tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14670233044458503712024-03-06T19:33:51.948-08:00^-_-^doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-13990292973482858522016-12-17T12:16:00.005-08:002016-12-17T12:21:08.400-08:00QUOG: Day Job, Night Job, No Job?<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
aka What Is A Quog</div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
aka If It Sounds Like A Rant, Walks Like A Rant, Talks Like A Rant, Must Be a Duck</div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
aka This Is A Rant</div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Back in the day, before I set up doyoubelieve.ca, I used some bastardized Hotmail/Microsoft publishing tool that helped me express my nonsense around the world. This is pre Facebook filling that need, so when I had some thoughts that were shorter than my regularly hyperbloated blog posts with unnecessarily dramatic beats, I did the QUick blOG - the pleasing sounding QUOG. </div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Welcome back you fat mess. </div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
...</div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
In reference to myself AND the word I've Frankensteined. </div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
^-_-^</div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
I need some advice. </div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
As long suspected, and honestly as I've always <a href="http://www.doyoubelieve.ca/2009/02/david-poon-and-road-to-medical-school.html">feared</a>, my medical and comedy life are clashing. </div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
I work in health care and have had <a href="http://pooncomedy.com/">pooncomedy.com</a> for the past two years, with an accompanying <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pooncomedy/">Facebook Page</a> for about that long too. I've done comedy longer than that, and as I was advised back in medical school, I did my best to keep my medical career separate from my comedy one. It's actually why I use a fake name on Facebook at all. </div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
A lot of my humour is related to medicine and the life of a doctor, but there is absolutely no patient information or confidentiality exposed. I am incredibly careful with that, both out of respect and fear of litigation. </div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="m_9126744058543372251gmail-text_exposed_show" style="color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
Since I've started, I would not mention I am a comedian to my patients, though some who have looked me up incidentally found it entertaining. I've had some patients watch my shows, and some audience members later become my patients. It's been fun, insightful, and most importantly, separate. I have also been paid to do stand up at medical conferences/shows, and it has been a known fact to most of my colleagues. I do not promote myself at work to any of my staff, though do mention it to other residents and students. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
A week ago, a patient who was upset at her care called my boss to the effect of "I found this guy's comedy - don't you screen your people?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
To be clear, as confirmed with my senior staff, this person was medically managed appropriately. It seems it may have been a personality conflict with me, and my notation/charting was very thorough. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
This was mostly upsetting because it is my personal life. On my comedy website I have a disclaimer specifying I am not affiliated with any hospital in regards to my comedy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
I have already contacted my medical resident representatives who have stated that this is quite unprecedented in the medical field, but that because my professional comedy life is separate, they don't believe it should be an issue.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Today I received an email from my top boss, who, while cognizant of my disclaimers, has asked me to take my comedy website down.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Have any of you been asked to stop doing something you do publicly by your workplace? My suspicion is that if I had a website for my work as a street performer, acting, or medical advising on TV/movies, this would be a non-issue. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
I am honestly happy with both my jobs, both medical and artistic. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
I want to make sure I that still have both at the end of this. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
- David</div>
</div>
doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-5284064038088041942016-11-22T19:54:00.000-08:002016-11-22T20:03:30.862-08:00The Barbarianaka My New Best Friend<br />
aka The Only Nickname That Stuck<br />
aka It's Time To Du-Du-Du-Du-DUEL<br />
aka The 21st Lap.<br />
<br />
It's a well known fact that the majority of my friends share commonalities.<br />
<br />
They tolerate my nonsense.<br />
<br />
They stand by my shenanigans.<br />
<br />
And most importantly...<br />
<br />
... they know I'm cheap.<br />
<br />
It's within this trifecta of madness that I am able to evaluate who will be acquaintances, fleeting and evanescent, and terse out who are my true friends, loyal and burdened by me.<br />
<br />
Shackled by the bonds of a David Poon friendship, my eccentricities an albatross hung around the neck of a life that would otherwise be pleasant and happy.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Let me tell you about Mark.<br />
<br />
^-_-^<br />
<br />
Back when I started high school, my homeroom class (the main group of people you would learn with for that year) inexplicably did not have my best friend in it.<br />
<br />
Since high school is the natural starting point of a complete makeover, it was time to find a New Best Friend.<br />
<br />
So I thought about what qualities my original bestie had, and decided I wanted the opposite.<br />
<br />
I was looking for someone intelligent.<br />
<br />
Capable.<br />
<br />
Imaginative.<br />
<br />
Mark Milne was the template for high school television nerd who turned out to be hot at the end after taking off their glasses.<br />
<br />
Except he was a guy, and he actually looked better with his frames.<br />
<br />
Evidence:<br />
<br />
Him with frames:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwu0AjEWGjossrQWbQDC0h_ROvdDKwvlu_HuQ8msKr27Z7_AGaFrt0FAzuxrsTJq_RThWIfJF4XOa9ryEwAa6PICOccfYP_eacFlgexJJ5tgM0FcHHk0yjkOrTMmAhl_tBj1p12fL3wHQ/s1600/IMG_0032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwu0AjEWGjossrQWbQDC0h_ROvdDKwvlu_HuQ8msKr27Z7_AGaFrt0FAzuxrsTJq_RThWIfJF4XOa9ryEwAa6PICOccfYP_eacFlgexJJ5tgM0FcHHk0yjkOrTMmAhl_tBj1p12fL3wHQ/s320/IMG_0032.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
And him without:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrRrfp1YehNVJTEaL0cExJzoIAJMFm7FKIfjskMk4w4qEzRPJQU2QO_Wk9S-ijwZ2PhY-x_dKuE_mn1gI47rxrxI_xq9Ktr_BIEvHQ00Ci4v4K4oE4OasKTH0HWD5djOWhuBd0Dx9uRQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-22+at+10.34.41+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrRrfp1YehNVJTEaL0cExJzoIAJMFm7FKIfjskMk4w4qEzRPJQU2QO_Wk9S-ijwZ2PhY-x_dKuE_mn1gI47rxrxI_xq9Ktr_BIEvHQ00Ci4v4K4oE4OasKTH0HWD5djOWhuBd0Dx9uRQ/s320/Screen+Shot+2016-11-22+at+10.34.41+PM.png" width="312" /></a></div>
<br />
BTW, the reason he looks so miserable in the first picture was because he was the only one I could convince to come watch my cheerleading team's tournament.<br />
<br />
I guess he thought the floor was more interesting than my pom poms.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Smart, great with computers, and a bigger geek than I could ever hope to be, he was the ideal candidate for New Best Friend.<br />
<br />
But could he stand for my nonsense?<br />
<br />
Believe it or not, I can be a bit annoying, and believe it or not, not everyone tolerates that.<br />
<br />
Early on, when I was trying to designate Mark as my New Best Friend, I invited him over for dinner.<br />
<br />
Because I'm cheap, and to be honest, because I like annoying people, I made us macaroni and cheese.<br />
<br />
With only chopsticks to eat.<br />
<br />
Too polite to ask for a fork, and too dumb to realize he should have just left, Mark spent the next half hour struggling to pick up each individual macaroni noodle from the serving bowl on to his plate, then proceeded to barely take each individual macaroni noodle to his mouth.<br />
<br />
I'm fairly certain after an hour he just left home hungry after having eaten only about eight pieces of macaroni, and a glass of water I forced him to drink with chopsticks too.<br />
<br />
Because of how daintily he handled the pasta, and how ridiculously sheepish/polite he was about the whole ordeal, I gave him the nickname "Mark the Barbarian" which stands until this day. The juxtaposition of a feeble nerd eating pasta with wooden callipers to the statuesque brute warrior we would imagine made the nickname both hilarious and, oddly, timeless.<br />
<br />
It's actually a little absurd how much he's put up with. I've had him repair my Macbook Pro when it was smashed to the point he had to glue the chassis back together. According to the Apple employee I later had assess my machine, it was an impressive job, and much like Frankenstein's monster, it should have never been done.<br />
<br />
Except that was the precedent of our relationship. Mark never failed to be there for me despite how flawed my ideas were.<br />
<br />
At the end of our first year as friends, as he solidified the mantle of New Best Friend, I had a year end party at my house.<br />
<br />
It was much like the high school parties you see in American movies except there were no bikinis, girls, and instead of beer we had the Sega Dreamcast.<br />
<br />
Mark helped me run the party, and even helped me clean up. He had to stay overnight, and just asked that I make sure he gets to school in time for him to get some grade 9 certificate he was getting.<br />
<br />
Well I slept in, he was too nice to wake me up, and he missed whatever piece of paper he was being awarded.<br />
<br />
Forever the class act, he never bugged me about it, just happy that I had a great party.<br />
<br />
Plus we got to play more Dreamcast.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
An interesting footnote in our lives that I remember clearly, but Mark has long forgotten, was during one of our earlier gym classes, when we barely knew each other.<br />
<br />
The hellacious truth of high school physical education is that your entire future is determined on your ability to #literally run circles in a gym, with those who don't make the endurance quota shamed and removed from the experience.<br />
<br />
Believe it or not I wasn't much of an athlete, and believe it or not, I was actually not great at running laps.<br />
<br />
Or running in general.<br />
<br />
Like the epitome of eugenics, high school phys ed is where the weak are faded out for inferiority, with only the strong to achieve greatness.<br />
<br />
As I started to falter on what seemed like my 100th lap (I think it was actually 19th), Mark slowed down just to keep pace with me. At the time we might have had only one or two conversations by then.<br />
<br />
I told him,<br />
<br />
"I can't run more than twenty laps. This is where I usually stop"<br />
<br />
He kept pace.<br />
<br />
He looked at me.<br />
<br />
And then he simply said,<br />
<br />
"Then how will you get any better?"<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
After that I kept pace with him and exceeded all my expectations.<br />
<br />
And after I finally took my well deserved rest following the 21st lap, I knew I had a friend who not only tolerated me, but pushed me to be better.<br />
<br />
Today, he is married to a wonderful woman, and has bought his own home. He has his own webdesign company, and has big dreams building towards a future.<br />
<br />
As of this writing, it may be the first time I have told him how he still helps push me, encourages me, makes me strive towards being better.<br />
<br />
More than ten years later, Mark and I have remained the greatest of friends, despite my numerous attempts to ruin everything from his video games to his wedding. Irrespective of that chaos, that madness, that burden I place on his world, he is loyal, and I know he always will be.<br />
<br />
There is no greater compliment I can give him than he is the first person I went to when I had had a business idea. Instead of dismissing my antics, he gives them legitimacy by questioning them in the scope of reality.<br />
<br />
He has helped turn the frenzied batshit crazy spontaneity of my half baked chain of a mind into a functional shenanigan of a business I can show the world. And most importantly, as a partial stakeholder who doesn't take salary, he completes the trifecta I need in my friendships...<br />
<br />
... he works for cheap.<br />
<br />
When I gave him the name, Mark the Barbarian, it was tongue in cheek, referential to a person I never thought he was.<br />
<br />
But as I reflect on a friendship spanning over a decade, one I hope will last decades more, I see the strength, vision, loyalty, and will this unassuming four eyed nerd is truly capable of.<br />
<br />
And I realize that, for him, there is no more perfect a namesake.<br />
<br />
- David<br />
<br />
<br />
<span id="goog_1814382093"></span><span id="goog_1814382094"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMxIGjm1_1zipJISXJgoLKBnU4CcLFwa3H_aQgtMjQav9Jd7l7IEGhDTsGmiWQV__2CJrI6zfL060P-BSxhoCCOldhKSVX3c8bQY6gbTWhzjLqtlQCZDOCS1lbtIh5qatHiEjx3gNqIr4/s1600/IMG_0893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMxIGjm1_1zipJISXJgoLKBnU4CcLFwa3H_aQgtMjQav9Jd7l7IEGhDTsGmiWQV__2CJrI6zfL060P-BSxhoCCOldhKSVX3c8bQY6gbTWhzjLqtlQCZDOCS1lbtIh5qatHiEjx3gNqIr4/s320/IMG_0893.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Back when we were young and stupid. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Now we aren't young. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Happy 30th Birthday Mark. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I'm sorry this is a year late.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Now lets get back to work. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We have our deadlines to reach, and I refuse to do an extra lap. </div>
<br />doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-19503436620927792902015-02-25T12:38:00.002-08:002015-02-25T15:36:39.547-08:00Grandmother's Eggsaka The Week<br>
aka Back Up Your Data<br>
aka For Realz, Back Up Your Data<br>
aka No Play Play<br>
aka Ah Mah<br>
<br>
I hate loss.<br>
<br>
And I don't mean loss like a normal person (is there anything I do like a normal person?), but I mean I'm still upset that I dropped part of my pasta dish a decade ago.<br>
<br>
I mean I paid for it. A whole 13 dollars tax included.<br>
<br>
And more than ten years later, I'm still not over it.<br>
<br>
In particular, some of the worst loss though?<br>
<br>
Data.<br>
<br>
And I'm not talking academic papers which you've renamed about 17 times, each with a longer iteration of the name. You know you have about 16 more copies of your wacky dissertation about which scrambled eggs pair with duck flavoured soy sauce saved in the cloud, or that free USB stick you took from freshman week at uni.<br>
<br>
<i>file folder / papers</i><br>
<i>/eggswithsoy.doc</i><br>
<i>/eggswithsoy2.doc</i><br>
<i>/eggswithsoy2-1.doc</i><br>
<i>/eggswithsoy2-1PRIME.doc</i><br>
<i>/eggswithsoy2-1PRIMEfinalcopy.doc</i><br>
<i>/eggswithsoy2-1PRIMEfinalcopy2.doc</i><br>
<i>/ULTIMATEeggswithsoy2-1PRIMEfinalcopy2.doc</i><br>
<i>/ULTIMATEeggswithsoy2-1PRIMEfinalcopy2-1.doc</i><br>
<i>/PonEditULTIMATEeggswithsoy2-1PRIMEfinalcopy2-1.doc</i><br>
<i>/PoonEditULTIMATEeggswithsoy2-1PRIMEfinalcopy2-1.doc</i><br>
<i>/recoveredfile.doc</i><br>
<br>
etc etc.<br>
<br>
Ultimately my academic papers are worthless (at least if you ask every journal I've submitted to).<br>
<br>
The loss I really can't cope with are the memories. Pictures, videos, text messages with pictures and videos. They are the hardest.<br>
<br>
I'm including every blurry retake picture of that half assed version of eggs with soy too. It's marginally more meaningful than the six shots of the McDonalds french fries I wanted to Instagram before I realized I wasn't #basic. And I don't have #instagram for food, I'm not Asian (just ask any Asian person I've submitted to).<br>
<br>
I was in Malaysia for around two weeks and left about a week ago. The day before I left, some files were deleted off my hard drive (there is a technical explanation, but to the less savvy, it reduces to a simple "David Poon is an incompetent idiot").<br>
<br>
These were the pictures of seeing my maternal grandmother, my Ah Mah, in the hospital. I flew over urgently because we were worried she was going to die. She was discharged and survived.<br>
<br>
But the data didn't.<br>
<br>
The pictures of seeing her after so long, the videos of her children celebrating a birthday with her, impressions of a Chinese New Year surrounded by family, the memories of a trip to be remembered.<br>
<br>
Gone.<br>
<br>
I don't handle loss well.<br>
<br>
And in this digital age where we can feasibly keep everything on an external hard drive that you can buy for less than a weeks worth of coffees?<br>
<br>
I shouldn't be having loss.<br>
<br>
...<br>
<br>
I think I share that fear of loss with my Ah Ma.<br>
<br>
Last year when I was visiting her, I recorded a long shot of a few of her stories. I was interested in her experiences during the Second World War. I #literally slept through high school history class, but as best I can remember, Malaysia was part of the war.<br>
<br>
Can't remember which side.<br>
<br>
Can remember the naps were FANTASTIC though.<br>
<br>
Can't remember if I passed the class.<br>
<br>
Anyway, turns out Malaysia was occupied by the Japanese, who I think were allied with the Germans, but they didn't use the verb allied. I think they were axis'ed with the Germans, or whatever the word is.<br>
<br>
I slept through English class too.<br>
<br>
Her story was translated to me, for two reasons:<br>
<br>
1) I don't speak Asian<br>
2) I don't understand Asian ladies anyway. Or any females in general. Just ask any woman I've ever spoken to.<br>
<br>
As I understood, in Japanese occupied Malaysia, there were rations of rice and foodstuffs given to the people from the invading army. This would be collected by the man of the home.<br>
<br>
For various reasons, Ah Mah had dressed as a young effeminate man (see where I get it from?) to get the rations from the Japanese, and hold a job as well. On the backdrop of beheadings and violence in a developing jungle oasis of a country, this in itself was quite courageous, but there was a story that stuck with me.<br>
<br>
As best as I remember, at one point, there was a man (some sort of uncle or distant relative perhaps) who the Japanese were looking for around my Ah Mah's home. She hid him and, as a Japanese official approach, confronted him.<br>
<br>
A young woman dressed as a man facing a powerful man dressed as a destroyer.<br>
<br>
She faced complete loss. <br>
<br>
And lived.<br>
<br>
...<br>
<br>
If this was in the digital age, I'm sure some bystander would have taken a video of the whole thing on her phone.<br>
<br>
And then I would have somehow accidentally deleted it.<br>
<br>
^-_-^<br>
<br>
Because my parents worked so much, for about ten years, Ah Mah lived with us in Regina. She sacrificed a lot to be with us - essentially her life in Malaysia was put on hold just to make sure my sister and I were taken care of.<br>
<br>
She said I was the best baby she ever took care of - apparently if you drew a circle around me I wouldn't leave.<br>
<br>
She thought it was because I was well behaved.<br>
<br>
Obviously it was because I was lazy.<br>
<br>^-_-^<div><br>
After school on the walk home, there is a corner window of the house I would be able to see. Without fail, every day, Ah Mah was watching from there, making sure I got home.<br>
<br>
Fat kids like me need to be fed after all.<br>
<br>
Ah Mah's signature dish was something she called Grandmother's Eggs. A simple dish which was essentially scrambled eggs with dark, sweet soy sauce I'm not sure it was anything culinary but it was everything emotionally. It was synonymous with Ah Mah's cooking and immediately called to mind by everyone in the family.<br>
<br>
It was my sister's and my favourite.<br>
<br>
Always waiting for us at home.<br>
<br>
Much like Ah Mah.<br>
<br>
And I'm much like her.<br>
<br>
She raised me after all.<br>
<br>
Waiting for my sister and I after school wasn't the only time she worried about me. Even until my teen years, she was worried that after a house party at my place, someone would have stolen my items, or if I was out late, she was sitting in the dark, at that same window, making sure I was safe.<br>
<br>
She actually worried about all of us a lot.<br>
<br>
About money, about food, about loss.<br>
<br>
This was before hoarding was a thing, but her part of the fridge was so full of food so old the entire family was convinced one day it would poison her.<br><br>I'm much like her. </div><div><br>
If we tried to take it from her she would snap and say it was for her, in some eventual doomsday scenario.<br>
<br>
The inevitable someday where another war might take away her supply of food.<br>
<br>
Or the someday where she may have lost one of us.<br>
<br>
I asked a question on this recent trip.<br>
<br>
"Has Ah Mah ever lost someone?"<br>
<br>
My Mom and Uncles then told me about how her older brother left the family to join Chinese communists when she was very young. One day he was gone from her life.<br>
<br>
And I think this fear never leaves.<br>
<br>
Which makes letting go of it so much more brave.<br>
<br>
Mom always told me that without Ah Mah, she would have never become a doctor, instead living out her life in the poor Malaysian kampung (small village) she was born in. While Kong Kong (grandfather) wanted as many children as possible to work the fruit selling business, Ah Mah insisted on the smaller family of three boys, one girl, and for them to have the chance to be educated. Ah Mah had no education but knew the future for us was within school.<br>
<br>
My Eldest Uncle took responsibility, manned up and took the only job available to a poor family - joined the military. The second and third went away to Australia, and my Mom went elsewhere in Asia to study medicine, eventually going to Canada.<br>
<br>
As hard as it was for her, Ah Mah said goodbye to her children to make sure they had their lives. That they were safe.<br>
<br>
At the risk of losing them.<br>
<br>
Ah Mah spoke seven languages and every one helped us understand how much she was afraid of losing us. It was her sheer intelligence she did what she could, mistakes and all, for her children, for her life.<br>
<br>
My cousin sat me down about nine days ago and reminded me the value of family, and to not live with too many regrets. I had to get back to Canada to sort out of few things but I resolved to come back and see Ah Mah again.<br>
<br>
Before I left I took some pictures with her. Just a few, dwarfed by how many which were deleted.<br>
<br>
But some. <br>
<br>
I kissed her on the forehead not wanting to lose her. I just had to go, but I knew she would be waiting for me when I returned.<br>
<br>
Like always.<br>
<br>
...<br>
<br>
Ah Mah died this morning.<br>
<br>
One week after I left.<br>
<br>
Eight days after celebrating her last Chinese New Year surrounded by her loved ones.<br>
<br>
Nine days after being reunited with all of her children, who haven't been all together for many years.<br>
<br>
Ten days after having a birthday for one of her children.<br>
<br>
Two weeks after being discharged from to the hospital<br>
<br>
Twenty days after being admitted into the hospital.<br>
<br>
A lifetime of giving, sacrifice, pain, tears, and giving some more to a world she was afraid of losing what little she had to.<br>
<br>
A lifetime of building a family and keeping them safe as best as she could.<br>
<br>
Imperfectly - but as best as she could.<br>
<br>
About ten seconds after my data loss, I realized what happened. I immediately went to recovery, and a few hours later I was able to get some back. I haven't sorted through them all, but there is some back.<br>
<br>
I can lament about what I've lost.<br>
<br>
Or cherish what I still have.<br>
<br>
Much like the precious moments and memories I still have of Ah Mah.<br>
<br>...</div><div><br>
I hate loss.<br>
<br>
And I don't mean loss like a normal person (every normal person grieves), but I mean I hate losing a woman who raised me for a decade.<br>
<br>
I mean she paid for it. A life left behind in Asia, a husband an ocean away.<br>
<br>
And a more than a lifetime later, I will never forget it.<br>
<br>
In particular, some of the worst loss though?<br>
<br>
Safety.<br>
<br>
And I'm not talking about physical safety, though that is of course important. I mean the security and false idealism that allows you to believe your loved ones will always be there the longer they live. Even by one more week. You always think, hope, stay staunchly ignorant that there is a safe tomorrow harbouring future memories that will keep you safely unaware of the pain you have yet to endure.<br>
<br>
<i>memories / ahmah</i><br>
<i>/grandmotherseggs.mem</i><br>
<i>/grandmotherseggs2.mem</i><br>
<i>/grandmotherseggswithsalt.mem</i><br>
<i>/grandmotherseggswithsaltwhenIwassad.mem</i><br>
<i>/grandmotherseggswithsaltwhenIwashappy.mem</i><br>
<i>/grandmotherseggswithvegetarianduckwhenIachievedsomething.mem</i><br>
<i>/grandmotherseggswithvegetarianduckwhenIjustneededittogetthroughmyweek.mem</i><br>
<i>/grandmotherseggswithvegetarianduckwhenIdidntknowhowtogetthroughmyweek.mem</i><br>
<i>/grandmotherseggswithalltheloveshecouldgivedespiteallthefearandinsecurityshehadinherheart.mem</i><br>
<i>/grandmotherseggswitheveryintentionofkeepingherfamilysafewhileafraidofbeingaloneattheend.mem</i><br>
<i>/goodbye.mem</i><br>
<br>
I love you, I love you.<br>
<br>
Ultimately my grief will pass (I've made my mistakes and take responsibility).<br>
<br>
The loss I really can't cope with are the futures. The pain all of us in the family will face knowing there is no tomorrow for her. They are the hardest.<br>
<br>
I think Ah Mah waited for all of her children to come home before she could pass. I think as she lay bedridden, being tube fed, eyes glazed and barely aware, she knew that she had to wait for us.<br>
<br>
She had to know we were safe.<br>
<br>
And as she waits for us, watches us, it is finally a time where she does not need to be afraid of being alone.<br>
<br>
As she was never alone.<br>
<br>
Some things cannot ever be recovered.<br>
<br>
But lessons, examples, feelings of love, fear hardship, pain, strength, compassion, and the recipe to the best soy sauce scrambled eggs in the world?<br>
<br>
Some things are never lost.<br>
<br>
...<br>
<br>The safety of love transcends the insecurity of loss. <div><br></div><div><div>
I think I will never lose my Ah Mah.<br>
<br>
- David<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG55mHG41AEw-KAxrmWK68YY1FWeUa4tcsBXCotAgebxd-zUAcLd7uUXyBH6a-6HALz4zFvgtn1Ql1R7eDBSAejQGac52sQ1Oi2imPA5PrD6_djAR0Ez9-zJyZFm8PuQmb_WiCnVgtxIk/s1600/IMG_8566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG55mHG41AEw-KAxrmWK68YY1FWeUa4tcsBXCotAgebxd-zUAcLd7uUXyBH6a-6HALz4zFvgtn1Ql1R7eDBSAejQGac52sQ1Oi2imPA5PrD6_djAR0Ez9-zJyZFm8PuQmb_WiCnVgtxIk/s1600/IMG_8566.JPG" height="320" width="240"></a></div>
<br>
<i>One of the only pictures I have from the last trip to Malaysia. This is not one of the recovered files, but one of the shots I took after realizing I should forget regretting what is already gone. This is the last picture of us together. </i><br>
<i><br></i>
<i>This song played in the background while I typed this at a cafe. I've never heard it before. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IB6qsyq9YIE</i><br>
<i><br></i>
<i>I love you Ah Mah. Thank you for taking care of me and loving me. Be safe. </i></div></div></div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-4980526324360249862013-04-01T11:13:00.000-07:002013-04-01T11:13:44.160-07:00David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Udon Party<div>
David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Udon Party</div>
<div>
aka Updates from Now On!</div>
<div>
aka Not a Lemon Party.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
As I'm typing here on my kitchen counter, with my girlfriend making a delicious udon, I'm reflecting on my 27th birthday tomorrow... <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It reminded me that to make a commitment, to build something great, takes time, dedication, and the long fermentation to create the amazing - whether it be a soy sauce, or a blog. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
From now on, I resolve, daily updates.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
April Fools.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
- David</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wonder how many people will wish Aszreal JT Smash Happy Birthday, or delete him tomorrow.... wonder if it would be the same number for David E-O Poon</div>
doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-38193434289770702982012-11-02T22:23:00.000-07:002013-04-01T00:02:02.750-07:00David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Driven <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>759</o:Words>
<o:Characters>4329</o:Characters>
<o:Company>Economic Flags: Global Trade Simulation</o:Company>
<o:Lines>36</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>10</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>5078</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>14.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves/>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>JA</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/>
<w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/>
<w:OverrideTableStyleHps/>
<w:UseFELayout/>
</w:Compatibility>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="276">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Driven<br />
<br />
aka: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the OR<br />
<br />
aka: All Cars Should Be Bumper Cars<br />
<br />
<br />
I cannot stand early mornings. <br />
<br />
I think it evokes painful memories of me being 17, getting up at "it's still dark" hours to get to high school two hours before everyone else for an extra credit class called TOK, or Theory of Knowledge - a class where I've driven an icy, barren, labryinth of destitute Regina Saskatchewan streets to make it to a class where we discuss "what is thinking" to an extent that would make a PhD in Philosophy candidate groan from the self important curriculum aggrandizing.<br />
<div>
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Or maybe I'm just lazy. <br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
The point is, early mornings are terrible. <br />
<br />
In medical school, we are sent on a series of rotations. These are essentially a number of 6 week internships to expose us to a variety of specialties, to help us decide what type of doctor we want to be when we (if we?) graduate. It's quite an effective system, with just the right amount of length to inspire us if we're interested, and not long enough to torture us if we aren't. <br />
<br />
Well, depending on how much we hate mornings. <br />
<br />
The past six weeks I have been on my Subspecialty Surgery Rotation - this is when we learn about cardiac surgery (heart), otolaryngology (ear, nose and throat), neurosurgery (brain). The wondrous thing we really learn about surgeons?<br />
<br />
Working an 11 hour day is actually considered light work. <br />
<br /></div>
<div>
A 6am to 5pm shift is when we are <i>lucky</i>.<br />
<br />
And a 6am morning means AT LEAST a 5:15am alarm - which, given my well worn strategy of hitting snooze at least 4 times, leaves me about 15 minutes to rush to the hospital without forgetting my pants. <br />
<br />
Usually. <br />
<br />
The orthopods, the bone doctors? They work the hardest. And I don't mean anecdotally, I mean given even the possibility of an alternate funding plan (AFP) where doctors usually work less for the same amount of money, orthopaedic surgeons actually work LONGER hours. <br />
<br />
Which means earlier mornings. <br />
<br />
Crap. <br />
<br />
The force that pushes the orthopods is incredible - the hours needed to see all their patients, the physical strength to pull a man's spine back together, and a special sort of determination that pushes them forward, that I could have never predicted. <br />
<br />
In the short two weeks I spent in orthopaedics, I was ashamed at the frustrations I started to develop. Almost angry, as I, perhaps for the first time, felt patient's damned themselves to their own fates. <br />
<br />
At about 11 AM, word came in of a severe MVC (motor vehicle collision) that involved three people. Alcohol was heavily involved, no seatbelts were worn, and all three people were thrown out of the car. <br />
<br />
Only one survived to the operating room. <br />
<br />
Spinal fracture, brain damage. <br />
<br />
I had seen workplace accidents, falls from trees, bad turn signalling, and explosions and oil factories - but I had never seen such raw, self destruction. The complete devastation of life over a bottle, a key, and a bad decision. <br />
<br />
I reflected on this as I watched my preceptor and chief resident - they remarked how sad it is, perhaps even had a moment of empathy before getting to the work. In the hopes of ensuring the patient would be able to walk again, they had to effectively, carefully, piece together a broken spine. During a a scraping of her spinal cord that had to be completed, her blood sprayed towards my face in what was clearly a great way to elevate my spirits. <br />
<br />
I asked to walk away to wash up and cross my fingers that I didn't contract HIV or something.<br />
<br />
Later that day, a many in my preceptor's hometown drives into a middle school. Three young students are pinned under his car. One girl, the most hurt, is sent the our hospital to the pediatric orthopaedic surgeon. Her broken body I can only imagine fought with every pulse to survive another moment. <br />
<br />
She didn't. <br />
<br />
I can't stand mornings. I can't stand the self destruction. I cannot face another alarm where its only beckon is the prospect of another day of misery. <br />
<br />
And the surgeons press on. Persevere. To the next case. Another few hours. Answer the pager, help the next patient. <br />
<br />
As people drive themselves into broken fates, the surgeon is driven to rebuild a delicate, fragile future. <br />
<br />
And perhaps that is enough reason to get up in the morning. <br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
My sister called me today. She was driving on the highway, spun out of control. As she describes it, she turned 180 degrees, facing down a semi truck. <br />
<br />
Which stopped before it hit her. <br />
<br />
Thankfully. <br />
<br />
Though...<br />
<br />
I saw a patient last week. A 17 year old kid. <br />
<br />
Getting up at the "its still dark hours" to drive an icy, barren, labyrinth of destitute Edmonton Alberta streets. <br />
<br />
He slides on a patch of black ice. <br />
<br />
His truck flips. </div>
<div>
<br />
In the OR, I see his spine. Fragile. <br />
<br />
Gone. <br />
<br />
In assessing him post operatively, I find out he has lost all sensation in his lower limbs. He is paraplegic. <br />
<br />
His 18th birthday is the next day. <br />
<br />
He smiles at me. <br />
<br />
He presses on. <br />
<br />
We talk about video games. Netflix. <br />
<br />
We talk about his birthday. </div>
<div>
Tomorrow. <br />
<br />
Driven towards a bright, new, morning. <br />
<br />
- David<br />
<br />
<i>This was written as a Reflective Narrative Assignment for my Subspeciality Surgery rotation. For my reflective surgery assignment, I decided to create an Orthopedics related post for my blog. The topics on my website are based on my thoughts and reflections as a student of medicine, in a series I call “David Poon and the Road to Medical School.” They are all inspired by specific instances and observations during daily ward life. No confidential or identifying information is ever presented. The concept is similar to Parallel Charting, though in my case is as much an introspective on public perceptions of medicine than the medicine itself.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<!--EndFragment--></div>
doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-76579775422977789282012-05-16T20:54:00.001-07:002012-05-16T21:01:10.043-07:00David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Hypnos<div class="MsoNormal">aka Why I Took Classical Mythology AND Medical Terminology in My 2 Years of Premed<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">“Why did Michael Jackson die?” I asked sincerely. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A short silence, then an almost amused sigh. My senior physician replied candidly,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Because he didn’t have an anesthesiologist.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Heath Ledger, the famous actor, apparently had such difficulty sleeping when playing the role of a psychopath, he inadvertently overdosed on anxiolytics (pills to calm a person). Within a the span of a few months, the death of songstress Whitney Houston was followed by celebrated painter Thomas Kinkade, both, apparently, to similar medications, as well as suspected heavy alcohol use. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And of course, the King of Pop himself, Michael Jackson famously was “killed” (according to the courts) by his physician, a cardiologist, when he was given propafol to help him sleep. Propafol, a powerful and common anesthetic, is used to keep patients sedated during surgeries, where Michael Jackson’s heart doctor used it to get him to sleep. The man who made Thriller died suffocating, as he was so heavily sedated he couldn’t breathe. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is what the public learns about anesthetics. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Pop culture has pervaded our common sense in a variety of medical facts. Many of the populous truly believe an atrocious number of myths, from fallen food being unable to attract dangerous pathogens due to an inane “Five second rule,” to being under the impression that slamming one’s fist into someone else’s chest while yelling “Live, damn you, live!” will bring anyone back to life should it be a dramatic enough point in the story. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’d be remiss if I did not say I am subject to these eccentricities myself. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While it is a widely known fact that medical students are heavy drug users – caffeine is our lifeblood after all – it’s an odd secret that many of us are so wound up from the large amounts of stress, challenge, and coffee that we are faced with that we have trouble sleeping. So zopiclone (a sleeping pill), Ativan (an anxiety pill), and other calming drugs are used more often than we’d admit. I myself use the occasional sleeping pill during a bout of insomnia. And I’ve been terrified quite a few times because of what I see on the news. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I’m supposedly well educated on the subject (though I’m sure many of my professors would doubt that!)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I wonder – how does any patient unfamiliar with pharmokinetics face a time where they must receive anesthetics? Before a surgery, does the man fear the sensationalism presented to them from the media, with his favourite pop stars dying from commonly used medications? <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During my surgery rotation, we spend a few days doing anesthesia – that’s the doctor who puts the patient to sleep while the surgeon essentially cuts open their bodies. The anesthetist is actually the one technically responsible for the patient’s life during surgery; not only does he or she make sure the patient is unconscious, immobile, and amnesic during the procedure, but the anesthetist monitors the vitals (heart rate, breathing rate) and gives medicine to keep them stable. Legally, if a patient crashes or dies on the table, the anesthetist, not the surgeon, is typically primarily responsible. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is why the anesthetist has a thorough discussion with a surgery patient before a procedure. I’ve seen many of these over the past few weeks. The doctor typically describes the anesthesia as a very deep sleep, or the anesthetic as a very strong sleeping pill. They cover the risks of having these medications, such as feeling nauseous, feeling sore, feeling weak, and of course, the small but very real possibility of in fact, “dying on the table.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Which brings me full circle to the base topics of anesthesia. Awake and life. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sleep. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And death. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With a recent patient I saw going to surgery, a kind older woman having a hernia repaired, watching the propafol blissfully cause the patient to close her eyes, I could think of no more fitting words than those of Homer, the Greek poet:<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #222222;"> "There she encountered </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Sleep</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #222222;">, the </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">brother</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #222222;"> of </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Death</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #222222;">." </span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Quite suiting is that these words are from the Iliad, an epic poem depicting a great battle of high stakes. Much like the Illiad, a patient faces her fears, challenges myths, and is literally set upon a stage of life and death, with only the chance of waking up being the sole distinction from sleep and its brother. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thanatos was the Greek embodiment of death, and in these legends, his brother was in fact Hypnos, the personification of sleep. So close are they seen in the popular culture of humanity, that artists ranging from the aforementioned Homer to current day rapper NaS, where audiences are told “… <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #222222;">never sleep, cause </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">sleep is the cousin of death.</span>” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With this continuous cycle of myth surrounding sleep and death, there will always be the air of tragic hope whenever our eyes close. As we face the medications and surgeries to save our lives, in many cases all we can wish is to awaken once again. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Or, in the immortal words of Kenny Roger’s ‘The Gambler,’ “And the best you can hope for is to die in your sleep.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anesthetists in many ways are the keepers of this mythic symbolism. They bring about sleep, and they can fend off death. They are the first voice to awaken the patient after surgery, therefore in some sense, bring about life. With every patient they see to the operating room, they define a journey that some may not survive, though a great many more pass. And like any great odyssey, this is a journey taken out of necessity to live a dream of better health. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps this has all already been said eloquently: as Hamlet ponders the mortality and morality of man, he muses,<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“To die; to sleep; To sleep; perchance to dream.” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">- David<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>This was written as a Reflective Narrative Assignment for my Surgery and Anesthesia rotation. </i><i>For my reflective surgery assignment, I decided to create a special Anesthesia related post for my blog. The topics on my website are based on my thoughts and reflections as a student of medicine, in a series I call “David Poon and the Road to Medical School.” They are all inspired by specific instances and observations during daily ward life. No confidential or identifying information is ever presented. The concept is similar to Parallel Charting, though in my case is as much an introspective on public perceptions of medicine than the medicine itself.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>This was written on 3 hours of sleep and South Park playing in the background. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>The Avengers movie was incredible - I originally wanted to name this post Thanos. </i><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>81</o:Words> <o:Characters>466</o:Characters> <o:Company>Economic Flags: Global Trade Simulation</o:Company> <o:Lines>3</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>1</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>546</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>14.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>JA</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="276"> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;}
</style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
<o:p></o:p></i></div><!--EndFragment--></div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-17450721388015531502011-04-09T14:53:00.000-07:002011-04-09T17:37:08.080-07:00A Wingman StoryLemmie tell you about Alex Grolle.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
He's an idiot.<br />
<br />
I've known him ever since pre school, in a little place called Gingerbread. That means, both he and I turned 25 this week, we've known each other for more than two decades.<br />
<br />
Over that span of time, our intertwined lives have been a sordid affair seeping with inadequacies, summer camps, and sleepovers with zero sleep, if you know what I mean.<br />
<br />
^-_-^<br />
<br />
In a totally non homosexual way.<br />
<br />
We're not gay.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Through our elementary school years, Alex would master a technique we have all learned he epitomizes.<br />
<br />
Being terrible with women.<br />
<br />
For some reason, elementary school girls treated Alex back then much like middle aged divorced women treat me. With chasing adoration.<br />
<br />
During recess, they would play Boys Vs Girls, which always, always resulted in three girls chasing Alex. Given that their options included stellar selections such as a 120 pound Asian 10 year old with glasses (read: me), I wouldn't say that Alex was any more suave back then.<br />
<br />
Just, you know, decent.<br />
<br />
Now any intelligent young man would naturally take this opportunity to use his limitless charms during these formative years to become a hunky playboy of a man, but<br />
<br />
1) Alex does not have limitless charms, and<br />
2) I said <i>intelligent</i> young man.<br />
3) Also I said <i>man </i>(zing!)<br />
<br />
So, without a thought, Alex spend the rest of recess running away from the girls. Hell, until this day I've never seen a guy so bad at picking up women he might as well be running from them. At least that way, they get to see his fine, fine behind....<br />
<br />
Also we are not gay.<br />
<br />
Like any good friend, I've spent a good amount of time being his wingman. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, a wingman is a military aviation concept where another pilot (the wingman) offers an assist during a dangerous mission. Nothing short of sacrificing himself is under the duties of a wingman to ensure a successful mission. In these cases, the wing man was me, and the dangerous mission was trying to get Alex a girl without getting arrested for trying to solicit prostitutes.<br />
<br />
The wingman in dating concept in men arises directly from a female behaviour that dictates that any attractive girl in a social situation is always accompanied by a fat ugly best friend, likely to make the attractive girl even more comparable to David Poon in terms of raw beauty.<br />
<br />
One year, Alex brought me to Victoria to hang out with his grandma Good times, though (like with any Alex Grolle interaction) it would obviously end in horrific hilarity.<br />
<br />
We were at this club (after Alex heroically got scared by a bouncer at a separate club), were we saw:<br />
<br />
A beautiful, auburn haired white girl, slim profile, blue eyes, and delicate facial features that were just sharp enough to pierce the heart, but remind you that she will never break it.<br />
<br />
as well as...<br />
<br />
her fat ugly best friend.<br />
<br />
^-_-^<br />
<br />
Like I said, Alex has zero skill with the ladies.<br />
<br />
So like any good wingman, I prefer for doom.<br />
<br />
I ask the FUB friend to dance.<br />
<br />
She hesitates.<br />
<br />
I scream silently.<br />
<br />
The beautiful girl tells the FUB friend to go ahead.<br />
<br />
I open my arms to go around her.<br />
<br />
Then I open my arms a little wider.<br />
<br />
I think I settled for the shoulders after the fourth attempt.<br />
<br />
But I did it. The beautiful girl was free.<br />
<br />
And then....<br />
<br />
... without a thought, Alex hides behind some black guy. Another man 30 seconds later comes in, dances with the beautiful girl, and I think they make out later.<br />
<br />
If we keep up with the aeronautic metaphor, this would be the equivalent of the wingman crashing directly into the enemy army, leaving the base exposed, while the heroic lead pilot ejects, takes a taxi back home, and watches Denzel Washington movies with his grandma.<br />
<br />
I hate you Alex.<br />
<br />
At least I would, if I still had the ability to feel after the night with the FUB friend deadened my senses to the world.<br />
<br />
Though honestly, I guessed I probably owed him one. He did save my life once.<br />
<br />
When we were kids, he and I annually went to camp. Sometimes science, sometimes sports, one time even art.<br />
<br />
Take a guess which camp I didn't do so well in.<br />
<br />
During sports camp, we had to do drills in swimming. As a fat kid, and as Newton would dictate, that meant I was a hazard. I mean, I could have worn a tshirt in the pool to cover my man boobs and avoid bullying, but you know, I'm not THAT fat.<br />
<br />
(At least until I met girls...)<br />
<br />
I remember when some kid grabbed my head and held it under the water. I didn't know how to swim. It was scary cause I didn't know what was going on, and you know, I was drowning.<br />
<br />
I was screwed.<br />
<br />
I remember Alex grabbing me, pulling me back up, and saying<br />
<br />
"Are you okay?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah... you saved my life!"<br />
<br />
"Yeahhhhh...."<br />
<br />
Turns out he was the one drowning me. Without a thought, he figured it was just having fun.<br />
<br />
WHAT EXACTLY IS FUN ABOUT GETTING SCREWED WET BY ANOTHER MAN!?!?!? (Nothing because I'm straight!)<br />
<br />
Somehow I always get in trouble with him.<br />
<br />
In grade 11, there was a dance to find out who would be elected to high school student council. When I won the election to become president of my high school, I was with my girlfriend at the time, and Alex. JUST BECAUSE I accidentally kissed Alex instead of my girlfriend in my excitement, my ex got pissed off.<br />
<br />
At me!<br />
<br />
Can you believe it?<br />
<br />
Just cause Alex has pretty lips!<br />
<br />
Bastard.<br />
<br />
He's always like this; one time, in grade 7, we were skiing on these things in Saskatchewan we call slopes (which are actually pretty close to piles of snow taken from the streets).<br />
<br />
I was just learning how to ski, but I was getting pretty confident. Alex and I went up the lift, the highest height I had ever been to (yeah yeah, Alex takes me higher than I've ever been before, we're not gay).<br />
<br />
We went down, but since he was more experienced, he was ahead of me. I was getting comfortable, so I started picking up speed.<br />
<br />
Down.<br />
<br />
Down faster.<br />
<br />
Alex in front, me behind...<br />
<br />
it was awesome.<br />
<br />
And not gay.<br />
<br />
Not sure what he was thinking, but as he would tell me later, he was worried that I was going to run into the orange fence that was set up at the end of the hill, to prevent lost skis from running into people at the chalet.<br />
<br />
I wasn't.<br />
<br />
I was slowing down pretty good actually. But Alex was never that good at math, or thinking, really, and so...<br />
<br />
But as I bolted down the hill, I remember, and will always remember the moment where without a thought, Alex turned around, skied in front of me, put his arms up to brace himself, and...<br />
<br />
(dramatic silence)<br />
<br />
WHAM.<br />
<br />
My weight, combined with the speed I was going at, ran both of us directly into the damn orange fence.<br />
<br />
Idiot.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Lemmie tell you about Alex Grolle.<br />
<br />
He is my best friend in the entire world.<br />
<br />
I remember when we were just 13 or so, and I was having a goodbye party at my place. Someone was leaving, but on top of that, there were some deeply personal issues I was sorting out. I remember making a speech to the person leaving, and well, breaking down partway through. I ran out the back door to a nearby park, and just sobbed.<br />
<br />
Not long after, Alex found me.<br />
<br />
Held me together.<br />
<br />
He had started chasing me after I left.<br />
<br />
Without a thought.<br />
<br />
And I think about it now, and I realize the measure of man he is.<br />
<br />
A little tidbit of trivia is that while Alex and I met in pre school we were too young to remember it at the time. It wasn't until four years later, when I transferred elementary schools, that we met again.<br />
<br />
It was scary being the new kid - I didn't know anyone at the new school, who I thought my best friend was at the time left me, and, let's be honest, no one likes the fat kid.<br />
<br />
On my first day, without a thought, Alex asked the teacher if he could show me around.<br />
<br />
I have no doubt that seeing that act of kindness when I was that young shaped my amicable nature today.<br />
<br />
Be good. Be friends. Simple.<br />
<br />
A week later, a new, new kid showed up, and thanks to Alex's example, I volunteered to show him the school.<br />
<br />
Who knows how my life may have been - would I have been bullied in elementary school? Would I have been able to make as many wonderful friends in my lifetime if I didn't have the guts to raise my hand and say "I will be your friend?"<br />
<br />
Will I have been who I am had I never known Alex.<br />
<br />
Where would I have been without him to be my wingman and help me fly.<br />
<br />
When I wanted to dress up as the Backstreet Boys, only he would don the clothes. At swimming, when I bled from the nose, he came with me to the washroom and helped me clean up the blood.<br />
<br />
Also I accidentally saw his penis in the change room after, the first time I saw another person's ding dong.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
When the police first came to my house in Regina, before any of my family knew about the allegations against my father, my sister was by herself. My mom was in Asia helping my family, my dad at the hospital helping his patients. I was in Edmonton for school.<br />
<br />
My sister, terrified, didn't know what to do, with two officers asking for my father. She called me, but I was just as confused, and just as scared.<br />
<br />
Still not knowing why the police were at my door, the next person I called was Alex.<br />
<br />
I asked him to go to my sister and watch out for her.<br />
<br />
Not even asking what happened,<br />
<br />
not questioning anything,<br />
<br />
stopping everything,<br />
<br />
without a thought,<br />
<br />
Alex drove over to my place, made sure Lisa was safe, and didn't leave her.<br />
<br />
Alex may seem like a regular white guy, going to work, coming home and playing video games.<br />
<br />
But he is an exceptional person. One of the best men I know.<br />
<br />
One of the best men we all know.<br />
<br />
He is far more intelligent than I will ever give him credit for, but he will never make you feel like nothing.<br />
<br />
Though he has never had much luck with women (in fact, has been treated pretty badly by some) he offers nothing but respect to any girl he has been with.<br />
<br />
He doesn't earn alot of cash, but never once does he think about swindling someone. He gives to his friends the best he can offer, even when he doesn't have much himself.<br />
<br />
He never did well in school, but perhaps unlike the rest of us high energy academics, he has never even considered copying work, or cheating on an exam.<br />
<br />
He knows what is right, and lives by it. Not due to pious air of superiority, and certainly not due to a cowardice of reprimand.<br />
<br />
He lives honestly because it is who he is.<br />
<br />
My immediate family is close to me, my brothers, my sister, my mom and my dad. We love each other, fight each other, scream at each other, then come back together.<br />
<br />
But as they say, you can't choose your family - but you can choose your friends.<br />
<br />
Which means bonds between family can't be broken, but friends can eventually leave you.<br />
<br />
Alex Grolle is my best friend in the whole world.<br />
<br />
We don't fight. We hang out. We go to McDonalds at 3am and talk.<br />
<br />
It's how we choose to be together. It's how we are, and how we always will be.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And I don't care if that makes me his fat ugly best friend...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">... or his wingman for life.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">- David</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>Today is Alex's 25th birthday. If you haven't seen him in awhile, or just want to ask him if anything I'm saying is actually true, go to his Facebook at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=504352371">http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=504352371</a></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>He could use the attention. No one else likes him. </i></div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-27202693985675850672011-04-02T23:59:00.000-07:002011-04-03T01:13:52.324-07:00A New Year, a Birthday, a ReconnectA New Year, a Birthday, a Reconnect<br />
<br />
aka EVERYONE FORGOT MY BIRTHDAY<br />
aka Not Another Damn Introspective Rant from Poon<br />
aka Yet Another Damn Introspective Rant from Poon<br />
<br />
Let it be forever remembered that David Poon is a master of <b>two</b> <b>things</b>:<br />
<br />
1) Recognizing great ideas, and<br />
2) Not bothering to act on them.<br />
3) Women<br />
4) Lunacy!<br />
<br />
My girlfriend, a half breed from Japan, told me about a tradition they do there. Like us white people do for Christmas, New Year is a time to send letters to the people who matter to you, and who care about you.<br />
<br />
I liked the idea, despite the fact that while the list of those in the former category rank in the 100s, those in the later category exist in my imagination.<br />
<br />
Or that Japanese Virtual Reality dating simulation I downloaded.<br />
<br />
I guess that's why I call my gf 'too good to be true.'<br />
<br />
Hah. See? Pun?? Is that a pun???<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
It's been months since I've written anything. I'm a little rusty, not to mention, Asian drunk (read: 2 shots in my birthday martini).<br />
<br />
So, to all my fans that I left without inspiration... I'm sorry.<br />
<br />
That should appease both of you.<br />
<br />
^-_-^<br />
<br />
Couple that with the fact that I locked my Facebook wall, changed my Facebook name, and proceeded to not respond to any email, text message, or male flirtatious advance for the past few months (all of which I usually do), and avoided you in the grocery store, it was reasonable that most of you concluded one of the following things:<br />
<br />
1) I was in Regina, when you were in Edmonton.<br />
2) I was in Edmonton, where you were in Regina.<br />
3) I got pregnant and went to live with my aunt.<br />
4) I'm a rude bastard who ignores you.<br />
5) Lunacy!<br />
<br />
The sad fact is that I finally figured out that instead of talking to people, I could play video games, and well, I stand by my choice.<br />
<br />
I forget, is my gf real or a Japanese videogame?<br />
<br />
Heh heh, I play both.<br />
<br />
Hope she's not reading this. I could get in trouble.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
So I wanted to, in the New Year, send personal, heartfelt messages to each one of you, to rebuild the shattered relationships I ignored for so long.<br />
<br />
A New Year, a new life, a reconnect.<br />
<br />
And then I sold my video game collection in preparation.<br />
<br />
After which I used the money to buy a new collection.<br />
<br />
And then I didn't contact any of you.<br />
<br />
While<a href="http://www.doyoubelieve.ca/2010/06/what-ever-happened-to-david-poon.html"> rebuilding my life </a>was an arduous and somewhat impossible task, rebuilding lost relationships required something I simply didn't have:<br />
<br />
Someone else who wanted to rebuild that relationship.<br />
<br />
Meaningless self deprecation aside, as the weeks post New Year passed, my procrastination got the beter of me, and I didn't call any of you again.<br />
<br />
Until a different, Chinese kind of New Year happened.<br />
<br />
Then I just forgot.<br />
<br />
And despite so many of you emailing, txting, calling... I realized I just wasn't quite ready to say hello again.<br />
<br />
And the sad truth is, maybe you forgot about me too.<br />
<br />
And I deserved that.<br />
<br />
But;<br />
<br />
If being rejected by girls has taught me anything...<br />
<br />
Other than protecting my face from slaps, perseverance is vital to success.<br />
<br />
I had the chance to break a new start of renewing old friendships.<br />
<br />
My 25th birthday. Today.<br />
<br />
Ever since I was a kid, I would stay up most of the night before my birthday. I remember being in elementary school, pacing alone near my bedroom.<br />
<br />
If that sounds sad to you, don't worry - I talked to my teddy bear for advice.<br />
<br />
I would spend the night contemplating, considering the big questions - where was my life going, what would I become, Charizard or Blastoise...<br />
<br />
In brief, I tried to answer the question of "what did I want?"<br />
<br />
Since I was a fat kid, obviously meaning I was grossly unpopular, I wanted friends.<br />
<br />
And that's what I'll do.<br />
<br />
Though it seems all of you refused to wish me a happy birthday JUST BECAUSE I DISABLED MY FACEBOOK WALL, I know that I wouldn't be anywhere without you, my friends.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I've been doing a 'Reconnect a Day' - that means some of you have been victimized by a phone call, an email, a dinner, or a hang out with me once a day for the past two weeks.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And like that jacket zipper said to my nipple, </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Don't worry, you'll all get your turn."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">However... it's also like I said to my bowels after forgetting to take my Metamucil, </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Damnit, why don't you just get started?"</div><br />
<br />
So lets reconnect online, till I see you soon.<br />
<br />
I suppose my sudden distancing from life could be seen as arbitrary as a Canadian snap election (zing!) so lets start there.<br />
<br />
My self imposed silence has admittedly given me a somewhat misconstrued air of rudeness; but after my father was sentenced to two years in prison last summer, I went into hiding. Disabled my Facebook wall, and placed myself in isolation.<br />
<br />
Then, as the Faculty of Medicine found out about the Poon Blog, I didn't want to leave myself vulnerable to scrutiny, leaving me open to reprimand <a href="http://www.doyoubelieve.ca/p/david-poon-and-road-to-medical-school.html">particularly under very harsh times.</a> I closed doyoubelieve.ca immediately, despite its rather cathartic appeal to me during hard times. I suppose humour, particularly poorly written humour, isn't always well received. And taking a page from any tip book on how to look professional before a job interview, I changed my Facebook name to my old high school alter ego, 'Aszreal' aka 'Emo Poon' aka 'David Poon wearing black nail polish' aka 'If Snoopy can be Joe Cool, I can be Aszreal'.<br />
<br />
This is typically an okay thing to do under the circumstances, except well, I wasn't as okay as I thought I was. I couldn't handle medical school, and disappeared again.<br />
<br />
Hiding because I couldn't face very harsh realities was reasonable, if not cowardly.<br />
<br />
And hiding from those who want to use information against my best wishes is smart, strategic.<br />
<br />
But hiding from those looking out for me, trying desperately to help me...<br />
<br />
... hiding from you?<br />
<br />
Lunacy.<br />
<br />
<br />
That means today, on my 25th birthday, I start doyoubelieve.ca again.<br />
<br />
And I never forget my friends.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
So what have I been up to?<br />
<br />
I won a prize in a Cosplay (costume play) contest at Animethon. I was a Tetris block. Turns out years of having my life twist, turn, and fall really came in handy.<br />
<br />
I gave Aszreal a last name. 'Aszreal JT SMASH' but Facebook wont let me change it because there are too many capital letters.<br />
<br />
I learned what being happy meant.<br />
<br />
I recommitted to medical school, and will graduate in 2013. Sure, that means I was one of the first of my friends to get into med school, and it also means I will be one of the last to get out.<br />
<br />
But I'm happier now.<br />
<br />
I found a closeness to family I never had before.<br />
<br />
I met a wonderful girl. She's a half breed - all the good looks of a white person combined with the fantastic attention to domestic cleanliness of an Asian person.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The Faculty, as a condition for my reacceptance, had me do a learning assessment, to ensure I don't have any academic issues. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Turns out I qualify for Mensa. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And now I've been a member for two months. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">For those of you who don't know what Mensa is, let me tell you, it's NOT what my sister thought it was (the North American Man Boy Love Association). Seriously.<br />
<br />
I'm not into men that young.<br />
<br />
I'M NOT INTO MEN AT ALL.</div><br />
I learned to study for the knowledge - not for the marks.<br />
<br />
Learned how to file my own income tax.<br />
<br />
Gained 30 kilos.<br />
<br />
At the advice of my Mommy, got a personal trainer.<br />
<br />
Lost 10 kilos.<br />
<br />
My girlfriend bought me a scale for Valentines Day.<br />
<br />
Lost another 10 kilos and counting.<br />
<br />
Met some of my new classmates.<br />
<br />
Found some of my old classmates.<br />
<br />
Got a job at EB Games for a little while. Some people dream of working at a coffee shop. Used video game store is my coffee shop. And I do mean coffee as a drug.<br />
<br />
Started watching LOST...<br />
<br />
... and finished watching LOST. All of it. It's incredible.<br />
<br />
Had my girlfriend move in with me.<br />
<br />
Began writing a musical. It's gonna be totally awesome and reassert how masculine I am. It'll also have lots of dancing. <br />
<br />
Fought with a man I consider my brother. Came back together as families never give up.<br />
<br />
Got invited back to a business competition. Saw something I started continue. Felt proud of my friends.<br />
<br />
Guinness World Records emailed me last week. They are allowing my claim to break a world record. I'll let you know how it goes.<br />
<br />
Found out how horrible it is to see your loved one's hometown lost in an earthquake and tsunami.<br />
<br />
Found out how beautiful it is to see loved ones survive and endure.<br />
<br />
Helped my sister buy a car.<br />
<br />
Told my mom I loved her.<br />
<br />
Shook my father's hand.<br />
<br />
Became a man.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
I have eschewed my deliberate insistance on refusing to grow up. Finally.<br />
<br />
I am 25 now. Though, that doesn't mean I forgo the lessons and traditions of my youth.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Ever since I was a kid, I would stay up most of the night before my birthday. I remember doing it in elementary school, pacing alone near my bedroom.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">If that sounds sad to you, don't worry - I <i>still</i> talk to my teddy bear for advice. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I spent last night contemplating, considering the big questions - where was my life going, what would I become, be thankful or be bitter...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In brief, I tried to answer the question of "what do I want?"</div><br />
...<br />
<br />
I have you. I have my family.<br />
<br />
My loved ones. My life.<br />
<br />
There's nothing more I want.<br />
<br />
See you soon everyone. Looking forward to it.<br />
<br />
Miss you too.<br />
<br />
- Daviddoyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-22761408695765994222010-09-09T02:39:00.000-07:002010-09-13T22:59:23.054-07:00SmileSmile <br />
<br />
For the last few hours, I’ve been reading my friend’s Facebook wall. <br />
<br />
And the numerous pages about her. <br />
<br />
And the numerous events about her. <br />
<br />
And I’m thinking:<br />
<br />
“Wow, I wonder if I’m even that popular.”<br />
<br />
I kinda doubt anyone really cares about me that much. <br />
<br />
Apparently cute Asian girls are more likable than overweight David Poon’s. <br />
<br />
Then again, she’s quite a bit more pleasant than I am. <br />
<br />
When I first met Hanna at the Korean restaurant Ga Ya long ago, I wasn’t in very good spirits. <br />
<br />
Quite honestly, I was the opposite. <br />
<br />
The technical term is ‘NOT very good spirits.’<br />
<br />
I wasn’t very open about my life at the time, so I do believe my stumbling in, disheveled, ordering kimchi fried rice and sitting by myself made me appear, at worst, a drunken Asian man (read: two glasses of wine) and at best, a disenchanted medical student. <br />
<br />
Hanna would come, with that gorgeous smile she always had on, take my order and ask me how I was doing. <br />
<br />
And not in the matteroffact tone, where you know that they actually don’t care how you’re doing. <br />
<br />
And certainly not in the flirty waitress style that ensures any unattractive guy will tip super well (I’m a lousy tipper).<br />
<br />
She asked how I was doing…<br />
<br />
because she cared how I was doing. <br />
<br />
Hanna was consistent in her demeanor. And that isn’t an elaborate term to describe a stubborn person. I mean, you could always rely on her for a smile. <br />
<br />
This is what she would have told me if I went to Ga Ya tomorrow. <br />
<br />
My gaze downtrodden, my feet dragging, a slouch from lack of morale or overeating. <br />
<br />
She’d see me from the window. <br />
<br />
Exclaim as if I was the best part of her day. <br />
<br />
Run to the front, open the door, welcome me with an excitement reserved for royalty. Grinning with a charm that defined her.<br />
<br />
I think I have a pretty good idea of what she would say.<br />
<br />
Cheer up. Hang in there. It’s not that bad. <br />
<br />
“Smile.”<br />
<br />
… and I truly believe that’s how she lives. With a wholehearted appreciation that a smile changes everything. <br />
<br />
I’ve heard that smiling and laughing, even when forced, can make you feel better. <br />
<br />
I doubt that was why Hanna did so. <br />
<br />
I’ll put an entire year’s worth of tips (15 bucks) betting that she did so to cheer up everyone around her. <br />
<br />
Ah who am I kidding. <br />
<br />
10 bucks. <br />
<br />
I’m pretty sure last time I saw her I tipped her something like $1.17. <br />
<br />
She adored me. <br />
<br />
^-_-^<br />
<br />
Her words, not mine! For the most part anyway. <br />
<br />
See, whenever I left her family’s restaurant, she would slip a sticky note on my receipt, or on the take out boxes. <br />
<br />
These weren’t one word “Thanks!”<br />
<br />
They were honestly paragraphs written entirely to encourage me, to help me face whatever ailed me, even when she had no idea. Covered in random highlighters, littered with little drawings, all on various coloured papers, I felt good. I felt better. <br />
<br />
I felt special. <br />
<br />
And this is arguably the only time I’ll ever say this about a girl who makes me feel special, but I’m pretty sure she did that for everyone – and I’m glad she did. <br />
<br />
She introduced me to her family. She even set me up with my now ex girlfriend. <br />
<br />
She emitted positivity. She exuded genuine admiration. <br />
<br />
She left every single person with a smile. <br />
<br />
My friend, Hanna Jo, is wonderful<br />
<br />
…<br />
<br />
My friend, Hanna Jo, is dead. <br />
<br />
At 20 years old. <br />
<br />
Two days after I last saw her.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, without warning, without preexisting medical condition, without sense. <br />
<br />
Her funeral was today.<br />
<br />
My ex girlfriend contacted me today, after a very long time. She broke the news. And perhaps true to Hanna’s example, it didn’t matter what bad blood was had in our previous relationship. Everything will heal in the vast backdrop that is life’s blessing. <br />
<br />
I’ve spent most of my spare time today looking at Hanna’s Facebook page. Memorial pages. Looked up her family’s restaurant just to be reminded of her.<br />
<br />
Read about her viewing, watched her last slideshow. <br />
<br />
The disconnect from a reality where she is present to the reality where she…<br />
<br />
… oh God. <br />
<br />
I never met her boyfriend. I think they were about to get engaged. <br />
<br />
I read their correspondence online. <br />
<br />
Heart wrenching. <br />
<br />
Simple. <br />
<br />
Beautiful. <br />
<br />
Tragic. <br />
<br />
Her younger sister wrote a beautiful note, a catharsis of appreciation, a loving goodbye at its purest.<br />
<br />
In that note, she finishes with how inconsequential the mean glares, nitpicky arguments, and superficial fights really are – the sibling bond, the admiration of an older sister, the last rites for a role model were truly important. And we would be better to retain these lessons in our hearts. <br />
<br />
Hanna had always emphasized the positive. The spectacular in the abysmal, the potential in the bleak. <br />
<br />
And I doubt she had let anyone pass by her without letting them know how great they were. <br />
<br />
I remember something she quoted – about the injustice of people in movies drawing only single, pretty tears, yet in real life, crying was far less dignified. <br />
<br />
As I type, one tear goes down my right cheek. I remember the little moments, like reading her MSN messenger quotes. Visiting her at Ga Ya. Talking about relationships, even when she kept hers secret from her parents who were working in the kitchen only 3 meters away.<br />
<br />
I will always remember the positive influence these little moments had on me. <br />
<br />
After hours of reading, at about 2:30AM, I called my sister. Woke her up. Told her I loved her. <br />
<br />
Contacted my girlfriend, let her know the same. <br />
<br />
I think I’m going to go wake up my mom and hug her. <br />
<br />
…<br />
<br />
I doubt Hanna ever held a grudge – I’m not convinced she knew how to be bitter, though I realize that may be an overgeneralization. <br />
<br />
Which all the more emphasizes her positivity. To virtually everyone she knew, it wasn’t her ability to approach pain with optimism that was her greatest strength (though obviously that was a pleasant trait nonetheless). <br />
<br />
It was her ability to encourage those who met her to face their own obstacles with a courage not vetted in naïveté, but genuine hope. <br />
<br />
The last time I saw her, I told her that I kept all of the notes she wrote me. I explained how much they meant to me, exactly what I was going through, and how valuable her words were. <br />
<br />
She seemed surprised. <br />
<br />
To be consistent with her Christian background, I would say she didn’t believe that her powerful words could impact me because modesty is a trait of a Saint. <br />
<br />
…<br />
<br />
I’m sad tonight. I wish she would come back. She always knew how to brighten my day. <br />
<br />
This is what she would have told me if I went to Ga Ya tomorrow. <br />
<br />
My gaze downtrodden, my feet dragging, a slouch from lack of morale or overeating. <br />
<br />
She’d see me from the window. <br />
<br />
Exclaim as if I was the best part of her day. <br />
<br />
Run to the front, open the door, welcome me with an excitement reserved for royalty. Grinning with a charm that defined her. <br />
<br />
I think I have a pretty good idea of what she would say.<br />
<br />
Cheer up. Hang in there. It’s not that bad. <br />
<br />
“Smile.”<br />
<br />
- Daviddoyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-20692906328837768602010-07-08T04:11:00.000-07:002010-07-15T15:55:08.733-07:00David Poon and the Road to Medical School: The Healing Touchaka Take Your Kid to Work Day<br />
<div>aka Mothers Know Best<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span></span></span> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">My Mommy is the best doctor I know. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to practice like her someday. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And it’s not because I love her like a mother (which is true). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And it’s not because she’s paying for my fast food (which I eat in moderation). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And in particular, it’s certainly NOT because she bought me a gym membership and a personal trainer for Christmas (which I DO NOT NEED). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No, her enduring skill as a physician is something medical school admits is nearly impossible to teach. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She lives for compassion. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That’s a rarity. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">See, all my life, I’ve been compared to how similar I am to my Mommy. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No, not because I’m girly.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No, not because I wear her dresses. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No, not because of my high pitched voice.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I know what you’re thinking, no, not because I like men. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause I don’t. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t like men. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I mean as buddies.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">those</i> kind of buddies. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You know. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Those kind.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I like girls. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I just don’t like what girls like. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Such as men. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">See, the critical similarity between my Mom and me is due to the fact that I’ve tried to emulate her compassion for all people, her unyielding faith that good begets good. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lemmie tell you about urinary tract infections (UTI). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is what happens, usually to female patients, when improper toilet hygiene is practiced. In simpler English, when a girl wipes from back to front, or doesn’t shower well. It’s also pretty common when you don’t drink enough water. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s not particularly hard to treat usually, just rehydrate the patient and administer antibiotics. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Seriously though - the most frustrating thing you get to treat on the wards.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are just so many. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And they are (for the most part) so preventable. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now medical students, say it with me. You’ve all presented this patient to your attending:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“80 year old female with no significant past medical history presents with 3 day history of symptoms consistent with delirium…”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Okay that’s enough,” your preceptor says. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Why?” you innocently ask, knowing EXACTLY why you don’t have to say another word. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">UTI. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The number one reason we get paged at 3am on our Friday night call shift. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hang the IV, start the normal saline, ask the nurse to administer the antibiotics, don’t forget to thank her in <span style="color: black;">Tagalog</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">… and then the patient starts crying. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh no. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She’s going to dehydrate herself some more. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sometimes it’s hard to understand. All of this could be prevented if she just drank a little more water. If the family stayed around and made sure she was clean. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But before you can go console the poor lady, you’re paged for the next 75 year old women who was brought to the ER by her children cause “she didn’t look right.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">See in medicine, the faculties have trouble teaching us patient centeredness because </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">1)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>No one shows up to the non mandatory classes of Patient Centered Care (PCC)</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">2)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>It’s hard to prove that listening to how a grandmother’s son doesn’t visit often enough can shorten her hospital stay. We call it RCT, randomized controlled trials, that are a system of proving if particular treatments work. If it’s not proven, we don’t do it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember telling my Mom about this. I told her</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“What can I do! The treatment is simple! There’s nothing more I can do! But these poor women, the problem is at home, no one is bringing them water, no one is helping them bathe, it just keeps happening!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yeah yeah, I know, I talk to my Mommy when I have girl troubles. Who doesn’t?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mom told me this:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“David, these ladies, from what you tell me. They just want someone to talk to. Hold their hand, dry their tears. It’s not the antibiotics that will make them <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feel</i> better. Talk to them, listen to their problems. They’ll really appreciate it.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And that is the kind of doctor she is. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It shows – her patients love her. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She won some award for “Hottest Woman in Regina” a few years ago from our local paper. That was fun, though I admit as a son, I have… ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA HOW TO PROCESS THAT IN MY BRAIN. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Regardless, she’s known to her patients for her friendly demeanor, her big smiles, laughs, and hugs, in addition to multiple costumes just for jovial fun. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
She loves her work, loves medicine, loves her patients.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There was a custodian working in Regina. Great guy, great personality. Wasn’t a big name, no real status, but needed help.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And that would never matter to Mom. People were people and that was that. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He would become her patient, as would his family later on. They developed a friendship. Not for wealth or popularity. Just because people are people, and people can be friends. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The man was trying to become an entertainer. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And yes, he did succeed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Over the years, the man’s music career would blossom. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Of course there would always be the strange phone call I would get at home.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Hello?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Hi David. Can you talk to your Mom for me? I’m starting to come down with a really bad sore throat and I better get it looked at before my show next week.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Don’t you just like, eat oregano or something? That’s what Kevin from the Backstreet Boys says.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“…”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“…”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“You’re really a medical student?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He has become one of Saskatchewan’s biggest acts, and a tribute artist that makes all aforementioned little old ladies swoon to the front of the stage. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">They just have to share the front with Mom – this King of entertainment always keeps tickets for her. Sings at a lot of our functions too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Obviously friendship isn’t always in fair-weather. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s the dark times too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember a patient of hers who later moved to Vancouver. Dying of cancer, alone without family, he contacted her. Asked her to visit while she was passing by BC. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll never forget how she comforted him as he was dying. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There was absolutely no obligation for her to be there. She couldn’t bill, not that she would want to. She didn’t tell people she was going to do that, she doesn’t’ care about the accolades. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">From the goodness of her heart, she is there for a person who needs her. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If they need a hug, if they need a friend. She can be confidant, secret keeper to the biggest cheer in the auditorium. The friendliest face at your kid’s birthday party, or the explanation the family needs at your grandpa’s funeral. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For patients who have no transport – she brings medications to their homes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For patients who have nothing to eat – she offers whatever she has. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For patients who have no one – she shares her friendship. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For patients who need a hug – she gives a hug. <br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></div><div class="MsoNormal">For patients who need her not only as a doctor, but as a person – she is there. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My Mommy is the best doctor I know. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to practice like her someday. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I never will be able to. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We live in a world where distrust has superseded benefit of the doubt. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We live in a world where litigation has more weight than compassion, and form filling is more meaningful than smiling. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We live in a world where befriending a patient is considered a conflict of interest. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We live in a world where a grateful person must second-guess himself when offering a free seat to a concert, for fear of looking like he’s bribing his doctor. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is a world where smiles, laughs and jokes are crushed under pretenses of political correctness. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is a world where doctors are sued for not ‘catching’ cancer early enough. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is a world where a doctor trained today who wouldn’t dare go to a private residence to a former patient, no matter how alone. No, the terrible risk of getting sued, even if the doctor didn’t treat the patient at all, is too much of a barrier to allow that sort of kindness. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We are in a world where even seeing your patients outside the wards raises a public eyebrow. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We are in a world that rewards physicians for spending more time with their charts than with their patients. In legal terms, what comforting words are told to the patient are not nearly as important as what was written in the progress notes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In this world, accepting gifts is considered inappropriate. The cookies that 80 year old woman with the UTI baked you? Don’t take them. You might be seen as exploitative. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In this world, doctors are afraid to do physical exams on anyone of the opposite sex. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Or same sex, for that matter. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We live in a world where holding a crying patient’s hand can be deemed medically irrelevant and therefore subject the doctor to professional discipline.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I live in a world where if I hug my patient I can be charged with sexual assault. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Nurses call it the healing touch. I’ve heard the Japanese art of reiki is the same concept. The idea is that various forms contact, even if not proven in randomized controlled trials, can somehow make the patient feel better. This includes massage and hand holding, or just spending that extra amount of time at the bedside. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to practice like my Mom does. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hold the woman’s hand when she’s sad, make a friend when you can, cheer my patient when he’s onstage, eat the cookies I was baked, and visit their home when they can’t come to the clinic. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My Mommy is the best doctor I know. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She lives for compassion. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That’s a rarity. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because how <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">in the world</b> can doctors be like <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">that</b> anymore.<br />
<br />
- David</div></div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-57794529613139301112010-06-20T19:46:00.000-07:002010-06-20T20:55:39.141-07:00An International Student's Road to Medical SchoolWhen we think of Asian medical student, we usually think of highly pressured shells of social liveless calculators, who are able to find a sustinance on rice, Spam, and piano lessons.<br />
<br />
Then they kick our ass on the MCAT and become the best damn Internists and Surgeons possible.<br />
<br />
The more liberal ones? We do family medicine through the shamed whispered tones under our family's beguilment.<br />
<br />
Today I tell you the story of another type of Asian medical student.<br />
<br />
The kind you don't usually think of.<br />
<br />
The kind - from Asia.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Growing up, I was told about a young kid who was born in mainland China. During that time period, certain goverment policies made living difficult for people of particular educational backgrounds.<br />
<br />
Anyone notice how politically sensitive I wrote that?<br />
<br />
Toyin's family was unable to make a good living where he was born, so they subsequently left the small town he was born, relocate in Hong Kong when he was a child. <br />
<br />
As the only male child in an Asian family of four children, his destiny was clear: medicine.<br />
<br />
Bring face to the family, take them out of poverty. Medicine is to Asian people what sunlight is to flowers - life itself.<br />
<br />
And that is where Toyin's story begins.<br />
<br />
By the time he was 16, working multiple jobs and keeping together the shattered remains of a broken family, Toyin was sponsered by an uncle to go to Canada.<br />
<br />
He had some family in Alberta - his grandfather came during the end of railroad construction and owned a restaurant. He was told Canada was full of gold. Full of opportunity.<br />
<br />
That was where the future would be.<br />
<br />
Toyin's uncle sponsered him to go to Edmonton. Shortly after he arrived, the uncle passed away.<br />
<br />
And then the young man was alone.<br />
<br />
Poverty stricken and alone, he worked odd jobs at restaurants and put himself through school. For a time he took work in camps, but ultimately his focus was on the same dream it had always been.<br />
<br />
The dream of being a doctor.<br />
<br />
He sent back what money he could to his mom back in Hong Kong, to take care of his sisters. He worked and he worked, but in an all too familiar plight,<br />
<br />
his marks through high school were not that great. His university marks were adequate, but not super strong.<br />
<br />
So he did what any aspireing medical student would do.<br />
<br />
He went into pharmacy.<br />
<br />
Complething his degree, he worked as a pharmacist for a few short years. He made good money, had a good life.<br />
<br />
But he knew he had a dream. He knew it wasn't money or lifestyle that draws people to what he wanted to do.<br />
<br />
He wanted to be a doctor due to the passion he had for it.<br />
<br />
And that didn't change.<br />
<br />
His relatives scoffed at him. As a wealthy pharmacist, why throw away time on another career?<br />
<br />
He still fought on.<br />
<br />
His relatives laughed at him. Was he stupid? He had a great career already, the money he needed. What else could he want.<br />
<br />
He still fought on.<br />
<br />
The Road to Medical School continues, irrespective of adversities. The heart of someone who wants to be a doctor, is the heart that drives someone to become a doctor.<br />
<br />
He still fought on.<br />
<br />
So as is dictated for a pharmacist, he did the logical - applied to medical school.<br />
<br />
And he didnt' get in.<br />
<br />
As if the fates were using him as a case study for medical students, his path<br />
<br />
that had him struggle through university<br />
<br />
that had him rejected from medicine<br />
<br />
that had him become a pharmacist<br />
<br />
that had him rejected from medicine again<br />
<br />
led him to what we all know is the unshakable natural progression;<br />
<br />
pay a lot of money to go to an International Medical School.<br />
<br />
Having gone back to Asia, Toyin applied his work ethic to complete his MD. He found a doctor wife, and she travelled back to Canada with him.<br />
<br />
They became married, and they started a life together.<br />
<br />
As they were completing their residencies, an unexpected turn of events rocked their lives.<br />
<br />
A baby boy was born.<br />
<br />
And their lives stopped for a moment. The wife stopped her psychiatry residency, the husband stopped training to be an internist.<br />
<br />
Family medicine. Pun and all.<br />
<br />
Their world expanded, a beautiful daughter was introduced, their careers bloomed to be professionals well loved in their homes.<br />
<br />
Honour was brought to their families.<br />
<br />
A great life was built.<br />
<br />
So much thanks to the Road traveled in medicine.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
He became the director of a large Canadian medical organization. His family's medical business expanded.<br />
<br />
And then...<br />
<br />
His life took another turn.<br />
<br />
His family broke apart.<br />
<br />
His business went under seige.<br />
<br />
His credibility questioned.<br />
<br />
But;<br />
<br />
He still fought on.<br />
<br />
And he will never give up.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
My father's full name is Dr. Edward Toyin Poon.<br />
<br />
An established doctor for 25 years.<br />
<br />
He currently is under trial for sexual assault.<br />
<br />
He has lived a life that has spanned the world, started a family, built an empire, and helped countless lives.<br />
<br />
All from one dream.<br />
<br />
To be a doctor.<br />
<br />
Today is Father's Day - a time to reflect on the male role models we have had in our lives. Whose stories have affected us in particular ways, sometimes for the better, sometimes elsewise.<br />
<br />
Regardless of how difficult, challenging, and changing times we have in our lives, there are some unshakable truths.<br />
<br />
We are alive. We have a mother. We have a father.<br />
<br />
Dr. Edward Toyin Poon is my father.<br />
<br />
He is my dad.<br />
<br />
He will always be.<br />
<br />
- Daviddoyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-29162097738896153892010-06-17T03:04:00.000-07:002010-06-17T10:42:30.913-07:00David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Funny Story / Love Story<div class="MsoNormal">aka Poon is NOT A SEXIST</div>aka A Revisionist Love Letter to the Disgustingly Cute<br />
<div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m probably never getting married. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And no, <b>hah hah</b> it’s not just because no one would ever bother marrying me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are websites for that. And I have my Mommy’s credit card. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No, it’s because I doubt my non-stop repertoire of never ending wit and charm is honestly enough to convince a girl to spend the rest of her life with me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And no, <b>hah hah</b> that doesn’t mean I’m going to go to men. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I mean, I’m not going to switch to men.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause I’m don’t need to switch. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause I like girls. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Not men.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No switching needed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause I’m <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">straight.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Italics means emphasis, not sarcasm correct? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Correct!?!?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">^-_-^</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember during the first year of medical school, we were all put in mandatory sessions to learn something like ‘balance in life,’ ‘avoiding burnout,’ ‘childhood obesity’ you know, generally topics that had no relevance to our careers as doctors, but we’re required to know because someone crashed and burned during school and therefore the Faculty had to institute policies to show they cared. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hm…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wonder if next year they are going to introduce “How not to end up like David Poon to the curriculum.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hah.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Who am I kidding.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">They <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">already</i> have childhood obesity. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One thing that sticks out in my memory the most was the Faculty having one of these sessions, with a very particular piece of advice:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Your relationships will be strained. You will be on call, you won’t see your family, your spouse will argue with you. Be prepared.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We then hear about high rates of divorce amongst surgeons, and how women in residencies typically put off having kids. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not being sexist here, I mean it’s just very difficult to have a child and not take maternity leave (not that women HAVE to), so many women choose (BECAUSE IT IS THEIR CHOICE BECAUSE THEY ARE AUTONOMOUS IN AN EQUAL OPPORTUNITY WORLD) to have children later in life (NOT THAT BEING OLDER MATTERS BECAUSE A WOMAN’S AGE DOES NOT AFFECT HER CAREER, PERSONALITY, OR MARRIAGE PROSPECTS). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Additionally, because of the nature of medicine (long hours, call shifts taking you away from home) marriages can just fall apart. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So forgive me that my relationship jadedness was further exacerbated by that little piece of advice. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Fine, chalk it up to immaturity. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we first heard this talk, a good handful of us were probably immature too. And not just because of age, some of us just hadn’t been in a real relationship. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">About six of us, me included, were 19 when we got into med. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How well do you think we could handle relationships and medicine at the same time. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I mean really, if I can barely handle girls now…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How well do you think I could handle women 4 years ago? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And just to clarify….</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t mean handle women physically. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause I’ve never been allowed to. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I mean, handle them emotionally. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Not that they NEED to be handled per se…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause they’re not objects.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To be objectified.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause independent creatures don’t need handling.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause they don’t need to be controlled. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause they can’t be.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Not that women should be controlled!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cause they’re not animals!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">OR CREATURES FOR THAT MATTER!?!??!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’M NOT A SEXIST!!!!!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m heterosexual!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">NOT THAT I FEEL THE NEED TO REASSERT THAT EVERY TIME I MEET NEW GUYS.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">AND I DON’T MEAN “GUYS” LIKE MEN.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">AND I DON’T MEAN “GUYS LIKE MEN”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">CAUSE I LIKE GIRLS.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I met this half Asian, half not Asian girl my first week of med. She was the same age as me (and therefore TOO OLD FOR ME TO DATE), and I thought she would be a great friend to me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Luckily, this half breed girl had a broken leg, so couldn’t run away from me. Which I guess in retrospect makes her the perfect female in my books. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In short she met this half Asian, half not Asian boy a few months later. They got married recently, after years of dating. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At any wedding here in Canada, convention states that the ‘dinging’ of a class with a utensil demands a kiss from the newlyweds. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Course in the marriage of two half breeds, there is really only half convention. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So at their wedding, we ding our glasses – but before they would kiss, the requisite was a “funny story’ about the couple had to be told. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There were naturally the tearful stories of friendship from the bridesmaids (not that women only cry) and the plethora of sexual innuendos from the groomsmen. The drunk uncles (made much funnier by the fact that that they were drunk ASIAN uncles) held the spotlight whenever baby stories were needed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Missing something though.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">These two people… they met in medical school </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now, I started with both the half-breeds, and realizing that my entire class is far too polite to embarrass the happy couple, that left me to tell the tales that were unmentioned.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Seated at the table with me was my Vice Dean of the Faculty of Medicine. Knowing that I have my fledging stand up comedy career and a “hilarious” website that confuses the copious use of punctuation marks as humour, she suggested I say something. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And as we all know, as the great medical student I am, I follow medical orders to the tee. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Believe it or not, I’m not nearly as funny as I lie to myself. My spontaneity, hidden amongst a plethora of dramatic silent beats and puns, is actually a result of planned anecdotes running concurrently with a thesaurus. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Pretty much, I had to think of something. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I thought…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Definitely talk about their public displays of affection (PDA).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One of the bridesmaids mentioned how over the first few weeks, the girl slowly started sitting in the front row to be next to the boy. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I sat in front row too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think it’s safe to say I started moving towards the back.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I doubt I’ll ever be able to wash the image of him functionally GROPING her scalp in front of all 140+ of us in class one day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s like how in a movie theatre, you expect people having sex to be doing it in the back. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So you sit in the front, so you can see the movie in peace. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Except in this case, replace movie with fundamentally important mandatory learning, put the innocent bystanders in the back, and place disgustingly cute somewhere in the unavoidable in between. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh oh, and I got to mention one time they invited me to go to the park with them. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She, in her short shorts, and he in his tank top…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">… touch Frisbee has forever been scarred in my mind. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Emphasis on the word touch, incaseyoumissedit.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I scrapped that idea for a speech, cause honestly, I embarrassed the couple enough for potentially accidentally buying them some sort of softcore porn called ‘Young Doctors in Love’ as a wedding gift instead of a toaster. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I figured it would be hot enough in the old breadmaker. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Get it? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A pun.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Like toast. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But then it occurred to me that the funniest story may be the oddest one…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The fact that the story existed at all. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wanted to tell the story of a girl from a small rural town in Alberta. She dreamed of bringing back to the isolated communities, yet ironically grew up alienated from her own family as she grew older. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How through sheer determination, she became the top of her class over and over again despite circumstances dictating that she would have to do it alone. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How at 19, her work ethic and focus led her to medical school. And led her to meet her future husband. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wanted to tell the story of how she inspired me. A girl no older than I, with far fewer supports and privileges, who overcame nigh unbearable odds. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Who ultimately had the courage to rely on her future husband, even if she didn’t know it at the time. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I struggled and fought, kicked and screamed, cried and hurt alone, </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">she opened her soul that had been so long neglected, gave her heart to a man who at times seemed solely to exist to hold it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She was young like me</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">but brave. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As my own life collapsed, I could not find my peace. My devotion to medicine overpowered my responsibilities to myself.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As her life fell apart, she gained new strength in medicine – her partner, in her class, could share her every pain</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">from losing her first patient</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">to delivering her first baby.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Whether she was next to him in first row, or away from him for a year in Rural Family medicine, her strength, her inspiration, her capacity for and from the person she loved made all the difference.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wanted to tell the story of a girl who knew the value of something I will forever regret not knowing the value of sooner. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She knew the value of love. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The power of an unconditional bond in the darkest of moments. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The pleasure of going to class with someone you know you want to spend every moment of your life with. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The end of call shifts, collapsing beside a person who, despite staying up for the past 26 hours plus, is never too tired to hear you whine, complain, or most importantly, cry. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I dinged my glass. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Got up to the microphone. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The groom said, “Now I’m scared. Is this about a toaster?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My classmates smiled, “Maybe he’ll say something funny… for once.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I started; </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Funny story.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Med school was wrong.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You can find love.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In between the public fondling, grossly absurd public displays of affection, and sometimes just sickeningly cute couple talk;</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I realized how they made each other stronger. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In every painful experience on the wards, there was another experience that the couple could share. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Within the madness of choosing a specialty for their individual futures, they understood how simple their decision really was, simply because what mattered was already there; they were together. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The stress of medicine didn’t tear them apart.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It bonded them together.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In a profession where the darkest moments of despair consume you…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In palliative care, where an old man watches his wife become decimated by cancer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In neonatal, where a young couple prays for their first born. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the wards, where some kid plays with his DS while her bedridden grandpa sleeps another day away.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the ICU, where the solitary beep of the heart monitor is your patient’s only companion. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You learn the value of love. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You learn to appreciate it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You learn exactly what it means to find it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And you learn exactly how beautiful it is to have it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On the Road to Medical School, we were all prepared to compromise on our emotions. We were all ready to sacrifice our happiness for our careers, our relationships for our goals. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I saw something different. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I saw the impossible.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I saw four halves make a whole. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I am truly blessed to have witnessed such a spectacle. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Funny story. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I figure I’d like to get married someday. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just, after I get my MD. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fully</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Asian</i>, after all. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">- David</div></div><div><br />
</div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-78195535372668288212010-06-15T21:38:00.000-07:002010-06-15T21:52:28.418-07:00Site Updates: Wacky banter, late updates, and advertisments.Falling... asleep.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Will be posting a new chapter in the Road to Medical School with in 24 hours. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I know, I know, I keep putting it off. </div><div><br />
</div><div>But at least I'm not off putting.</div><div><br />
</div><div>...</div><div><br />
</div><div>Well, maybe to the <i>ladies.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div>I <a href="http://howmanycharacterscaniuse.blogspot.com/2008/07/project-david-doesnt-sleep-days-1-3.html">posted</a> a new<a href="http://howmanycharacterscaniuse.blogspot.com/p/poon-classics.html">POON Classic</a> (totally ironic, late/new, GET IT?!?!!?!) describing my deft experiment with sleep. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Also, a few new points regarding doyoubelieve.ca itself:</div><div><br />
</div><div>My sister felt the need to start "defending" herself in my Tweets that may be somewhat "totally incorrect." </div><div><br />
</div><div>Since she and I have pretty enjoyable banter when she is COMPLETELY WRONG I figured I'd let her have a concurrent Twitter feed to keep me "h<br />
<br />
onest."<br />
<br />
Or to "quote" "her" for the "truth"<br />
<br />
"Everything my brother has said about me is a lie."</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', lucida, tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></div><div>Sheesh, if she was always around I'd never get to date a girl.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Heck</div><div><br />
</div><div>if she spoke up about my thoughts</div><div><br />
</div><div>I doubt I'd ever TALK to one ever again. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Then again. I still haven't. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Someday... a pretty girl will talk to me, and it will be special. </div><div><br />
</div><div>- David</div><div><br />
</div><div>Also advertisements. If you click, I get like, a penny. </div><div><br />
</div><div>That's like twice my going rate on the street!</div><div><br />
</div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-84904336785234256632010-06-15T00:28:00.000-07:002010-06-15T00:28:58.225-07:00POON Classics PageQuick update<br />
<br />
Putting in a POON Classics section to go over my original great story arcs.<br />
<br />
Project David Doesn't Sleep (PDDS) was actually the first story that I ever crafted on my blog back when it was called the Dissonance Connection.<br />
<br />
Will tell more about it when I'm not falling asleep.<br />
<br />
<a class="vt-p" href="http://howmanycharacterscaniuse.blogspot.com/p/poon-classics.html">POON Classics</a><br />
<br />
- Daviddoyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-24457041448668567202010-06-12T04:07:00.000-07:002010-06-12T04:16:29.804-07:00What Ever Happened to David Poon Reflections and Thanks to the Readeraka I Never Bothered to Reply to Everyone But You All Deserve a Response So I Made a Blog About It<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It's been about a week since I've reintroduced myself to the world.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I've seen some old faces<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
wonderful to see you again by the way;<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I got to know a few new people.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Kept my blog running regularly... not sure if I have any readers, but I kept it going regularly, which I'm happy with.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I went to my original class's graduation. Loved it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Went to their camping trip. Had my yearbook signed. Loved that too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Also burnt a couple of marshmallows.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And my dad's trial started (if you haven't already seen the numerous news stories).<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I want to write about the above eventually - though I'd much rather like to dedicate this note to the wonderful support that I have been receiving since my return.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
After hanging out on Internet forums, blogs, and Youtube comment sections for a while, I've learned that there are two ways an author can interact with his or her readership.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
1) Jump into the comments and adamantly fight whoever has a different opinion than you with racial slurs, sexist jokes, and an abundance of swear words whilst questioning your perceived opponent's sexuality, or;<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
2) Something with class.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The following instant message I received perfectly encapsulates the kind of sentiment I want to convey here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
[10-06-12 2:31:22 AM]: you there?<br />
<br />
[10-06-12 2:31:32 AM]: i have a question for you<br />
<br />
[10-06-12 2:31:51 AM]: do you ever respond to people personally or do you just post new blogs?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
^-_-^<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She had a point… not all the response I get to my work is seen in the comments section.. quite the contrary, it’s usually more private.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And I never answer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Because I don’t…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Well…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hm.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Why don’t I?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Okay, to start with set one<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(the following are amended and made anonymous)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“It's 3 am here. Just saw ur post on fb and wanted to see what u've been up to… I am really shocked to hear what's happened in your life. I had no idea and I feel bad for not knowing cuz I would have been reaching out to you to give you as much support as a friend can give.<br />
I'm over here and ur over there... But I consider you a close friend. Definitely very fortunate to have gotten to know u back when I was in Regina.. Hope u are doing ok my friend.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This was the first message I received regarding the subject a week ago.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This is the kind of friendship I’ve been so blessed to have. This guy I’ve known for years and he ended up moving away.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But his note embodies the warmth that I have continually feared I would lose. The connections I’ve built with people who have since left my life during the past two years.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There’s a quiet, and reassuring comfort, I have in reading something like this because, well…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I’ve had my insecurities before that I have only the fleeting, transient relationships. That people are only with me because it’s available, or worse, convenient. To be appreciated in this type of way offers me a sort of twisted validation that makes me feel both comfortable and safe.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Now, I don’t need external validation to be me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s just… so nice to know I can have it when needed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“David, I admire your bravery in writing this, and your skill in pulling off the most difficult subject of all, oneself, with humor and honesty.<br />
<br />
I'm rooting for you. And I'll be lurking through your notes in the future, as I have in the past. You have a gift for writing.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This guy has been my secret keeper for about a year now. Worked with him on a professional level, though we are distant enough that I feel he can be more objective about me than friends I’ve known more closely.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He points out a style in my writing that I never really noticed before… sad humour. Something so beautifully tragic that the only option is to laugh. The sheer isolation of choice in how to deal with the remorse creates all the more pathos.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And while I’m certain he’s just being polite, not being referred to as a coward, or something similar, gave me confidence early on to continue with sharing my stories. I worried that I was just being a chatty Cathy or something.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A non sexist chatty Cathy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If that’s possible.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Again, maybe he’s just polite – but I want to develop a gift for writing. Maybe someday I’ll write a book.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And this time, it won’t be full of nude pictures.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“wow david..i had no idea..i can't imagine how it feels to go through what you have been going through. im also amazed you are still standing! thank you for sharing this - i know it can't have been easy,<br />
<br />
i feel that struggle allows us to become more resilient and stronger..while you've had more than your share of lemons, i think you'll come out of this to be a better human being. take care and goodluck, david!!”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This friend of mine tends to be a little verbose.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But he hits a couple of key points that I’m glad he identified.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s so nice to know that I’m not alone – not alone in the sense that my train of thought is rational, and that my choices are reasonable.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I mean, I actually did laugh as he finishes his message with a lesson that is essentially “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” – but that was a lesson I learned throughout this process, and he sums it up correctly.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh, I love this one:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“keep nose in books. Sometime give me a 50-word summary. I am too lazy to read your 4000-word blog piece.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
From a trusted and wonderful professor I knew.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I stumbled upon your note on fb and just had to read it. You are a very strong person to have dealt with so much in such a short time and still remain standing. I wish you success with everything you do and I hope you keep on moving on and up. You're an admirable person.<br />
You will be a GREAT doctor David.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Here, my friend touches on something that makes me happy anytime I hear it. That I’ll find my place in medicine, and find myself in it very well.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sometimes I need that reassurance…. And the shortest of notes, the simplest of gestures means he world to me when it comes along.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This girl has listened to me complain for a very long time…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“It was great to see you, even briefly. I came on facebook to tell you so and saw/read your blog… Any hour of the night, you can knock. It would be good to see you.<br />
<br />
You're a really interesting, strong, and brilliant person, and I'm so glad that I met you. I wish I'd been bolder and called you more (at all). Are you going to be around this summer?”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This was a nice surprise.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I knew this person for a few weeks last year. Then out of the blue I cross her path a few days ago.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Perhaps it’s self aggrandizing, borderline selfish, or genuinely altruistic, but I want to be able to leave a good, lasting impression on everyone I meet.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For this person who barely knows me to offer her time, her ear, and her compliments, that is warming to the heart.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In addition, she expresses a sentiment I do with many people – I wish I had called more.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Let’s meet up this summer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Hey David, I know this is probably a tough time for you, so i just wanted to give you my best. “<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This guy has known me for at least a decade. We weren’t really close.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But to go out of his way just to say hi…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I noticed your post “what the hell happened” to David Poon. The second I saw that title, the first thought that ran through my head was “yeah… what the hell DID happen to that guy”. Reading through the post, I see that you have had an enormously trying time these last two years.<br />
<br />
I won’t attempt to go through in detail my thoughts upon finishing reading your post, so instead I will simply share with you my concluding thoughts on your situation. People have crumbled under less opposition than you have faced, and rallied themselves less completely. The mere fact that in spite of the circumstances, and indeed because of them, you have revisited what is important to you in your life, and identified a direction that you want to take, I feel demonstrates more personal strength than many people show in a lifetime.<br />
<br />
You are an admirable individual, and I hope you take heart in that fact.<br />
<br />
Your friend-“<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This one means a lot to me, because it comes from an individual who I have greatly respected for years. We lost touch since I left Regina six years ago.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I want to start at the end of his message…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Just calling me his friend…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Something we usually don’t say aloud.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Was so significant.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Because sometimes, in my most private moments.. I’ve felt alone.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Now, I have tons of ‘friends’ in some sense. I was president of my school, and I’m generally loud enough that I attract a lot of attention. Interestingly, this individual spent most of my presidency making fun of me for even caring about student council.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But sometimes, I just feel horrendously alone. As if I have no one.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
To be reminded, by someone I thought I had lost…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It feels great.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I want to believe that I did something good out of an impossible situation. Maybe I did. I wish there was some giant scoreboard in life “David is at +11 in life!” to know that I did make a lot of progress, to know that I had fought.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I want to know if I was strong. If I overcame something significant.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Or did I just crumple like nothing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I still doubt myself greatly. But… my friends help me put those feeling in perspective.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I know, this is a little random. I read your blog earlier and I honestly hope you are okay. I can fully say everyone in my family has you and your family on our minds and in our hearts. Even though I haven't seen you in a rediculously long time, I think that what you have been doing is amazing and that even though things are probably very difficult for you right now, I hope that you keep on going and do what you do best. You're going to be an amazing doctor.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Close family friend who has been out of my life for at least a decade.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A reminder that while many have left my life…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
… so many never did. And I am so grateful for that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I should remember that more often.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Also, it’s nice to be called ‘amazing’ once in awhile.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Though again, she’s just being polite.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I’ll take it anyway.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“i read your blog post this morning. to tell you the truth it was pretty inspiring. i really hope you meant all the things you said, cause it kind of gives me hope. its like tuesday's with morrie, except so much better. when i read tuesday's with morrie i was expecting to change my pattern of thinking or look at the world in a new way, and maybe i just wasn't ready to read and appreciate that book at the time i read it, but honestly your blog post was way more revealing and insightful - well maybe i just needed to hear those things from a friend. It sounds like you have a clear focus on what you want in your life now. I am extremely proud of you.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I had to look up what Tuesday’s with Morrie was.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I suspect you threw in a lot of hyperbole… but your comparison humbles me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If am in my life able to inspire people to a fraction of the energy I was given by my role models and idols, I would feel I have contributed in some meaningful way.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I really do try to write with an air of purpose… I've just been happy that, some of the time, my stories have had some impact on my friends and strangers. I want that to continue.. if I were just a little bit better of a writer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I miss you a lot.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
"Clap clap clap clap<br />
Very moving poon"<br />
<br />
You're very sweet.<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
The next set were public posts, so I can put the names to them. They are still amended.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My great friend Amelia wrote to me, as part of a very personal comment, the various moments where my friendship mattered to her the most.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“my neurotic friend, if you can believe the impossible, I was even more neurotic than you when I was 19! It would have been a lonely time in med without anyone by my side openly admitting (and at times celebrating) our own neuroticisms. Again, that was my David Poon.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alright, this quote is ridiculous out of context.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s actually pretty ridiculous in context.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I keep the Poon Blog running for a number of reasons, but one surprising side effect has been the impact my stories have had on many strangers.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I mustn’t ever forget though, the impact my relationships with people have. They are some of the most significant things I can do with my life.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And sometimes it takes my big breasted friend to remind me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Nassy: your countless messages worrying about me?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Tina:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Thank you for the update David. I wish you all the strength and courage through this difficult time. Hopefully I will see on the wards when you return.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I honestly didn’t know you knew my name… it’s wonderful to find support from the unexpected.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Suranjan “hey man, it sounds like pretty tough times indeed. I had no idea. All the best, hope everything works out alright hey.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And here’s a guy who didn’t abandon me after I ignored his messages. And I haven’t seen him in years!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Michael “I'm truly sorry to hear about all the hardships you're dealing with. Like one of your professors, it's hard to believe that you're still standing after all of that. I don't know if I would be standing if I was in a similar position.<br />
<br />
We all miss you a lot, along with you unique brand of hilarity.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I hope ‘unique’ doesn’t mean ‘boring.’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Wait, if a girl says I was unique in bed….<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ahhhhh darn.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I wish I was funnier.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But at least I know my friends will still laugh. Maybe out of pity, but neh.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“David, I can't imagine how hard these past years must have been for you, given the challenges that you faced. Good on you for letting everyone know with such an impeccably well written blog,and glad to have you back!<br />
Domke”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This guy, most know legible med student I know. I’ve written about him before, and any kudos from him is enough to make me feel competent.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I have always and continue to admire your bravery. Yes, you make jokes. But sometimes you also say what you really think and that is a truly rare quality. There are things I did not ask because I knew you would talk about them when you were ready, I am glad to see you're starting to talk now. I have always considered you a great friend, though you may not remember why. I believe in you David Poon. We will talk again soon, old friend.<br />
<br />
I am, yours most sincerely,<br />
AGM”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A friend I’ve had since beginning high school. He’s the kind of person I’ve been neglecting for too long.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But in another showing that I am far luckier than I ever imagined, of course he’s there when I need him.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He’s a film major himself, and I take his assertion that being able to say what I ‘really think’ is a positive thing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I hope so.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You know what I really think?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You are a good friend.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I've missed you.<br />
We have the same sense of humor and had some great laughs.<br />
Great to see you back.<br />
You owe me a dance on Sunday.<br />
<br />
Lali”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Our dance was heterorotic.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I always worried I wasn’t cool. I consider this guy cool.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So when he accepts me?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
That’s hot.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I miss you. I have thought about you several times while you were gone – (my fiancé/husband) and I have talked about you, hoped for you, wished you well in our hearts on your journey through whatever it was that troubled you, and tried to be there for you without probing.<br />
<br />
You do inspire me and I know that you are a smart (genius, I have always said!), funny, honest, sincere, genuine, unique gentleman and after reading this blog I am very impressed with your strength, courage and ability to get through what many people would not be able to. I am even more awed with you! I wish I had your strength!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
From an adoring fan,”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Daisy…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When I read this…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was like all I was worried about in regards to my medical school class disappeared.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Did anyone notice I was gone? You said yes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Was I always looked at like an idiot? You said no.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
There was also an underlying uncertainty that I disappeared and people thought I just flaked out. For whatever reason, it mattered to me that people knew there was a reasoning behind my behavior. Daisy, thank you for noticing I was in trouble. Thank you for caring.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Do… do I have fans?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Maybe?!?!?!?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Another question I feared.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Do I come out looking stronger?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Yes?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“We definitely noticed you weren't there, not just yesterday but the whole time.<br />
I can't wait to see you tomorrow!<br />
Agata”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And here I thought no one cared.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I think you are fabulous. Just utterly fabulous.<br />
Christine”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Who are you!!??!?! I honestly have no idea. What’s your last name!?!?!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Stranger, friend… I’m only as fabulous as the continued support I have has allowed me to be.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Good luck with everything David!! I look forward to being your resident ;)<br />
<br />
Caroline”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And I promise to be a great student.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“David, I am so proud of you - these past few years have been so tough for you and it's true what they said - how u stayed standing is incredible. Thank you for sharing your story with me and I want you to know med school would not have been the same without you. I look forward to the day you graduate with an MD!!!<br />
Take care and see u tommorow,<br />
Amy”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I wonder.. would a stronger man have been able to stand taller? If I were smarter, could I have done it better?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I gave you a hug… you gave me one back… it’s good to be okay just being me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Keil says<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I'm assuming we are not bold, as we were struck with the Karmic Un-Fortune of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants.<br />
<br />
Saw Sabretooth today. I'll keep him away from the other students at Xavier's. Chin up, old boy.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
These are all inside jokes. It absolutely hilarious.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In short, he told me fortune favours the bold. And for me to finally step out and explain everything, was a bold move.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Was it? I don’t know.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I don’t know who this next anonymous comment is from:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“I'm glad you're back David. That was a great post and I gotta say quite inspiring. I'm not sure how you made it this far given everything that has happened.<br />
<br />
I haven't known you for very long but I was around when some of the events were unfolding. I must say that I am sorry that I didn't offer as much support as I could have. I admit, I was a bit afraid to get too close but I should have offered more. I wasn't being as good of a team member as I should've been. I'm sorry David but I"m glad to see you are doing better.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s poetically beautiful as a comment. Because this is what I was hoping people were thinking of me. Not maliciousness, not contempt. Just another human being coexisting.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Whoever you are, nothing to apologize for. I wasn’t ready.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I hope I meet you again.<br />
<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Thank you.</div><div><br />
<br />
Finally, Chris writes, </div><div><br />
<br />
“Great posting. It's nice to have you back Poon, though I take issue with one aspect of your recent posting - I believe true mastery of puns is not possible…”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I hate you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
- David</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-85091007365851233872010-06-10T22:23:00.000-07:002010-06-10T22:25:38.028-07:00Why David Poon is Batman<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">aka My Original Post Was Too Long so I cut it in Half</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">aka <a class="vt-p" href="http://howmanycharacterscaniuse.blogspot.com/2010/06/how-comic-books-change-poon.html">continued from Part I...</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Comic books have, unbeknownst to myself until recently, have somehow shoehorned my own psyche to fit a staple of the industry - story arcs.<br />
<br />
Since comics, though more popular thanks to the characters recently being in blockbuster movies, are still more a niche thing generally, I'll explain a bit.<br />
<br />
Comics (typically) come out on a month to month basis. So stories can take months to finish, even years. Since the acceptance of the 'graphic novel' format (the kind you see in chapters) generally, comics are written to last six to twelve issues each, so they can be sold in easily purchasable compilation books that are the equivalent of six to twelve comics long.<br />
<br />
This means that comic readers are used to long term story 'arcs' that take the better part of an entire year before some resolution is found.<br />
<br />
As bashful I am to admit, growing up on superheros as a sort of role model,</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div>I like Batman.<br />
<br />
His story is well known.<br />
<br />
After leaving the theatre, a young boy sees his parents killed before his eyes during a botched robbery.<br />
<br />
Lost, young Bruce Wayne spends his entire young adult life travelling the world, training to become the greatest detective, crime fighter, and inventor the world has ever known. He returns to his home, and his family's tremendous fortune.<br />
<br />
In order to cope with the tremendous trauma he has undergone, he dedicates his life to "<i>the mission</i>" - stopping crime, becoming Batman.<br />
<br />
While he is a superhero at night, he is billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne at day.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">An unabashed rich genius with unlimited women at his disposal? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Yeah, OF COURSE I'd hit that!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">or try to be him.<br />
<br />
The idea is that as dark and menacing Batman became, the more flamboyant and wild Bruce Wayne got. Why does Bruce have a black eye? The triplets accidentally knocked him over in the hot tub. He's sleeping in all day? Partying all night.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
I AM Batman.<br />
<br />
...</div><br />
There's a long lasting nerd debate over who the true man is - Batman the vigilante, pretending to be Bruce Wayne, or is the Caped Crusader the mask of a traumatized boy who never grew up?<br />
<br />
I relate to this duality deeply, for more reasons than I'm ready to admit.<br />
<br />
Let's take this comparison lightly, but genuinely, for the moment.<br />
<br />
In the context of my father's current trial, keep in mind that the seeds for what is happening on the news today have been planted for at least two years.<br />
<br />
Under that duress, with my own perceived responsibility to my family - I keept my mouth shut.<br />
<br />
But that burden weighs heavily. All the side story, the background information of a tremendous, impending criminal court case. How can I possibly deal with myself, while not shaming my family?<br />
<br />
By example of what I grew up with... secret identity.<br />
<br />
The mission was to cover my pain, hide it from those around me.<br />
<br />
But still address the plethora of issues in my personal life.<br />
<br />
Of course, doing it in comic book style...<br />
<br />
The idea is that as dark and menacing my hidden life became, the more flamboyant and wild David Poon got. Why does David look like he hasn't slept all night? Oh he was online shopping for hours for a hot tub. He's still making fun of doctors? I guess that's cause he's a complete idiot medical student.<br />
<br />
A few of you have noticed that my Facebook name is no longer David. I'll explain the reason I've chosen my particular new name a different time.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The secret identity idea continues. Under an alias, reporters can't get to me, or see my friends. My innermost thoughts are kept away before and during the trial. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And a few choice pictures of me can remain hidden. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Specially the nudes. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><br />
To cope with my disillusionment of how difficult the legal life of medicine is, I cracked more jokes, performed more skits, made my stand up more harsh. People thought I was a complete nutcase, unsuited and an worthy of being in medical school. They labelled me as immature, sexist, racist - but at least, my secret is safe.<br />
<br />
In first hand seeing medical legal issues up close, I wanted to become a lawyer. People said that I was spitting on an MD, that I shouldn't be in medicine if I wanted law. Friends mistook me as uncommitted. My desires to look at medicine from a legal perspective seen as hokey, nonsensical.<br />
<br />
And that was fine; all that mattered was <i>the mission.</i><br />
<br />
Irrelevant of what people thought of me during the day, provided I could deal with the<i>necessary</i> at night - to keep a balance, as the pressures increased in one life, I needed an out in the other.<br />
<br />
For me, it was cheap laughs, eccentric humour, and plenty of "Oh, that's just Poon" moments.<br />
<br />
Kinda wish I had some hot tub triplets though (sigh...).<br />
<br />
Much later on, after a story known as Infinite Crisis, Batman had a crisis of conscious.<br />
<br />
The very fabric of both Bruce Wayne and Batman was in question, because he had almost killed another man using a gun himself. Realizing he had lost himself, he goes on a journey during the yearlong story arc '52' retracing the steps he took to become Batman.<br />
<br />
My entire adult life had been based on <a class="vt-p" href="http://howmanycharacterscaniuse.blogspot.com/p/david-poon-and-road-to-medical-school.html" style="color: #776644; text-decoration: none;">becoming a doctor</a>. Yet that was tumultuously shaken with my families medical ills.<br />
<br />
And I mean medical not in the typical sense, though it could be seen that way.<br />
<br />
Mom's heart attack? In the clinic potentially from the stress of the job. My father's trial? Medico-legal issues.<br />
<br />
My disillusionment of the very goals of my entire adult life, perhaps my entire life, made me realize I had lost myself.<br />
<br />
Perhaps more shockingly, I forgot my family. I stopped talking to my dad. I didn't spend enough time to to raise my sister right. And my mom, where was I to care for your health. Where were the responsibilities I held so dear.<br />
<br />
Friends, my precious friends, what did I do? Ignore all of you?? Yell at some of you??? Cry, laugh... I didn't even share what was wrong.<br />
<br />
I couldn't.<br />
<br />
Where was David Poon?<br />
<br />
Robin, Batman's sidekick, describes the hero after his crisises, just before his yearlong journey:<br />
<br />
"He lost it. In the end, he just lost it. And that's what this is all about."<br />
<br />
And maybe that could be me.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
During the span of this quest, Bruce Wayne endures isolation chamber experiments, and an intense form of mediation where he 'experiences death' while alone in a closed cave without food and water for seven days. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">One of his last excursions is to face a warrior tribe whose sole existence is to kill a person's inner demons.<br />
<br />
"I asked them to kill mine. I asked them to cut out all the dark, fearful, paranoid urges I've allowed to corrupt my life . . . and they did. It’s over."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><br />
So after I made sure my Mom was medically stable, I had to confront my own demons.<br />
<br />
By that time, my parent's divorce was finalized, and the news of the accusations made against my father was made public in Saskatchewan.<br />
<br />
I went to go see him.<br />
<br />
Keeping the details of that meeting naturally to myself, this opening catharsis allowed me to start the path of rebuilding myself, finding what made David Poon work, what didn't.<br />
<br />
My adventures didn't throw me towards sealed caves to be reborn or isolation chambers, but I got to go travelling around the world, publish something, made it to the Rhodes Scholarship finals a couple of times.<br />
<br />
A few girls here and there. Even lived with one for a few months.<br />
<br />
Things seemed pretty good!<br />
<br />
But...<br />
<br />
The full quote after the warrior killed Bruce Wayne's inner demons is:<br />
<br />
"I asked them to kill mine. I asked them to cut out all the dark, fearful, paranoid urges I've allowed to corrupt my life . . . and they did. It’s over. <i>Batman is gone.</i>"<br />
<br />
What happens if one side is taken away...<br />
<br />
the other compensates.<br />
<br />
That's the set up of my favourite Batman story arc - Batman RIP. That story is exactly what it sounds like. The last case before the death of Batman.<br />
<br />
As it turns out, Batman/Bruce Wayne was under psychological attack for a long time, by an enemy known as the Black Hand.<br />
<br />
Not like that time I stole the ball during an NBA match.<br />
<br />
HAH!<br />
<br />
The Black Hand was led by Dr. Hurt, the doctor who conducted the isolation experiment on Batman. He knew all of his secrets, and later used that to wipe Batman's mind clean so to later defeat him, by using a trigger phrase.<br />
<br />
It was the perfect time to attack, as Batman was nonexistant, and Bruce Wayne was overcompensating - he was in love! Batman in love!<br />
<br />
A man in love is already ludicrous. But BATMAN? The MANLIEST MAN?!?!?<br />
<br />
That's how you know he was crazy.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">For me, it was a time period where I absconded myself of responsibility to my family. Where I just stopped thinking about the trial, Mom's health, my sister's schoolwork. Just lived to be fancy free, forgetting everything that I perceived to be too difficult, holding me back from my happiness. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The trigger phrase for Batman was "Zur-En-Arrh." Once he heard that phrased uttered, his mind was wiped, forgetting both Batman and Bruce Wayne. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The pressures built enough in my family life, and I was desperately trying to find some happiness in the darkness, that I pulled the trigger, and took personal leave from medical school. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Longtime comic readers will know that Batman is a master of preparation. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Bruce Wayne's description of Batman in Batman RIP:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Batman thinks of everything. Obvious variations aside, there's only <u>one</u> human body... 206 bones, five major organs, <u>60, 000</u> miles of blood vessels. All it takes is <u>time</u>. Days. Months. Years, spent memorizing the <u>finite ways</u> there are to hurt and break a man. <u>Preparing</u> for<u>all</u> of them."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The <a class="vt-p" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Batman_of_Zur-En-Arrh#Resurrection" style="color: #776644; text-decoration: none;">Batman of Zur-En-Arrh </a>is a character that Bruce Wayne describes as a 'back up human operating system.' In the event he was under psychological attack, when everything he thought was true was false, he had one safeguard. A personality that combined the confidence of Bruce Wayne with the efficiency of Batman, streamlined to complete <i>the mission</i>, kept in check by the beauty of imagination as well as the practicality of rational. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The Batman of Zur-En-Arrh, adorned in a hand stitched costume of purple and yellow scraps, is self described as Batman without Bruce Wayne. His mind,</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"... seems so much... faster now. Clearer. Simpler. Like a streamlined engine, a silver bullet..."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A running joke between my sister and I for the past few months has been in calling me the 'David of Zur-En-Arrh.' The eccentricities of modern David, with a newfound appreciation and dedication towards my family and my medical career. It's also a great deal more clear. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It wasn't medicine that destroyed my family. There were obviously other reasons. I wanted to be a doctor - I just needed some time. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I hadn't rejected my family - I was within my reason to be confused.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I hadn't lost my mind - I was just lost. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My mind became simpler, for the better - forget other distractions, focus on what was important. The people I love. Accolades, being liked, hell, even being popular for some jokes were fun - but they weren't priorities. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My medical school, my career in environmental medicine. My family. My friends. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Those are the priorities. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">There couldn't be a Batman of Zur-En-Arrh forever. He needed to find balance again. Yet he was able to defeat the Black Hand.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div>...<br />
<br />
Batman since gave his life to save the world. After his supposed death, there was a comic released to honour him, titled "Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader?"<br />
<br />
It was a requiem for the closing of a chapter in his life. To honour one life ending, allowing a peaceful transition for what came next.<br />
<br />
That's what inspired the title when I wrote, "Whatever Happened to David Poon?"<br />
<br />
Right now, the current six month story arc is titled "The Return of Bruce Wayne."<br />
<br />
Heh.<br />
<br />
I wonder where my story takes me next?<br />
<br />
- David</div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-1283467411374958892010-06-10T10:21:00.000-07:002010-06-10T22:24:21.338-07:00How Comic Books Change Poon<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">aka This is Way Too Nerdy for the Average Person Part I</div><div><br />
(WARNING: Bring your NERD CORE CREDENTIALS for this post. If by the time you see this symbol ^-_-^ the word 'Leonardo' has not crossed your mind FOUR TIME, turn back. You are not geek enough to understand)<br />
<br />
We all find role models in some way or another.<br />
<br />
Some of look up to inspirations. "Great Black Hopes" like Marcellus Gilmore Edson, Michelle Obama, and Michael Jackson.<br />
<br />
We have mentors, our professors, supervisors, older relatives, and Kumon teachers.<br />
<br />
We have aspirations to be like someone.<br />
<br />
For us Asian kids, it's usually some unrelated Asian Uncle's kids who got higher marks on their MCAT and are therefore, as Asian custom dictates, have more of a right to live.<br />
<br />
And maybe not all of us find inspiration from modelling of existing lives either. All white people are led by their king, Noam Chomsky, but they also have their sacred text "No Logo." Neither is more important, each having their own unshakable role in the lives of Liberal Arts Students everywhere.<br />
<br />
There are those who are more moved by the Mona Lisa than the flying machine, more convinced a ninja turtle in a blue mask is more life changing than a movie depicting Forrest Gump battling Gandalf.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">^-_-^</div><div><br />
</div><br />
Somewhere we find examples of who we want to be, or what we want to create.<br />
<br />
Normally in the formative youth years.<br />
<br />
See, cool kids in elementary school played hockey at 6AM in a flawless plan to be the next NHL star.<br />
<br />
Cool kids in elementary hung out after school to go to the convenience store and buy Pixie sticks, 5 cent candies, and rent VHS.<br />
<br />
Cool kids in elementary got to hang out with girls.<br />
<br />
I don't think I knew a girl other than She-Ra and April O'Neil.<br />
<br />
And Raggedy Anne, but she never wanted to play. Always lying in bed lifeless.<br />
<br />
Not alot of fun.<br />
<br />
Usually.<br />
<br />
I got home from elementary school immediately after, to my wonderful life of multiple servings Grandma's cooking, processed foods, extracurricular math class, and...<br />
<br />
... cartoons.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I grew up with superheroes. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Batman, Spiderman, the X-Men</div><div><br />
</div><div>I was going to be a hero!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Captain Planet, Toxic Crusader</div><div><br />
</div><div>Environmental Medicine FTW!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Cept you know, every time I tried on the tights and spandex, my parents seemed to get a little more worried about their son's lunacy, and my chances with girls got a little more slim...</div><div><br />
</div><div>At least SOMETHING did!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Hah. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Fat nerds.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Like me. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Ah, this is why my stand up comedy never worked out...</div><div><br />
</div><div>Cause fat people can't <i>stand up</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div>Hah, double burn! </div><div><br />
</div><div>I'm on FIRE</div><div><br />
</div><div>Cause fat is <i>flammable!</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div>Triple!</div><div><br />
</div><div>(any discussion of the superhero genre must acknowledge the fatness of geeks, and now my quota has been sufficiently filled)</div><div><br />
</div><div>Cartoon characters were just the superficial representations of the characters. And as is common for me after ordering a bottomless pop at Boston Pizza - I needed to get to the bottom of it. </div><br />
That's when I developed a love for comic books. The source of all superhero fiction.</div><div><br />
</div><div><a class="vt-p" href="http://howmanycharacterscaniuse.blogspot.com/2010/06/why-david-poon-is-batman.html">continued... </a></div><div><br />
</div><div>- David</div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-91434483052576985002010-06-09T21:35:00.000-07:002010-06-10T22:27:40.152-07:00What I Learned From Fiction: The David of Zur-En-Arrh<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">aka No One Knows What Zur En Arrh is</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">aka This is Way Too Nerdy for the Average Person<br />
aka <a class="vt-p" href="http://howmanycharacterscaniuse.blogspot.com/2010/06/how-comic-books-change-poon.html">Part I</a> and <a class="vt-p" href="http://howmanycharacterscaniuse.blogspot.com/2010/06/why-david-poon-is-batman.html">Part II</a></div><div><br />
(WARNING: Bring your NERD CORE CREDENTIALS for this post. If by the time you see this symbol ^-_-^ the word 'Leonardo' has not crossed your mind FOUR TIME, turn back. You are not geek enough to understand)<br />
<br />
We all find role models in some way or another.<br />
<br />
Some of look up to inspirations. "Great Black Hopes" like Marcellus Gilmore Edson, Michelle Obama, and Michael Jackson.<br />
<br />
We have mentors, our professors, supervisors, older relatives, and Kumon teachers.<br />
<br />
We have aspirations to be like someone.<br />
<br />
For us Asian kids, it's usually some unrelated Asian Uncle's kids who got higher marks on their MCAT and are therefore, as Asian custom dictates, have more of a right to live.<br />
<br />
And maybe not all of us find inspiration from modelling of existing lives either. All white people are led by their king, Noam Chomsky, but they also have their sacred text "No Logo." Neither is more important, each having their own unshakable role in the lives of Liberal Arts Students everywhere.<br />
<br />
There are those who are more moved by the Mona Lisa than the flying machine, more convinced a ninja turtle in a blue mask is more life changing than a movie depicting Forrest Gump battling Gandalf.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">^-_-^</div><div><br />
</div><br />
Somewhere we find examples of who we want to be, or what we want to create.<br />
<br />
Normally in the formative youth years.<br />
<br />
See, cool kids in elementary school played hockey at 6AM in a flawless plan to be the next NHL star.<br />
<br />
Cool kids in elementary hung out after school to go to the convenience store and buy Pixie sticks, 5 cent candies, and rent VHS.<br />
<br />
Cool kids in elementary got to hang out with girls.<br />
<br />
I don't think I knew a girl other than She-Ra and April O'Neil.<br />
<br />
And Raggedy Anne, but she never wanted to play. Always lying in bed lifeless.<br />
<br />
Not alot of fun.<br />
<br />
Usually.<br />
<br />
I got home from elementary school immediately after, to my wonderful life of multiple servings Grandma's cooking, processed foods, extracurricular math class, and...<br />
<br />
... cartoons.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I grew up with superheroes. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Batman, Spiderman, the X-Men</div><div><br />
</div><div>I was going to be a hero!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Captain Planet, Toxic Crusader</div><div><br />
</div><div>Environmental Medicine FTW!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Cept you know, every time I tried on the tights and spandex, my parents seemed to get a little more worried about their son's lunacy, and my chances with girls got a little more slim...</div><div><br />
</div><div>At least SOMETHING did!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Hah. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Fat nerds.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Like me. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Ah, this is why my stand up comedy never worked out...</div><div><br />
</div><div>Cause fat people can't <i>stand up</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div>Hah, double burn! </div><div><br />
</div><div>I'm on FIRE</div><div><br />
</div><div>Cause fat is <i>flammable!</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div>Triple!</div><div><br />
</div><div>(any discussion of the superhero genre must acknowledge the fatness of geeks, and now my quota has been sufficiently filled)</div><div><br />
</div><div>Cartoon characters were just the superficial representations of the characters. And as is common for me after ordering a bottomless pop at Boston Pizza - I needed to get to the bottom of it. </div><br />
That's when I developed a love for comic books. The source of all superhero fiction.<br />
<br />
</div>Comic books have, unbeknownst to myself until recently, have somehow shoehorned my own psyche to fit a staple of the industry - story arcs.<br />
<br />
Since comics, though more popular thanks to the characters recently being in blockbuster movies, are still more a niche thing generally, I'll explain a bit.<br />
<br />
Comics (typically) come out on a month to month basis. So stories can take months to finish, even years. Since the acceptance of the 'graphic novel' format (the kind you see in chapters) generally, comics are written to last six to twelve issues each, so they can be sold in easily purchasable compilation books that are the equivalent of six to twelve comics long.<br />
<br />
This means that comic readers are used to long term story 'arcs' that take the better part of an entire year before some resolution is found.<br />
<br />
As bashful I am to admit, growing up on superheros as a sort of role model,<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div>I like Batman.<br />
<br />
His story is well known.<br />
<br />
After leaving the theatre, a young boy sees his parents killed before his eyes during a botched robbery.<br />
<br />
Lost, young Bruce Wayne spends his entire young adult life travelling the world, training to become the greatest detective, crime fighter, and inventor the world has ever known. He returns to his home, and his family's tremendous fortune.<br />
<br />
In order to cope with the tremendous trauma he has undergone, he dedicates his life to "<i>the mission</i>" - stopping crime, becoming Batman.<br />
<br />
While he is a superhero at night, he is billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne at day.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">An unabashed rich genius with unlimited women at his disposal? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Yeah, OF COURSE I'd hit that!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">or try to be him.<br />
<br />
The idea is that as dark and menacing Batman became, the more flamboyant and wild Bruce Wayne got. Why does Bruce have a black eye? The triplets accidentally knocked him over in the hot tub. He's sleeping in all day? Partying all night.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
I AM Batman.<br />
<br />
...</div><br />
There's a long lasting nerd debate over who the true man is - Batman the vigilante, pretending to be Bruce Wayne, or is the Caped Crusader the mask of a traumatized boy who never grew up?<br />
<br />
I relate to this duality deeply, for more reasons than I'm ready to admit.<br />
<br />
Let's take this comparison lightly, but genuinely, for the moment.<br />
<br />
In the context of my father's current trial, keep in mind that the seeds for what is happening on the news today have been planted for at least two years.<br />
<br />
Under that duress, with my own perceived responsibility to my family - I keept my mouth shut.<br />
<br />
But that burden weighs heavily. All the side story, the background information of a tremendous, impending criminal court case. How can I possibly deal with myself, while not shaming my family?<br />
<br />
By example of what I grew up with... secret identity.<br />
<br />
The mission was to cover my pain, hide it from those around me.<br />
<br />
But still address the plethora of issues in my personal life.<br />
<br />
Of course, doing it in comic book style...<br />
<br />
The idea is that as dark and menacing my hidden life became, the more flamboyant and wild David Poon got. Why does David look like he hasn't slept all night? Oh he was online shopping for hours for a hot tub. He's still making fun of doctors? I guess that's cause he's a complete idiot medical student.<br />
<br />
A few of you have noticed that my Facebook name is no longer David. I'll explain the reason I've chosen my particular new name a different time.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The secret identity idea continues. Under an alias, reporters can't get to me, or see my friends. My innermost thoughts are kept away before and during the trial. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And a few choice pictures of me can remain hidden. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Specially the nudes. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><br />
To cope with my disillusionment of how difficult the legal life of medicine is, I cracked more jokes, performed more skits, made my stand up more harsh. People thought I was a complete nutcase, unsuited and an worthy of being in medical school. They labelled me as immature, sexist, racist - but at least, my secret is safe.<br />
<br />
In first hand seeing medical legal issues up close, I wanted to become a lawyer. People said that I was spitting on an MD, that I shouldn't be in medicine if I wanted law. Friends mistook me as uncommitted. My desires to look at medicine from a legal perspective seen as hokey, nonsensical.<br />
<br />
And that was fine; all that mattered was <i>the mission.</i><br />
<br />
Irrelevant of what people thought of me during the day, provided I could deal with the <i>necessary</i> at night - to keep a balance, as the pressures increased in one life, I needed an out in the other.<br />
<br />
For me, it was cheap laughs, eccentric humour, and plenty of "Oh, that's just Poon" moments.<br />
<br />
Kinda wish I had some hot tub triplets though (sigh...).<br />
<br />
Much later on, after a story known as Infinite Crisis, Batman had a crisis of conscious.<br />
<br />
The very fabric of both Bruce Wayne and Batman was in question, because he had almost killed another man using a gun himself. Realizing he had lost himself, he goes on a journey during the yearlong story arc '52' retracing the steps he took to become Batman.<br />
<br />
My entire adult life had been based on <a class="vt-p" href="http://howmanycharacterscaniuse.blogspot.com/p/david-poon-and-road-to-medical-school.html">becoming a doctor</a>. Yet that was tumultuously shaken with my families medical ills.<br />
<br />
And I mean medical not in the typical sense, though it could be seen that way.<br />
<br />
Mom's heart attack? In the clinic potentially from the stress of the job. My father's trial? Medico-legal issues.<br />
<br />
My disillusionment of the very goals of my entire adult life, perhaps my entire life, made me realize I had lost myself.<br />
<br />
Perhaps more shockingly, I forgot my family. I stopped talking to my dad. I didn't spend enough time to to raise my sister right. And my mom, where was I to care for your health. Where were the responsibilities I held so dear.<br />
<br />
Friends, my precious friends, what did I do? Ignore all of you?? Yell at some of you??? Cry, laugh... I didn't even share what was wrong.<br />
<br />
I couldn't.<br />
<br />
Where was David Poon?<br />
<br />
Robin, Batman's sidekick, describes the hero after his crisises, just before his yearlong journey:<br />
<br />
"He lost it. In the end, he just lost it. And that's what this is all about."<br />
<br />
And maybe that could be me.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
During the span of this quest, Bruce Wayne endures isolation chamber experiments, and an intense form of mediation where he 'experiences death' while alone in a closed cave without food and water for seven days. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">One of his last excursions is to face a warrior tribe whose sole existence is to kill a person's inner demons.<br />
<br />
"I asked them to kill mine. I asked them to cut out all the dark, fearful, paranoid urges I've allowed to corrupt my life . . . and they did. It’s over."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><br />
So after I made sure my Mom was medically stable, I had to confront my own demons.<br />
<br />
By that time, my parent's divorce was finalized, and the news of the accusations made against my father was made public in Saskatchewan.<br />
<br />
I went to go see him.<br />
<br />
Keeping the details of that meeting naturally to myself, this opening catharsis allowed me to start the path of rebuilding myself, finding what made David Poon work, what didn't.<br />
<br />
My adventures didn't throw me towards sealed caves to be reborn or isolation chambers, but I got to go travelling around the world, publish something, made it to the Rhodes Scholarship finals a couple of times.<br />
<br />
A few girls here and there. Even lived with one for a few months.<br />
<br />
Things seemed pretty good!<br />
<br />
But...<br />
<br />
The full quote after the warrior killed Bruce Wayne's inner demons is:<br />
<br />
"I asked them to kill mine. I asked them to cut out all the dark, fearful, paranoid urges I've allowed to corrupt my life . . . and they did. It’s over. <i>Batman is gone.</i>"<br />
<br />
What happens if one side is taken away...<br />
<br />
the other compensates.<br />
<br />
That's the set up of my favourite Batman story arc - Batman RIP. That story is exactly what it sounds like. The last case before the death of Batman.<br />
<br />
As it turns out, Batman/Bruce Wayne was under psychological attack for a long time, by an enemy known as the Black Hand.<br />
<br />
Not like that time I stole the ball during an NBA match.<br />
<br />
HAH!<br />
<br />
The Black Hand was led by Dr. Hurt, the doctor who conducted the isolation experiment on Batman. He knew all of his secrets, and later used that to wipe Batman's mind clean so to later defeat him, by using a trigger phrase.<br />
<br />
It was the perfect time to attack, as Batman was nonexistant, and Bruce Wayne was overcompensating - he was in love! Batman in love!<br />
<br />
A man in love is already ludicrous. But BATMAN? The MANLIEST MAN?!?!?<br />
<br />
That's how you know he was crazy.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">For me, it was a time period where I absconded myself of responsibility to my family. Where I just stopped thinking about the trial, Mom's health, my sister's schoolwork. Just lived to be fancy free, forgetting everything that I perceived to be too difficult, holding me back from my happiness. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The trigger phrase for Batman was "Zur-En-Arrh." Once he heard that phrased uttered, his mind was wiped, forgetting both Batman and Bruce Wayne. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The pressures built enough in my family life, and I was desperately trying to find some happiness in the darkness, that I pulled the trigger, and took personal leave from medical school. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Longtime comic readers will know that Batman is a master of preparation. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Bruce Wayne's description of Batman in Batman RIP:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Batman thinks of everything. Obvious variations aside, there's only <u>one</u> human body... 206 bones, five major organs, <u>60, 000</u> miles of blood vessels. All it takes is <u>time</u>. Days. Months. Years, spent memorizing the <u>finite ways</u> there are to hurt and break a man. <u>Preparing</u> for <u>all</u> of them."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The <a class="vt-p" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Batman_of_Zur-En-Arrh#Resurrection">Batman of Zur-En-Arrh </a>is a character that Bruce Wayne describes as a 'back up human operating system.' In the event he was under psychological attack, when everything he thought was true was false, he had one safeguard. A personality that combined the confidence of Bruce Wayne with the efficiency of Batman, streamlined to complete <i>the mission</i>, kept in check by the beauty of imagination as well as the practicality of rational. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The Batman of Zur-En-Arrh, adorned in a hand stitched costume of purple and yellow scraps, is self described as Batman without Bruce Wayne. His mind,</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"... seems so much... faster now. Clearer. Simpler. Like a streamlined engine, a silver bullet..."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A running joke between my sister and I for the past few months has been in calling me the 'David of Zur-En-Arrh.' The eccentricities of modern David, with a newfound appreciation and dedication towards my family and my medical career. It's also a great deal more clear. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It wasn't medicine that destroyed my family. There were obviously other reasons. I wanted to be a doctor - I just needed some time. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I hadn't rejected my family - I was within my reason to be confused.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I hadn't lost my mind - I was just lost. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My mind became simpler, for the better - forget other distractions, focus on what was important. The people I love. Accolades, being liked, hell, even being popular for some jokes were fun - but they weren't priorities. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My medical school, my career in environmental medicine. My family. My friends. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Those are the priorities. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">There couldn't be a Batman of Zur-En-Arrh forever. He needed to find balance again. Yet he was able to defeat the Black Hand.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div>...<br />
<br />
Batman since gave his life to save the world. After his supposed death, there was a comic released to honour him, titled "Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader?"<br />
<br />
It was a requiem for the closing of a chapter in his life. To honour one life ending, allowing a peaceful transition for what came next.<br />
<br />
That's what inspired the title when I wrote, "Whatever Happened to David Poon?"<br />
<br />
Right now, the current six month story arc is titled "The Return of Bruce Wayne."<br />
<br />
Heh.<br />
<br />
I wonder where my story takes me next?<br />
<br />
- David<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a class="vt-p" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAcRcLAWO-XZoPC1GGejzLw1Fc-dg1juTw6qzQUGN0K5j1Xr6_DwHNBuxYUig0l3gzEBacq4T-euwFrmzQlp4Uuhk_Hwn6vP0C_gQDrCK1GJYbFD2TgM_llwT_g3ungzbS8_tPl2kQIk/s1600/Batman+of+Zur-En-Arrh.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAcRcLAWO-XZoPC1GGejzLw1Fc-dg1juTw6qzQUGN0K5j1Xr6_DwHNBuxYUig0l3gzEBacq4T-euwFrmzQlp4Uuhk_Hwn6vP0C_gQDrCK1GJYbFD2TgM_llwT_g3ungzbS8_tPl2kQIk/s640/Batman+of+Zur-En-Arrh.jpeg" width="404" /></a></div><br />
<br />
</div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-5280433271856445642010-06-08T22:42:00.000-07:002010-06-08T22:51:25.615-07:00What I Learned From Fiction: Prelude<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">aka This Was Originally The First Chapter of a Blog Post Originally Called "The Prisoner of Azkaban" </div><br />
I stopped reading fiction five years ago.<br />
<br />
All fiction. Graphic novels or comic books aside, any story.<br />
<br />
Two major reasons:<br />
<br />
1) The lack of mandatory English courses stopped the unyielding barrage of Can Lit down my proverbial throat (perhaps creating my COMPLETELY HETERONORMATIVE FETISHISM OF MY LITERAL THROAT).<br />
<br />
2) Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.<br />
<br />
Let it be known that that bastardization of the Harry Potter mythos single handedly ruined my desire to expand my mind with any written prose that claimed a fictional narrative.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
The book is bloated, boring, artificially self important, and ultimately incredibly underwhelming in payoff.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
I now know what it is like to date David Poon.<br />
<br />
^-_-^<br />
<br />
The emotion evoked from a disappointing fantasy (ex: every time I have tried picking up Asian schoolgirls) seemed odd, as the trivial nature of a supposedly non existant work should have little bearing on my reality itself.<br />
<br />
Yet;<br />
<br />
Somehow my real world decisions are affected by my impressions of the fictional. Did I stop reading because my real world expectations of a book I got for 20 dollars were not met? Or was it the fictional world that made me despondent.<br />
<br />
I remember the controversy that surrounded "A Million Little Pieces," an inspiring memoir that Oprah HERSELF felt was near gospel in healing a wounded soul.<br />
<br />
Such a powerful story it was that millions of readers were galvanized to make something more of themselves. To be something more.<br />
<br />
Yet;<br />
<br />
The story wasn't true.<br />
<br />
The memoirs were fake.<br />
<br />
And somehow, all the good the book inspired was undone.<br />
<br />
People were upset that the improvements they made in their life, from overcoming addictions to building their careers, were all made meaningless as the purposed drive to a better life was ignited by a fake story.<br />
<br />
Fiction can bring us to tears. Bring us hope, bring us sadness, change our perspective, make us angry, confused, passionate, reborn.<br />
<br />
Heck, The Notebook has done that to every teenage girl in history.<br />
<br />
And Twilight seems to permanently make my chances of doing a teenage girl history.<br />
<br />
So why then the reaction to fake memoirs? If the response is real, why is the catalyst made insignificant?<br />
<br />
Are we so skewed in our beliefs that only the real must change the real? That the fictional remain affecting only its illusionary constructs?<br />
<br />
What about Religion? I like how South Park puts it:<br />
<br />
"Look, maybe us Mormons do believe in crazy stories that make absolutely no sense... but I have a great life, and a great family. And I have the Book of Mormon to thank for that. The truth is, I don't care if (the Prophet) made it all up - because what the Church teaches now is loving your family, being nice, and helping people. And even though people in this town think it's stupid, I still chose to believe in it."<br />
<br />
Irrespective of your Religious views, there's a point - a lesson, an example, can still be relevant whether it be real or imagined, unproven or lived.<br />
<br />
<i>What I Learned From Fiction</i> will be a series exploring the retrospectively incredibly impact fiction has had on the life of David Poon. Ranging from Batman and Pokemon to the dark depths of Disney Princesses (how dirty sounding), it's reoccured to me often that many of my life lessons and values were from the damn Ninja Turtle education segments after each episode.<br />
<br />
Or what He-Man showed me when no one else was looking...<br />
<br />
Hm....<br />
<br />
I'm not gay.<br />
<br />
I didn't watch Rainbow Brite.<br />
<br />
- David<br />
<br />
10 points to whoever understands why the Azkaban reference is relevant. Secret Harry Potter trivia and all.doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-92002396883040697812010-06-08T00:43:00.000-07:002010-06-08T00:43:57.113-07:00My Father's Trial Begins Todayaka This is It<br />
aka A Little Earlier Than I Expected<br />
<br />
Just a quick note to anyone who might have the quirky audacity to mention that in my previous post <a class="vt-p" href="http://howmanycharacterscaniuse.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-ever-happened-to-david-poon.html">describing the events of the past two years of my life</a> that I had thought my father's sexual assault trial would have started at least a week from now.<br />
<br />
It starts today 10:00 AM Saskatchewan time.<br />
<br />
Watch for a follow up to my thoughts, and responses to the overwhelmingly insightful comments my faithful readers have sent me upcoming in 'Whatever Happened to David Poon: Reflections and Thanks to the Readers' this Wednesday at midnight. I haven't ignored your comments and messages to me.<br />
<br />
And let me clarify - while obviously I have a deep perspective on this issue, I <b>will not</b> post anything regarding the case that has not already been published by a news source. A quick Google News Canada search will confirm that I am not adding any new information, simply restating what is publicly available.<br />
<br />
I will not be in attendance of the trial, I have not seen any special documents - my perspective from here on in will be another observer watching the news.<br />
<br />
- Daviddoyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-20553243540318970942010-06-05T02:31:00.000-07:002010-06-05T03:55:25.049-07:00What Ever Happened to David Poon<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span>aka Whatever Happened to David Poon<br />
aka Goodbye Class of 2010<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">aka What I Wish I Had Said; What I Want to Say Now</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">aka How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Poon</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">aka WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN DAVID!?!?!?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's hard disappearing. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">To convince everyone that you're gone. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Any good magician makes it look easy. To be somewhere, then vanish as if your presence was as transient as their bunny rabbit's dignity. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Course, the only magic I can do is with my charm. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">On the <i>ladies.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">notwithstanding my <i>magic fingers.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In my <i>cooking. </i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">to <i>seduce</i> the <i>ladies.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">With <i>italics.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Damn did I miss the Poon Blog. </span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Does anyone still read this? </span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I don't think even my Mommy does. </span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I mean, I haven't put anything up in months. </span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Get it? </span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Up.</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">...</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Up.</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's funny. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm hilarious.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">See how effectively I use critical rhythm beats to my humour? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's so clever. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Honestly, I should just address the plain issue that a majority of you are reading this because you haven't seen me in an upwards of 12 months and need some confirmation I'm still alive. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Look, the Backstreet Boys are having (another) comeback tour, and since as long as there'll be music I'll be coming back again, it's a safe bet you'll have enough Poon in your system. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Like if I was cooking for you without a hairnet. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Hah!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I've rebuilt doyoubelieve.ca, and now, I promise, I'll be updating the Poon Blog regularly, with major updates Tuesday and Friday, alongside daily postings. I'll keep them organized in the Pages section on the sidebar. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's probably a coward's way out of explaining what's happened to me over the last little while. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Since this is the Poon Blog, I'm obligated to say I'm Asian. Therefore, using broad stereotypical generalizations, I am yellow. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And for old readers, I would be amiss if I didn't mention David Poon: And the Road to Medical School, the EPICALLY EPIC narrative I started almost three years ago. As my wonderfully most controversial set, it chronicles the difficulty of premed life, and I've since been adding in Ward Stories, what I feel to be a very personal viewpoint of a medical student finding a sense of self in the awe inspiring beauty of the hospital. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Anyway, I'll be keeping it going. Despite the fact that every premed in existence hates it. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And, well, every OTHER premed in existence wants me to finish the story. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Also, starting Tuesday, I'll launch a new series, 'What Fiction Has Taught Me," which is my own take on how Disney movies, comic books, Saturday Morning Cartoons, and Pokemon have shaped me as a person. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">If you are a nerd, it is your DUTY to read that series. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Most importantly, to my old friends, the ones I've neglected for so long. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I am so sorry. I will see you soon. I just wasn't ready to say hello again. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Let me start...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's been three months that I've been hidden away from everyone.</div><div><br />
</div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">One year since I've been updating my blog. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">18 months since my mom, the greatest doctor I know, had a heart attack.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Two years since I've been missing from my original med class the 2010s.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Two years since my father, a doctor, was initially charged with sexual assault. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Two weeks until his trial begins. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And just about the right time for me to stop disappearing. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">To half of you, nothing I've said is really new. You already knew about it, from the media, or from the grapevine. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">To the other half, you just saw me get up and leave one day. I've heard some of the rumours... kinda true, not really. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Please, let me tell you the truth. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I know it's been on the back of the minds of most everyone I've spoken to back home in Saskatchewan. The minute it was declared a criminal case against my father, it was on the front page of the paper, all over the news, and I even found a few forum postings online about the absurdity that a Dr. Poon was charged with sexual assault. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Heck, the absurdity of my last name is what I build my entire damn comedy shtick on. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But it's all changed. The whispers of every friend, relative, colleague I knew in my home province, though always feebly shielded from my ears, were on the tips of their tongues and on the back of their minds. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It was something I couldn't talk about. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Be it for shame, or insecurity, damned confusion, or sheer debilitation, I simply could not talk about it. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And every friend, relative, colleague I knew in my home province did their best to comfort me in their own special way. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I wasn't home. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I was studying in Alberta, in Edmonton. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Where the news wasn't public. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Where no one knew. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Where I couldn't possibly express myself. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Where I was alone in my own dissonance. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And I couldn't tell a soul. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Today, my classmates of the 2010 class graduated. They are all doctors now. Four years ago, I began with them, 19 years old and doing everything at once. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As time went on, and the background problems in my personal life began to surmise, I became increasingly pessimistic, jaded with the difficulties I was beginning to face. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I coped with erraticism. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And that is the David Poon my Alberta colleagues got to know me by. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A new friend I got to know told me yesterday that "I knew about you David, before I even met you."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"How is that so?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Well, I was walking in the med sci building and two medical students were talking about you, your comedy, stuff like that."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"That's nice, what did they say?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Um."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Hm?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Essentially some people think you're a complete idiot. Other people think you're a genius."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Honestly?<br />
<br />
^-_-^</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">After the criminal accusations against my father went public, there was a very difficult period for my family regarding lawyers, accountants, and honestly every facet of my life was put under scrutiny - what worked got tested, what didn't work got destroyed. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It was painful. It was horrific. I was lost. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Later that year my mom had a heart attack. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In one of the six clinics my parents owned, from the stress of the work. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I was in Edmonton, alone. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'd like to tell you that I knew how to cope. I want to state, "I was strong enough to deal."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My parents divorced shortly after - my mom's health in suspense, my father's name under fire, the family business dissipating as my family broke apart. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I want to write that, "I figured out how to put it all together. I learned how to manage healthily."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">By that time of my life, I was in a relationship with someone I can confidently say I felt a bond with I have never had in my life. For two an a half years, I confided and felt for her in a manner I never believed I was capable of. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I took out my angst, my pain, my contempt on her. An innocent Soul in my own corrupt perversion of life. I pushed her away when I needed to be close. I've never had my heart broken before, and I split my own in mad frustration. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I want to say, "I did what I could. I made the best decisions I could."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I still don't know what I would say. </div><div><br />
</div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Somewhere along the line, I left medical school. The MD I worked my entire adult life for, put on hold as I attempted to react to a world I simply wasn't prepared for. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Naturally I learned to cope with the one skill I felt was worth anything. My humour. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Some people just don't think I'm funny. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm okay with that. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I just hope that before I am written off as a nonsense complete idiot - that maybe the benefit of the doubt can be given that there is a reason I have been the way I am. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A medical student advisor told me that "People can have crisises in life. They learn to deal with them. But you David, you had multiple really significant problems in a very short time span."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Another faculty member told me "I'm surprised you're still standing."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I tried. I really tried. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I did not graduate with an MD today. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And I like to think, someone noticed. I like to wonder, which of my classmates remembered I wasn't there. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And I look over my messages over the past two years, over all the e-mails I never replied to, the texts I never returned, and the calls I never picked up. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And it kills me that I never explained myself. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In two weeks, my father goes to trial. Publicly. All the secrets of my family's pains will rear their ugly head.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In two days, I will go to the 2010 graduation and see my colleagues that I have avoided one last time. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In brief, I will reappear. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">To my beloved Tenderloins, the University of Alberta MD Class of 2010;</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I miss you. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Please pass this blog link to anyone you think might care. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Because I don't want to spend our last night lamenting pains of the past. I don't want to waste time explaining my problems, and you patiently listening, when the music is inviting, and the slideshow is warming. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I want to reflect on the people we are, and the memories we share. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And I'm ready to share some of mine with you. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">For all the unanswered questions, I am ready to restart the Poon Blog. Over the past year, in my struggle, I forgot the joy I had in writing. I neglected my own delights, and worse, fulminated my own grief in some bizarre requiem for my own happiness.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I think I will put that to rest now. The dead, after all, are to be buried. Life is for the living. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I know a countless number of you have kindly given me your ears if I need to talk about it. I know I have no shortage of support when I need a friend. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I just wasn't ready. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Perhaps an equal number of you are just glad I'm finally addressing the issue of my father's case. I mean, me avoiding the subject was a little eerie in itself. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Let's reconnect guys. Let's pick up and start fresh. New lives, new perspectives, new futures. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It seems appropriate, that I reintroduce myself. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Hello, my name is David Edward-Ooi Poon. Edward is named after my father. Ooi is my Mommy's maiden name. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm a medical student. I'm really proud of that, cause I worked really hard. I've worked my entire life to be a doctor, and I am going to change the face of Environmental Medicine in this country. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm going to take a break from med school for a little while, until my father's impending criminal court case is relatively settled. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's been a hard past couple of years. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Though, it's also been pretty amazing. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Over the past two years, I've been in Kenya doing water filtration, and in China doing Traditional Chinese Medicine. I've brought bomb calorimeters through international airports (without bribes!) and did my first real stand up comedy show at the West Edmonton Mall. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I was a Rhodes Scholar Finalist twice, and was published by the Lancet - I learned to make biryani and food poisoned my little sister. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I built my own Macintosh computer, and I broke a real Macintosh. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I played video games. Without guilt. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I competed in national business competitions. I won a few awards. Got thousands of dollars into debt. Figured out that being president of a dying business is still heartbreakingly awesome. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I invented a game. I copyrighted a learning tool. And I think I taught a few kids something, halfway through yelling at me. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I got a bachelors degree. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I helped a couple premeds. And hey, to be fair - they're meds now. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I got ALOT of premeds pissed off at me. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I applied to law school, and realized I should be in med.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I learned to vent, and I learned to heal. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I neglected my best friends. I remembered my best friends. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I learned the bro code, and I learned that I have brothers where blood gave me none.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I lost my mentor. I found strength in myself. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I learned to love. I learned to truly, passionately, love without feeling loved back. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I learned that love changes. And that I was wrong when I felt unloved. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I became patient. I became a patient. I learned to treat a patient. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I mastered puns!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I realized the importance of family. The responsibilities of being an older brother to the unconditional devotion of an incredible younger sister. The unshakable, cherished bond between a mother and son, unwavering in tides of struggle or turmoil. The respect for a father. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I stopped lamenting what I didn't have. And stood in humble appreciation in knowing what I always did have. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In the past two years, I remembered that I am David Poon, and that is nothing to be ashamed about. I can forgo the self deprecation, and build on realistic self critique. I can do away with my endless need to be liked, and quite honestly, be confident without the need to justify myself to perceived judges. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My responsibilities to others are not indicative of my responsibilities to their faults. My values are my own. My choices are my own. My consequences, my passions, my life. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I want to be a doctor. I know that without a doubt now. </div><div><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">When I return to medical school, I promise, I will be more dedicated and focused to the health of the human condition than ever before. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Heh. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I may be so bold to say that I'll be as dedicated to medicine as a <i>premed.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Heh... get it? <b>Bold</b> to say it?? But in <i>ITALICS!?!?!?!?</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm freaking hilarious. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's hard disappearing. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's even harder reappearing. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Where does a magician go when he's gone? Is he really gone or is he just unseen? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">What do we know, and does it make sense? What don't we know, and what are we missing?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In the time we see nothing, are we so focused on what isn't, that we forget to imagine what is? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">There, in these moments of apprehension, uncertainly, while we speculate of desolation and tragedy, we also wonder of hope, aspirations, and most surprisingly, theories of what exactly is happening in the background. To reassure us. To comfort us. And to give us some peace that there may in fact be some reasoning to the absurd.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The audience knows what's going to happen in the end. Whoever disappeared is obviously going to come back. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">However, </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">and this is important;</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">any good magician will tell you that the most critical part of a disappearing act...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">is in the reveal. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">These are my stories. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I want to share them with you.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Take a seat, please; I'm not leaving anytime soon.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I just got back. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">- David</div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-13191341706325552592010-05-08T21:03:00.000-07:002010-05-09T21:47:04.203-07:00To BreatheTo Breathe<br /><br />A great man died today. <br /><br />As a man who spent years of his life in an iron lung, he is a man who showed me the value of life. <br /><br />A man who, quite literally, fought for every breath. <br /><br />And, quite wholeheartedly, made every breath count.<br /><br />Stricken with polio at a very young age, through sheer will and perseverance did this man choose to live, determined to not only survive, but to live another day, another moment, another heart beat...<br /><br />…another breath.<br /><br />Though we can only imagine the ordeal it was for him to solely exist, it was in his passion to do more than simply that, where he found love, started a family, and drove forward a phenomenal career. <br /><br />By the time modern medicine caught up with his desire to overcome the restraints of his health, this now quadraplegic man developed, and mastered, a method in which to breathe that was powered not by human technology, but sheer human will. <br /><br />"Frog breathing" he called it, as he consciously focused on swallowing air in gulps, his body torn by disease not allowing the automatization gifted to the healthy. Where he forwent machinations that previously kept him alive, he showed us all through dogged determination why the human heart is the irreplaceable engine of possibility. <br /><br />He used that term to describe me in a reference letter before. Dogged determination. At the time, I considered it a privilege to be acknowledged by him in such a manner - now, in light of realizing his own example set, I know it was an honour. <br /><br />Because you see, his career was both begot and subsequently devoted to finding opportunity where others see none. Not in earnest naivety, not in blind optimism, but pure faith in the ability of people to be better, and create what will be better. <br /><br />By the time I knew him, on top of being beloved husband and devoted father, he had lived lives as professor, PhD, politician, businessman, mentor, and the Executive Director of the Canadian Centre for Social Entrepreneurship. <br /><br />Because of this fact, technically, he is my faculty advisor, who shaped my future career plans irrevocably for the betterment of health care. <br /><br />In light of this impact, I feel, those who know him, will always be mindful of his most powerful life:<br /><br />Inspiration. <br /><br />He lived as an inspiration. <br /><br />In the years I have known him, in the lessons I have learned from him, in the challenges I faced with him, I would need only to look to him,<br /><br />see him gasp for air,<br /><br />spend every conscious moment savouring each breath,<br /><br />and watch him do it again,<br /><br />to know that every breath is a blessing, and every opportunity has potential. <br /><br />In his unwavering faith in people, he inspired me to live. Truly live. <br /><br />Right now, I hope to articulate what his inspiration was to me: <br /><br />The binds of the body can never be the bonds of the spirit. <br /><br />…<br /><br />A great man died today. <br /><br />A great life endured. <br /><br />- Daviddoyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-69864553833559344922009-05-14T21:17:00.000-07:002009-05-14T21:20:30.091-07:00David Poon and the Road to Medical School: Good LuckAccepted, Rejected, Waitlisted. <br /><br />Today is a memorable day for many of you. <br /><br />The following are lyrics to the song I would wake up to for my MCAT, my interviews, my memories and my future. <br /><br />Anyone remember it?<br /><br />...<br /><br />You got the touch<br />You got the power<br /><br />After all is said and done<br />You've never walked, you've never run,<br />You're a winner<br /><br />You got the moves, you know the streets<br />Break the rules, take the heat<br />You're nobody's fool<br /><br />You're at your best when when the goin' gets rough<br />You've been put to the test, but it's never enough<br /><br />You got the touch<br />You got the power<br /><br />When all hell's breakin' loose<br />You'll be riding the eye of the storm<br /><br />You got the heart<br />You got the motion<br /><br />You know that when things get too tough<br />You got the touch<br /><br />You never bend, you never break<br />You seem to know just what it takes<br />You're a fighter<br /><br />It's in the blood, it's in the will<br />It's in the mighty hands of steel<br />When you're standin' your ground<br /><br />And you never get hit when your back's to the wall<br />Gonna fight to the end and you're takin' it all<br /><br />You got the touch<br />You got the power<br /><br />When all hell's breakin' loose<br />You'll be riding the eye of the storm<br /><br />You got the heart<br />You got the motion<br /><br />You know that when things get too tough<br />You got the touch<br /><br />You're fightin' fire with fire<br />You know you got the touch<br /><br />You're at your best when when the road gets rough<br />You've been put to the test, but it's never enough<br /><br />You got the touch<br />You got the power<br /><br />You got the touch<br />You got the power<br /><br />- Stan Bush, "The Touch" from "The Transformers: The Movie" (1986)<br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkYuK3AKrxcdoyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-70805298363242826302009-03-30T21:34:00.000-07:002009-03-30T21:38:27.322-07:00The Song of Our Generation<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'>As my birthday is coming up, I start to reflect on being 22. <br/><br/>But since this isn't a snuff website, I won't talk about that. <br/><br/>Just kicking around some thoughts. What's the song of our generation? Say, anyone born 1985 and over. <br/><br/>I've heard "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana and "Baby One More Time" by Britney Spears but to me, it's Oasis's "Wonderwall." Maybe Green Day's "Time of Your Life."<br/><br/>Thoughts?<br/><br/>- David<br/><br/><div class='zemanta-pixie'><img src='http://img.zemanta.com/pixy.gif?x-id=3a160ae4-02fd-816b-b424-5b4d487ab16c' class='zemanta-pixie-img'/></div></div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467023304445850371.post-27105360670576231422009-02-15T23:03:00.000-08:002010-06-08T00:46:13.538-07:00David Poon and the Road to Medical School: This One is Important<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">This one is important.<br />
<br />
I am very upset. <br />
<br />
For those who follow my blog, you will know that I discuss many issues that I deal with at the hospital, and in medical school. To me, it’s a fun way of therapy to the hard life that I’ve been in for a few years. It’s shown to be pretty popular with my friends on Facebook, and actually has helped some of my classmates in facing their own issues with medicine. <br />
<br />
So recently, I decided to post it public on ‘doyoupoon.com’<br />
<br />
Now I realize not everyone shares my sense of humour. But many people do, and I like to think (as many people have confirmed) that my style of writing is very expressive, while also dealing with real important issues. <br />
<br />
I used to hang out a lot on an online forum for premeds. They helped me out a lot in the two years of undergrad before I got into med. I made a promise to God that I would help anyone get into med if I got in. <br />
<br />
I did. So I wanted to contribute back.<br />
<br />
I put my blog there. <br />
<br />
Inadvertently, started a very heated debate. <br />
<br />
Many people there hate me now. <br />
<br />
http://www.premed101.com/forums/showthread.php?t=28359<br />
<br />
So at doyoupoon.com, I’ve received a lot of hate after going public. Fine. It’s an online world. <br />
<br />
A commenter left me this link:<br />
<br />
http://www.cmaj.ca/cgi/content/full/179/3/292?maxtoshow=&HITS=10&hits=10&RESULTFORMAT=&fulltext=online+blogging&andorexactfulltext=and&searchid=1&FIRSTINDEX=0&sortspec=date&resourcetype=HWCIT<br />
<br />
“Many would argue that physicians have both a powerful position and leadership role to fill in society, and must work that much more diligently and nimbly to acquire and maintain the trust of the public, including acting in a professional manner. Telling personal stories about individual patients poses the risk of eroding the public's trust in the particular physician involved, as well as in the relevant department, hospital and university, and in physicians in general.”<br />
<br />
The authors argument begins with the idea that online journals, or ‘blogs’ (web logs) will erode the public’s trust in the particular physician involved. That may be true, and is not at all exclusive to those in medicine. The writings of a physician that are published are his or her own work, and therefore, the physician as an author is liable to the criticisms. To hide behind anonymity is cowardice, and anyone who dares speak behind a mask of the Internet has also abstained from responsibility of thought. <br />
<br />
I write with my real name, and take complete responsibility in what I feel is a truly professional action in regards to publication. Anyone with a problem I will gladly debate – of course, so rarely do I see a real name shown to me am I able to properly rebut the claims made. <br />
<br />
The author is accurate for these reasons; a patient, who with serious thought, has decided that the opinions of a physician are not congruent with their own, simply does not have to work with the physician. That is very reasonable. <br />
<br />
Now, to extrapolate the physician’s opinion to the “relevant department, hospital and university” could also be argued as rather reasonable. If I, as a blogger, were to use department equipment to publish my blog on a university server, there may be some responsibility given to the said parties. This is no different than liability transferred to say, a peanut company that sold salmonella infected goods, despite the problems spawning from the actions of one decision maker. So again, I agree with much of the above authors argument. <br />
<br />
Where I take great exception lies in the authors’ assumption that the blog of one doctor, regardless of content or viewpoint, will affect the reputation of “physicians in general.” <br />
<br />
I remember reading about a Korean student in the US, who ended up killing many students on campus. What I found very interesting was in the comments section of the article, one person wrote (to paraphrase) “I am very ashamed to be Korean today.”<br />
<br />
I’m sure many of us find the preceding statement absolutely preposterous. It is possible to take any single aspect of a person’s personality and telegraph it to the entire group. With that logic, should we be ashamed to be students because some students use illegal drugs? Should we be ashamed to be Canadian because some download illegal mp3s?<br />
<br />
The actions of one representing the entirety of the whole?<br />
<br />
Stereotypes are what truly are unprofessional. <br />
<br />
At this point, I can only speculate what can lead to the assumption that publishing the thoughts of one physician, before even considering that physicians stance, will “erode the public’s trust” of “physicians in general.” <br />
<br />
I consider, is it because we have a unified group representing us? Guaranteed you will not find a physician who will say our Canadian Medical Association (CMA) is any more important than the Nurses Union (Carna). Will you believe that the CMA is any more cohesive than any other professional union? Now take into consideration that there is no national Canadian physician union (which is why we don’t have scheduled lunch hours like other health care professionals, for example). Can one honestly say that Canadian physicians are so uniformly represented that the actions of one represents the whole?<br />
<br />
I consider, is it because we work in the public eye? There are many public services, from police, to fire control, environmental services and everything in between. Your local water treatment lab technician, will you pull down his public Myspace account because him detailing his enjoyment of the Simpsons makes the public feel Canadian water is somehow dirtier? <br />
<br />
I consider, is it because we deal with life changing issues? Our Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) are currently under investigation over taser use. A real, practical issue that does not delve into the realm of the personal or the subjective, but deals objectively with a problem that has concrete implications. As long as a physician is not using her diary as gauze, and likewise trying to make it a federal law otherwise, it is very difficult to show a direct correlation between a doctor expressing thoughts and affecting the health of her patients. <br />
<br />
I consider, what makes it so wrong for a physician to express personal feelings on a public forum. What difference is it from any other large union, any other public worker, or even any other high risk profession. <br />
<br />
I wonder… is it because it exposes us as human?<br />
<br />
In short, do we wish to propagate the hierarchical illusion that physicians are somehow greater than the general public. That we cannot discuss our feelings, be personable, be real, because we must maintain our image of superiority. That we are well above the trivial emotions and thoughts that the public is so burdened with. <br />
<br />
The author of the above article asserts that we must not ‘erode the public’s trust’ because we represent all physicians in general.<br />
<br />
I have yet to see it myself, so I cannot speak about its legitimacy. But I have heard that after large medical errors, many resulting in the death of a patient, after all legal issues are set aside to protect the hospital's image, the physicians involved get together during “rounds” (a meeting to discuss medical cases) and talk about the errors made that will never be revealed to the public. Again, this may be complete myth. <br />
<br />
But in this world today, where we expect so much transparency from our business elite, trail our politicians like paparazzi follow Hollywood stars, and even investigate the religious leaders amongst us for some of the darkest crimes imaginable…<br />
<br />
… why are the doctors so Holy? Why are we expected to be so perfect that any exposure of our humanity is staining the white coat we are to wear with inflated pride? Why does the public not get to access infection rates per hospital ward, why are they unable to see mortality data for medical interventions in their city, or at the very least, why aren’t they allowed to know that we in medicine are flawed.<br />
<br />
Should we be ashamed to be human because we are doctors? Must we be so arrogant to accept the pedestal that has been offered and continue to to allow others to believe we are above any other human being? Is it not far more humble to accept our limitations and allow others to see our faults?<br />
<br />
Is it not far more humble to act under the same standards as our colleagues in other professions?<br />
<br />
Of course my discussions above are simply speculation on my part, and solely my opinion. <br />
<br />
Which I have a right to. <br />
<br />
The authors of the linked paper write:<br />
<br />
“There are clear rules about posting or using patients' identifying information. However, limiting what physicians write about in terms of their experiences either in practice or in training, becomes at some point censorship. There is no law that requires one to enjoy one's profession and there is a law that is meant to protect freedom of speech. If patients have a problem with a physician complaining, some may argue that they could find another physician.”<br />
<br />
So that is not their problem with people like myself clearly. <br />
<br />
I have not forced anyone to read my blog. I consider my humour, my art, therapeutic. I have not violated any laws of privacy, and anyone who has been in a hospital elevator will tell you that medical information is freely spoken about – just never with patient identification.<br />
<br />
Which I do not do.<br />
<br />
If carefully read, my few readers will tell you that I mention no names (aside from obvious ones like myself, or an occasional pop culture reference) and I do not, under any circumstance break patient confidentiality. My discussions could very well be based in imagination, but still be relevant to my own psych to deal with the world that is medicine. <br />
<br />
The aforementioned paper’s major issue is:<br />
<br />
“Why would you, as a physician, put yourself in a precarious position by posting personal feelings, opinions, and attitudes on a public website? Material that may seem innocent enough at the time of posting may come back to haunt you at any point in your career, by any person you have or have not yet met — weeks, months, years or even decades down the road. And, you cannot know who may have — or develop — a grudge against you. The people you may be writing about are patients with illness. They may be emotionally vulnerable or even unstable. As such they may seek to contact or confront you outside the work place. Giving those people a permanent electronic record about yourself may allow them to pursue you in ways you will not like. Many online posters may consider Internet media as temporary; however, Internet content is still published, and should be considered permanent.”<br />
<br />
They are correct. People will hate me. <br />
<br />
Regardless of what I do, what I say, what position I take, what belief I choose, people will hate me. <br />
<br />
I admit it. I accept it. It would be simple arrogance for me to deny it. <br />
<br />
But this is the reality of any living human being. Of anyone who dares publish, of anyone who dares speak. <br />
<br />
Of anyone who dares have an opinion and is willing to share it. <br />
<br />
I have no problem with the paper that I’ve been analyzing. The authors have put out their thoughts, and have not come to me and asked me to change. <br />
<br />
Many others have however. And I learned many years ago to not get involved with an online forum debate (colloquially known as a “flame war”) because online anonymity allows for the most ludicrous statements to be thrown by otherwise (hopefully) rational individuals. <br />
<br />
But this comment got to me, when I was discussing not medicine, but my love of video games. On a blog that helps me cope with death, with a life I barely chose, and a world that confuses and scares me. On a website I keep public that many people enjoy, and many have told me helps them too deal with difficulties just by knowing someone else is with them at a personal, emotional, human level. <br />
<br />
A person who wants to be so removed from me as a human being that despite admitting to knowing who I am, would rather avoid a conversation with me.<br />
<br />
“At my medical school, (and yes you know me,) you would certainly be severely reprimanded. I guess i know how U of A rolls, and how they handle their unprofessional students...ie, not at all. I find you blogs offensive, highly unprofessional, and a disgrace to young medical students everywhere. I know it's your opinion, but when it comes to patients, medicine, and this career we will soon have, there are certain things that should be kept to yourself to maintain the integrity of our profession. You're ruining it.”<br />
<br />
If anyone reading is offended, there is an ‘x’ on top of your web browser window ready for your input. <br />
<br />
Of course, from what I can understand, some people would prefer that no one gave any input at all. <br />
<br />
- David<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie"><img class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/pixy.gif?x-id=6648bb6d-4f38-448b-9344-0f03ad925e71" /></div></div>doyoubelieve.cahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03210785252477501064noreply@blogger.com96