Today I thought of my younger self, back in time when I am fuelled with determination. One fine young lady, I supposed, bursting with strong points and promises. I was once standing in front of the crowd voicing my eagerness to someday wear a white coat with a stethoscope hanging on my shoulder, top of this is completing my name with 2 letters added after my father’s—M. and D.— letters that empowers a good reputation.
The Class prophecy I read in front of the crowd (which I personally wrote) was the only way I could tell the world that I have a dream—that I wanted to be someone if only given a chance. During those times, it was rather impossible for someone like me to afford a Medical School, and survive it as well.
I can specifically picture out how gloomy I was to be listed as BA Psychology when all I wanted was a Science Degree in Biology as a Pre-Med course even though I was not assured yet of pursuing Medicine. I finished BS Biology and Medicine too. I was always secured. I always believe in myself. I am strong. I was once undistracted.
Today as I return from a 6-day hiatus, I remember all these. I desire to be revived. I want to breathe once again, of good hope. I need my nerve back.
But how can I possibly finish my end when I am, in reality suffocated with anger? There, I found myself running away from the auditorium after being reminded that I'm shattered. I fail to compose my intentions. I was made-up to regain my strength but still too weak.
I found myself crying as if this agony cannot be fought. What really hurts most is a part concealed until becomes a little obvious…that I’m losing myself along my fading dream.
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