incredibly anxious about. What if the flatmates were all too quiet? What if the flatmates were all 'too cool' for me and shunned my geekiness? What if I just got on their fucking nerves all the time? What if I got placed in an all-male flat? What if I didn't manage to get the money together for the deposit and had to live at home instead?





None of the above are true (or at least I hope). Flat 9, Block 4 has more hilarious memories from the past two weeks as I have had for months. There's 12 of us:

• Sean secondnameican'tspell. He's friendly, sociable, and takes responsibility for things: his, Chris' and Gregor's friends trashed the flat and they all cleaned up and took responsibility for the damages. Nice guy; though slightly obsessed with darts. 
• Gregor and Chris. Twins, from the same school as Sean and they're pretty nice guys. They love the gym, though not as much as Mark (see below) but not gym-goers in that agressive-type way. From what I know of them, they're nice guys and intelligent. It's strange seeing both "lad" and "intelligent" together since I'm from Leith. Intelligent and Masculine were complete opposites where I come from. Oh, and Gregor tried to wrestle Billy to prove his strength. Billy kicked his arse in. 
• Claire. I knew her at first as Evil Claire because when we moved in, she wouldn't speak to me and made fun of me for having a coffee maker. She then disappeared for the weekend and no one knew where she was, so those first impressions were quite set. She reappeared on Monday - turns out she was working back in Kirkcaldy and is in reality Not-So-Evil-Claire. She's a great laugh, especially when we're all just hanging out in the flat. 
• Sascha deserves her own blog entry. Seriously. 
• Me. 
• Lyndsey. I'm never quite sure how her name should be spelled since everyone seems to be telling me it differently. She's from Dundee and definitely the dark horse of the flat. She seemed the quiet estudious type at first, but after a few drinks on the first night, she barged into a flatmates room without knocking, screamed everyones names excitedly for two hours and made out with Creepy Colin. She is absolutely hilarious drunk. 
• Billy. Bless his little soul to pieces. Before I came, I wondered I would be the token gay of the flat, but thank god Billy made sure that didn't happen. Since we moved in, we've bonded quite a lot as gays (I think) and are really comfortable with each other. With two gay people becoming friends there's always the bridge you need to cross: fuck or friend. That sounds seedy, but gays ARE seedy and it is the reality of most gay relationships. Whether you are honestly attracted to them or not, it could just as easily go either way during freshers week while everyone is horrendously drunk. Thankfully, I have my beautiful Daniel which instantly gave me crossing to the side of friend and that is that. It set the tone, and the tone is supportive, friendly, caring and the Jack to the Will and the Will to the Jack. 
• Rachel. The other Medic in the flat and the (barely) more responsible one out of the two of us. We both wake up at 8.55am for 9am lectures, but only because she is the one who comes into my room shaking me awake: "SEANN! WE AH LATE FO LEKTCHAA!" Yes, she's from singapore. Her accent is this strange mixture between American English and Chinese. At first we thought she was really antisocial: keeping all her food in her room and not ever coming out; but she's actually a lovely, friendly girl. 
• Mark. All I can say about him is "Alreet", "Gym" and "Byee" because that's all I've really heard him say. I'm not saying he's boring or a bad guy, because I don't actually know him. He doesn't seem mean or nasty whatsoever apart from complaining furiously all the time about Katie and I doing cancer out of the window. I can see his point though: is IS a non-smoking flat, but it's a student flat. This isn't Bannatynes finest. 
• Sheen. Or Shiying Zhang. I'm not sure what she prefers to be called. She's from China in the same place as Alpha and Zoe, and is friendly, but keeps to herself and other Asians. One morning after a particularly intense flat party, someone had thrown her rice ALL OVER the livingroom and she was devastated; but Sean gave her money for more rice, so all is good. 
• Last but not least: Katie. Jean-Luca, an Italian boy in my Medicine classes would describe her as "an absolute psychopath." But not in a bad way. She's absolutely out of her mind and it's fantastic. Every second sentence from her has me in fits of laughter. An absolute legend overall. 

So that's us. There are a few other people that come round to the flat (constantly): Caroline the Sex-Addict, Creepy Colin, Finlay from Stornoway, Catriona from Flat 7, Morven who pissed in the stairwell and many more. It's a good flat and I like it. I just hope I don't get on their nerves anytime soon ;) 

Katie and I have our first properly cooked meal in the flat. Well Romantic. 

This photo is distinctly lacking Sascha. Me, Katie, Lyndsey, Billy. 

Rachel from downstairs and I doing the "Call on Me" exercise dance

We have defaced the flat a ridiculous amount. Broken 2 windows, smoked and left evidence, 

almost broken the hoover, defaced the couches, broken one of the couches and countless other

 things. We are SO not getting out deposits back. 

Billy and I "kissing". We've ALL "kissed" each other. FUNNY TIMES. 

Don't Even Ask: Me, Rachel and Billy. 

Keep Holding On

So Daniel has finally gone and I can't put into words how much I miss him. Over the past few months, I've spent so much time with him, getting to know him and how amazing he is. You might have read my last blog about trust and cheating: I have faith in Daniel even though it was hard to achieve. The difference is, he has made me feel like something I've never felt before: special, cared about and as if I matter to him genuinely. 

Now he's gone, and apart from missing him and all his amazing quirks and perks I feel like a big part of my self-worth, self-esteem, happiness and strength has been shattered into pieces. He was there, a constant reminder as to what I am worth and without him, it's difficult to keep that mindset alive. 6 months... I'll keep holding on as long as it takes. I just hope he doesn't let go.

I've written far too much for this entry, so I'll catch up more in a few days. 

Ciao 

xxx 

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (old draft I'd like to post)

Dear Friend,

Any person who has studied biology (or actually has an ounce of common sense) knows that learned behaviours are essential for survival on this earth. If you cut your foot on a piece of glass that one time you walked along the beach barefoot, you'll be unlikely to do it again; if you do, and you get cut again you'll likely never walk barefoot again. When we are hurt by something we learn to avoid it, or at least, be extremely cautious in situations where it could occur. Most people have their one quirky thing like this - what's yours? Mine: Dogs. Reason: I was attacked by one when I was 4. Logical, yes?

However, things stop getting entirely logical when they get human, naturally. The human mind, complex as it is, at some point began to adapt and apply learned behaviours to avoid emotions and emotional pain too. Perhaps the most blatant example of this is cheating... or rather... if you've ever known someone who has been cheated on.


So you're in a relationship - say for the purpose of my point this is your first - and as part of the unspoken rules of a monogamous relationship, you trust your partner. You trust your partner to be there for you, faithful, caring, kind and all of these things undoubtedly. Of course now and then something might give you a doubt but you dispel it as uncalled for paranoia or are so in love - first love: the blindest love - with this person you just can't take it seriously or believe they could ever do anything to hurt you. After all, you know them so well, they wouldn't, couldn't. Isn't life in love fantastic?
A week later when you're sobbing onto your best friend's shoulder, two empty bottles of wine on the table, a chipped front tooth, a broken heart and ex-boyfriend sleeping with someone else, it's an entire different world. When someone cheats on you, they not only steal your dignity, but they also steal something so much more precious. They also steal your ability to trust someone that fully again. You can tell yourself it's a different person, a different situation and a different type of relationship, but you can never entirely get that complete unbounded trust back. A lot of people try to beat the paranoia, fear and internal questioning down inside their head, but when you do, it's something that will eat away at you inside until you're a quivering wreck. It's like a starfish having an arm chopped off: it can regrow, but it's never quite the same as the original. Scar tissue can't be perfect.

Getting over it is a hard and arduous process by which you need something which is very difficult to develop: faith. I'm an atheist and have never believed in any deity: belief without proof is completely illogical to me. Getting that faith in someone else is like trying to force yourself to believe in a god you've got proof probably doesn't exist. You keep trying, but that poisonous memory keeps stabbing you. So you keep trying to forget, and become hardened to the pain. It's all you can do.


Love

Sean
xxx