At the ol´swimming hole

Later this afternoon, I went to a local swimming hole.

It was by FAR the greatest swimming venue I´ve ever been to.

A Tarzan rope swung you directly into the middle of a pool which was fed by two little waterfalls. The edges of the pool were perpendicular rocky crags, and most people elected to float downstream to get out of the swimming hole. For the daring and adventurous, the walls of the pool gave an excellent opportunity to boulder. The sense of accomplishment I got from climbing out of the pool was enormous. The current tried to peel me off and send me downriver, but I would not be denied!!!

I was later joined by a friend from the hostel. In addition to being an avid climber, he is the proud owner of a waterproof digital camera! We swam behind the smaller of the waterfalls. The sheets of water completely wall off a tiny little enclave, which oddly enough had been worn away by the water in such a way that a comfortable little chair had been formed. Hopefully, he´ll send me pics so you can see what I mean.

In other news, I´m leaving tomorrow morning for an overnight white water rafting trip on the Rio Pacuare! Also, I got my first invitation to an interview today!

It seems like things happen all at once sometimes, eh? As my friend Robin would say, what the peace?

But then again... I HAVE spent most afternoons of the past two weeks reading novels of questionable value. Well, that´s not entirely true. Some of the books were good.
Either way.

Pura Vida!

Holy Batman!

I went on an expedition to the Venado Caves this morning. I´m new to spelunking, and it really is a world unimaginable.

They gave me a pair of galoshes and a hard hat with a headlight, and we set off into the heart of darkness.

It´s wet. Gosh it´s wet! The floor of the cave was some sort of subterranean river. Occasionally water would fall from the ceiling or just suh out from an opening in the wall. There was even a chamber with a huge coral in it! The guide told us that this was evidence that the caves used to be filled with sea water.

It was also very, very dark. While this may seem obvious, it´s hard to appreciate from descriptions or pictures just how dark a cave really is. While you´re there, your whole world consists of these bobbing spots of light, which reveal tiny portions of the whole, and move whenever you move your head. I´d lag behind sometimes, crouch in the water and flick off my light. The darkness is overwhelming and... palpable somehow. It fills your eyes, your ears, even your mouth feels full of dark. And while some of the chambers we entered were grand, with crevices soaring overhead that stretched beyond the strength of our headlights, and some of the tunnels we crawled through were small, requiring one drag one´s stomach along the wet cave floor... NONE of this matters in the dark. With my light off, your senses fill to the brim with blackness and with the constant sounds of flowing water. You could be in a cathedral. You could be in a closet. It makes no difference in the pitch black of the caves.

I saw some neat critters, like bats, crickets and ginormo-spiders. And there were really neat rock formations. Stalactites, and stalagmites, and one large stalactite/stalagmite combination they call ¨The Papaya¨. But the caves, as fascinating as they were, gave me a vague sense that I was seeing something forbidden. That I was in a world that was very much not my own. And that the feeble light of our torches was the sheerest safety net keeping me from being blanketed in darkness and helplessness. Such visual creatures humans be!

A Horse and His Boy

I set out this morning on horse back to see the La Fortuna Waterfall today.

I don´t know how cowboys ride a trotting horse. It´s not a big deal for cowgirls, I imagine, but I just don´t see how cowboys would manage. (It may have been better that Dickie went home for this portion of the trip, given his recent injury.)

Our guides took us to the edge of a canyon, where a waterfall (I forget the name) was visible in the distance. We then descended into the canyon to swim at the base of the La Fortuna Waterfall.

The waterfall itself was hidden around a bend in the river, so most people stayed to splash around in that area. I made my way upriver, forded the white water and was soon standing at the edge of a large pool of water. The waterfall poured itself into this pool with such force that it was quite impossible to swim anywhere near it. The water pushed you against the rocky shore.

The rocky walls surrounding the waterfall were covered in greenery, and as I made my way along its edge, there was a constant rain from above which pattered around the long tendrils which extended from the forest all the way down to just above the water´s surface. I managed to inch my way behind the waterfall, and found a rocky beach, which had at its edge, a massive slab of black rock. Water sluicing off an edge of the waterfall had worn the rock into the shape of a wedge. I lay on this rock, and wondered at it all. At the pounding roar of this sheet of water, not even a stone´s throw in front of me, at the green walls on either side of me that dripped with water and life, at the birds that flickered through and around the chaos, at the water which fell in pitters, patters and buckets on my head, at the blessed solitutude of being walled off from the world by a waterfall!

It´s the most miraculous thing I´ve ever done.

Canyoning!

I met some very nice people on my canyoning tour today. They really added to the whole experience.

We basically made our way along this river, and when the need arose (i.e. waterfall, or really steep incline), we would rappel down. This was truly excellent. Meandering your way down a creek, punctuated with sudden burst of adrenaline amidst lush greenery with friendly Brits, Ticos and Canucks really IS as fun as it sounds.

I was the first to rappel down the last, finale waterfall. After completing the 45m drop, I had a bit of time to explore before the rest of the group made it down. I followed a branch of the river up around a bend...

And came face to face with another waterfall! The water cascaded down onto the massive rocks beneath it. While it was roughly the same height as the waterfall we had rappelled, there was significantly more water coming down. But not so much water that I couldn´t find a place near the front of the waterfall where I could stand directly beneath the falling water.

The water was clear, clear and almost.. sweet. It was a wonderful thing.

A meal was provided with the tour, and while at the restaurant, I was able to see a blue jean frog, as well as leaf cutter ants! I´ve seen documentaries about the industriousness and organization of these ants, but it´s really something to see a whole train of little critters carrying pieces of leaves in person. I heart the ants.

Volcano!

After much deliberation, I decided to head to La Fortuna, to see the Arenal Volcano.

The bus drive this morning was lovely. Costa Rica is a very picturesque country. I´ve decided that I´m a bit envious of any country that can grow papayas. Lucky lucky Costa Ricans!

La Fortuna is a small little town near the centre of the country. It took me around seven hours to get here from the pacific coast, where our surf camp was. You can look up the main street of La Fortuna, and BAM, all you see is Volcano.

I found a nice little hostel to stay in. It´s costing me 3 dollars a day. Plus there´s free coffee. Isn´t that something? The rest of the hostelers are very impressed that I´ve come all the way from Canada with nothing but a day pack. I´m kinda proud of myself actually.

Anyways, after ditching my stuff at the hostel, I signed up for a tour of the volcano (from which I have just returned.) On the drive to the volcano, we stopped by the road to look at a sloth. They are hilarious animals.

After trekking through the forest to the base of the volcano, we were served drinks as we waited to see lava. It wasn´t what I expected.

From the fog-shrouded peak, burning pieces of rock would come hurtling down the mountain. It was like stars were tumbling down the mountain. Occasionally, you´d hear a rumble as the rocks collided with each other. Apparently, I am quite lucky to see as much lava as I did. Some of the hostelers had gone the day before and seen nothing!

On the way back to the city, we were taken to some luxurious hot springs. There were 15 pools, all heated by the volcano and all at different temperatures. It was luvly.

Pura Vida!

Graduation

We had our graduation trip today. Instead of our usual beach, we drove an hour to Playa Avellanas. The break was perfect, and an off-shore wind held the waves up just so.

So far, we´ve been pretty good about avoiding noon´s intense sun. We couldn´t avoid it today, and even with our sunscreen precautions, Richard came out with sunburned arms. As for myself, I now look like a Mexican. I also burned my lips.

There was also a graduation ceremony at night, to mark our last day of surfing. Tomorrow morning, Richard heads back to northern climes, while I plan to mosey around Costa Rica a bit. While I´m not one to compare our respective surfing abilities, I must admit that our friends here at surf camp had a much easier time getting pictures of Dickie standing on a board. In most of my pictures, I´m laying down. Resting, see?

We´ll miss surf camp.

Pura Vida!

Vacay our way!

Richard and I have decided that this vacation will be the barometer against which future vacations shall be judged.

I scope out the days waves from the balcony of our room. I've read more books this past week than I have all year. We are relaxing to the maxing.

We're at surf camp to learn to surf. But really, as I lay on my board watching the sun set on the afternoon's sets of waves through a patter of light rain, I realize there's nowhere else I'd rather be. It hardly matters if I actually learn to surf or not!

Speaking of rain, it rained for the first time yesterday. It was a crazy tropical storm, the likes of which we don't see in our northern climes. Mud EVERYWHERE.

We went to a local club last night. Some of the other kids wanted to go check out the locals and their mambo skills. As it turned out, us surf-campers were the only ones on the dance floor. We're crazy like that. More on the demographics of surf-campers later. It's an interesting crew.

Also, Richard and I love mashups. For real.

Futbol in Costa Rica

Yesterday was the first time since our arrival that waves were too big for us to surf. After Rich and I got pummelled for awhile by the crashing water, out instructor finally told us "It not worth it, man!"

So it was largely a non-surfing day for us. Luckily there's free foosball at the surf camp. Two ten year old Costa Rican girls came to join us. They pummelled us. Just not our day.

I joined a local soccer game a couple of days ago. On my way back from dinner at a local soda, I stopped to watch a game involving a group of middle-aged Costa Ricans. I was waved on in short order. Costa Rica is a friendly kind of place.

RODEO!!!

Surfing is super hard. Imagine snowboarding, only you have to run after and jump onto the peak of a moving ski hill. It's way hard. I'll write more about the ins and outs of surf camp another time. A quick summary though:

surfing: HARD!
weather: PERFECT!
living: AIR CONDITIONED!
food: AWESOME! and CHEAP!
beer: CHEAPER!
locals: FRIENDLY!
Richard: DIARRHEA!

What I'd really like to write about is our adventure to the RODEO. There's this travelling rodeo that goes around Costa Rica, and we were just lucky enough to be here in Tamarindo when it came to town.

On Saturday night, the entire surf camp (instructors and students) all piled into the surf camp bus and careened our way to the edge of town where the rodeo was. (Remind me to talk about the driving here. It's crazy.)

There were fairground type rides for the kids, and trinkets for sale, and everywhere you looked was a milling whirlwind of Costa Ricans. (We've never met an uncool Costa Rican. If you have kids, do them a favour and raise them in Costa Rica. Or get them a posse of Costa Rican friends. It will guarantee a lifetime of coolness.)

And the food! Friend rice, and friend chicken and friend pork! Skewers of meat, ice cream sundaes and bottled soda! (Although Dickie's current gastro-intestinal issues may have been due to his overenthusiastic consumption of pork rinds. We're not sure. Also, I overpaid for a soda, and the guy at the soda stand recounted my money and gave it back to me. Isn't that something? Also, I'm pretty positive I was the first Chinese person some of these Costa Rican kids have ever seen.)

The highlight though, was definitely the bullring. A large circular ring had been set up, and there was a grandstand of seats. You could press right up against the fence, to watch cowboys ride bulls and stallions. The crazy thing about this whole thing is that once the rider had been pitched by the bull/stallion, things were just getting started. See, before the release of a bull or stallion, ANYONE was free to get into the ring. After the rider had been pitched, they let the bull/stallion take his anger out by trying to run down the other people in the ring.

Take a look at this video (Taken by one of my fellow surfers). See the other people in the ring? They're spectators! Professionals they are NOT. Actually, a lot of them teach at the surf camp.



Anyways, after watching this a few times, Richard and I decided to seize the bull by the horns (harhar), and we took a turn in the ring. (The surf camp instructors were very enthusiastic. They were also pouring rum very liberally into each other and into us.)

I remember standing in the ring wondering if perhaps health insurance might not have been a good idea. And then suddenly, there was this Stallion barrelling down at us. We ran like the dickens. For real. Like. The. Dickens.

It made you feel alive, that's for sure.
In conclusion, the Rodeo is super-awesome.

In other news, Richard and I chipped in to sponser one of the cowboys. He ended up falling off a stallion and separating his shoulder. Ah well.

Anyways, that's all for now. I'm sitting shirtless by the beach waiting for high tide. Richard is in our room chugging pepto-bismal. I suppose you could say the stallion scared the @#$% out of him. Nono! That'd be mean. Rest assured, I'm taking good care of the boy. I owe him. His marketing savvy saved my bacon earlier this week. A story for another day.

Pura vida!

Sometimes. If we're really lucky.

Chest deep in the warm pacific waters. The waves crash against a sky burnt orange by the setting sun. A crab shuffles along the sandy sea floor. A pelican glides by, just just skimming the ocean foam.

I turn to Dickie, "Dreams do come true, eh?"

Pura vida.

To Sunny Skies and Waves

I'm flying to Costa Rica in six hours.

My residency applications are due by Dec 7th.

Everything seems to happen all at once.

Cowabunga.

Oddly hilarious

Is this an argument against obesity? Or for it?

Do Not Pet Me. I am Working.

So that's what they put around my neck at the hospital. Some of the patients can be grabby when they see fine specimens like myself.

Nono, I jest. That was a sign I saw today on a patient's guide dog.

It's kind of a tragic kind of sign, isn't it? Because of all dogs, you'd think guide dogs would deserve a good petting. They're obedient, self-less, loyal and intelligent. Plus, they're usually really beautiful dogs. You'd think that for all they do for people, they'd deserve some pampering.

And yet, people will go so far out of their way to spoil other dogs, who've never done anything for anyone.

There's quite a life lesson to be learned from guide dogs, but darned if I can figure out what it is.

Tonedeaf?

Go do this neat little music test.

What sort of scores are people getting?

Pay it forward. Pay to everybody!

I'm currently in the process of writing essays for my residency application.

The reason I've been traipsing across the country is to check out programs at other schools, and to let schools check me out as well.

In my travels, I've come across quite a few medical students. Many of whom will be applying to the programs I will be applying to. The "competition", if you will.

The number of candidates for certain specialties outnumbers the number of positions by quite a bit. That being said, I have yet to meet a single person who I think would do a bad job as a resident in their chosen specialty. How do programs choose among so many qualified applicants? And how do medical students react to the pressures of selection and competition?

I wish kindness played a bigger role in the answer to both questions. But I don't think it does.

Additional thoughts on excellence

Thought 1: From my Father.

My Dad always said the key to a satisfying career is to be the best at what you do. From my previous post concerning the impossibility of being the best, it would appear that this sort of teaching would be a perfect setup for lifelong disappointment.

Maybe not. The trick is to specialize, subspecialize and then super-subspecialize. This works because:
a) you can spend more time learning about fewer things
b) you shrink the competition
Let's say I were a plumber. It'd be hard to be the best plumber in the world. But say, I were a plumber who specialized in fixing swimming pools. Better yet, I specialize in fixing swimming pools that were manufactured in Thailand between 1976-1985. Suddenly, I might have a fighting chance at being the best at something!


Thought 2: From my Sister.

Justine thought that this spread of excellence was not a good thing.

She argued that thinking you're the best, even if you're not, is preferable to being the best you can be, and knowing that you're not the best. Happiness is relative. It doesn't matter how good you are. It's all in who you compare yourself to. It's better to be sucky, but be better relative to other people, than be good, but have everyone be awesome. She's saying that ignorance is bliss. I'm not saying I disagree.


Thought 3: From me.

I think our perceptions of beauty are an instance where exposure to excellence is not necessarily a good thing. We are exposed to inhumanly beautiful people all the time, and I worry that our expectations are being warped by these images, harming our chances of longterm happiness. Beauty is only skin deep, but we live in shallow times. Ah to return to simpler (more ignorant?) times.

You're really quite good.

The internet and the pervasiveness of modern media is allowing us unparalleled access to human excellence.

Imagine living in a simpler time. Imagine you were the fastest runner in your village of 50 people. Living in such a small world, you might go through your whole life thinking you were the fastest runner there was. Or the best singer, or the best dancer, or the best xylophone player, or the best hockey player. Or maybe you're just amazed with yourself because you can do a round-off when everyone is still doing cartwheels.

We don't have the option of believing we're the greatest at anything nowadays. If you keep your eyes open, and your ears to the ground, you WILL find someone better.

I don't think this is a bad thing. The thing about being all you can be, about fulfilling your potential, is that for the majority of us, this isn't possible without SEEING something better, without KNOWING what IS possible.

I'm not saying I could learn to do this, but before I saw it, I would never even imagine such movements to be possible. And while I might not reach that level of craziness, if I started training today, and practiced really hard, with the image of his flight in my mind, I could achieve something I wouldn't have even thought of previously. The person who was so satisfied with his round off would aspire to greater.

I think the point is that you must surround yourself with excellence to be all you can be. But more than that, I think there exists a population on this planet who MAKE the impossible possible, and raise the collective excellence of our species by showing people that what was previously unimaginable, can be done.

It's a shame that with such unprecedented access to excellence, we ALL know about the limited talents of people like this and this, and hardly anyone has heard of kids like these!

Slowing down

I haven't had to cut my hair nearly as frequently in the past few months.

I wonder if this is a sign of malnourishment.

You are what you eat!

I was telling my friend Robin about my new hardline tactics for eliminating obesity in our country.

It'd go a long way to making people healthier. If nothing else, surgery is easier to perform on skinny people.

Anyways, I think it's become a bit of a taboo topic, since we've come to accept as a society that people can't help but be the size that they are. That in fact, that is part of who they are.

I don't think this is true. I think it has a lot to do with your intake. If nothing else, the laws of physics make anything else impossible. I think all physicians should be asking patients about their weight. We ask about smoking, don't we?

Anyways, Robin brought up the point that I may be ignoring the socioeconomic aspect of things. Could people be eating junk food because that is all they could afford?

At first, I scoffed at this. But then I realized that since embarking on my nomadic lifestyle (I'm in Edmonton now. It's snowy! It reminds me of the Ottawa of my childhood.), my junk food consumption has skyrocketted.

I think this is because there are a lot of hidden costs to eating healthy. Let's say I want junk food. It's very simple. I give my money. I get my food. I eat it.
Healthy food is more complicated. You have to cook and clean and refrigerate a lot of the foods we consider "healthy". In order to have a healthy meal, you have to have a location to store the food, a location to clean the food and a location to prepare the food. As well as the time to do all this.

What we need is more healthy fast food. Like Pho!

Soap will wash you clean

Dove has started a self-esteem campaign. This is a version of their commercial that ran in Hong Kong.

Remembrance day

I sewed up the leg of a veteran this morning. He flew bombers in WWII.

I used half a dozen sutures to close two gashes alongside his knee. Maybe a similar procedure had been done for him half a century ago. It may have been a medical student just like myself doing it too. Instead of the peace and quiet of the OR, it would have been done in the dirt and cacaphony of the battlefield.

We take a lot for granted.

I opened an abdomen for the first time yesterday. From skin to bowels. It was spectacular.

If you don't move with purpose, it's better not to move at all.

Artificial Sweetening

This is cool and not cool, all at the same time.

Simmer down!

As I was writing in a patient's chart this morning, I heard someone huff angrily behind me.

I turned around, to be confronted by the angry looking desk clerk.

"What's your problem?," she asked me, "you bumped me over by the phone, and here, you reach for the chart and bump me again, and you don't even say boo. I'm starting to get a little pissed off here." (Try and picture this in ebonics.)

It's not every day I get confronted like this. Luckily for me, I have extensive experience dealing with angry people from my time working at the Copy Centre at Queen's. (Ok, I lie. There weren't any angry people at the Copy Centre. My service was way to spectacular for that. My experience with angry people is likely from my success in making people angry.)

Hmm.. what to do next? Cry? Confront? Retreat?

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was bumping you. I'll be more careful in the future." I then turned my back on her and continued writing. (What's cooler than bein' cool? Ice cold!)

But as I continued with my work, I couldn't help but think about what happened.

First of all, I had to convince myself that I wasn't bothered by this event. Check.

Second of all, I had to convince myself that I handled it alright. Check.

Thid of all, it occurred to me that maybe subconsciously, I had a crush on her and I was subliminally bumping into her in the vain hopes of getting noticed. I decided that this was unlikely. (I try not to fall for women who could take me in an arm wrestle. note to self: get gym membership. note to self: the subliminal bump method appears to be effective.)

My fourth thought was that maybe this lady had a reason to be irate. I could have been more polite when reaching for things etc...
I think the important realization was that not everyone responds to the Simon in the same way. And I suppose I could have been oblivious to that.

My fifth and final thought was that perhaps SHE had a crush on me, and was angry that I'd be leaving Winnipeg in just a few days.
Which is too bad for her, since I don't date girls who could take me in an arm wrestle. (note to self: cancel gym membership)

Thoughts while waiting in a loooooong line at KFC:

How should we address our nation's obesity problem?

Moments so dear.

It's common to attach significance to certain dates. It is obvious why we celebrate birthdays, anniversaries and new years. In addition to commemorating a memorable or significant event, I notice that we use these dates as "reset" buttons of sorts.

We make resolutions and promises. This is the year I'll get in shape! This is the year I'll learn German!

Largely, I think this is because the occurence of these 'significant' dates makes us aware of the passing of time. And it makes us pause a moment, to reflect on life. I know that in the past, when my birthday has rolled around, I get a bit reflective.

I'm not convinced that birthdays deserve the extra attention.
You may think that I'm saying that birthdays aren't special.
I'm not saying that at all.
I'm saying that the REST of our days, the non-birthdays, aren't being given ENOUGH attention.

Are any of us suitably grateful for the myriad of possibilities that await us every morning of every day?

So I suppose I do have a resolution to make this birthday. I resolve to give each day of my life the respect it deserves. The respect it demands.

I'll take you to the candy shop

The hospital has become a hotspot of sugary delight.

Most reception desks, nursing stations and lounges have baskets of candy somewhere waiting to be found.

I go to the OR recovery room for chocolate bars. The CT department has little bags of chips. The ward had a good selection of lollipops. The xray department has a big box of those eyeball chewing gums. Those eyeball gums lose all taste within 20 chews. But the first 5 or 6 chews are totally candylicious. I've taken to grabbing 3 or 4, then I can spit one out as soon as it loses it's taste and pop in a fresh one. Decandent, I know.

The trick is not to overly stress any given candy source. You don't want to upset the delicate balance of the candy ecology. With care and conscientious management, I'll have delightful treats for weeks to come.

Did you realize...

that the days of our lives can be measured by the thousands?

Let's say you live to be 85.

85 x 365 = 31 025. Tens of thousands of days. That's it.

You know those crazy teenage years? Those years of turmoil, and change, and pimples and rebellion?

19 - 12 = 7
7 x 365 = 2555.

Would you believe me if I told you that you were a teenager less than three thousand days?

So if there's stuff you don't like, or things you'd rather be doing, or things you'd like to change, I say DO it. There are only so many days. And so much living to cram into them!

October 2006- Toronto and Vancouver

They always say pictures are worth a thousand words. I've debated for awhile about posting pictures online. If you have any thoughts, please share! If you see yourself in these pictures (and you'd rather not), let me know! If you don't see yourself in these pictures (and you rather would), let me know!

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The hospital that trained a thousand Chan's

I don't think I have fully appreciated the history my family has in Winnipeg. As I rode the escalator down to the ground floor of the airport, I got a strong sense of deja vu. I've been on the same elevator before. But in the past, there had always been crowds of family waiting to greet me.

My Dad's family made Winnipeg their first home when immigrating from Hong Kong. Virtually all my uncles did degrees at the University of Manitoba. My parents used to ditch us in Winnipeg to live with Grandma and Grandpa while they went travelling. I also remember Uncle Max taking us out for slushies and getting mad at me for not eating all the zucchini Grandma tried to feed us. (Which, for the record, was a ridiculous amount of zucchini. I think standards have changed. I got in trouble for politely asking for less zucchini after two weeks STRAIGHT of the following menu:

appetizer: zuchinni soup
main course: zuchinni stir fry and zuchinni stew with rice
[Keep in mind that we usually ate zuchinni soup noodles for lunch. My grandma used to grow the most obscenely large zuchinnis in the backyard.]

Nowadays, kids can go ahead and eat or not eat anything they want. I swear. Where's the discipline gone?!)

My family has left Winnipeg nowadays. Gone to other, warmer climes.

But as I'm walking around the hospital today, I can't help but think that I'm strolling the same halls that my Dad and my uncles walked as medical students back in the day. That I'm acting as a human retractor in the exact same ORs. It feels like an odd kind of homecoming.

From the mouth of another...

The same words coming from two different people can have a very different impact. This is pretty obvious I think.

"Bend over." changes drastically if the speaker is a doctor, a police officer, a friend (a reeeeeeeaally good friend maybe?) etc...

It's natural and reasonable for us to interpret the meaning of words using things like context, the expertise of the speaker, our relationship with the speaker etc..

But I was thinking that this cuts us off from a lot of potentially good advice.

I'll give two real life examples:

1. I'm on the airplane. The fellow sitting next to me has acted in a way that makes me think that he may not be the sharpest tool in the shed (We can go into prejudice and whatnot some other time. We all love to judge. It's human!). Anyways, I'm setting the clock on my cellphone as our plane descends. He leans over to tell me (in none too friendly a voice), that use of electronics would interfere with the plane.

My first reaction is to tell him to stuff it. I'm a pretty affable fellow however, so I do a bit of small talk while I fiddling with my cellphone.

Afterwards, it got me thinking a bit though. What exactly DO cellphones do to planes/hospital equipment etc? I really have no idea. I dismissed his advice, but it may have been good advice. Who knows?

2. A friend told me today that I need to "live a little" and "take more risks". This advice raised my hackles a bit. First of all, I feel like I "live a LOT" never mind a little! Second of all, the advice seemed out of place coming from that particular person. I suppose it's fair to mention that our history makes advice giving a sensitive area.

anyways.

But back to the matter at hand, it's gotten me thinking a bit. Could I be living more? And could I be taking.. not MORE risks, but more WORTHWHILE risks? Intriguing thoughts that raise intriguing possibilities! Maybe it's about which part of your life you take risks in...

And all I had to do is step back. And try to consider more the advice itself, and less the person giving it.

This woulda saved me a lot of arguments with my parents growing up.

Speaking of which:

Happy Birthday Dad!!! You get cooler every year. For realz.

Oh dear.

I left Vancouver today.

The peaks of the Rockies are higher than the clouds. Isn't that something?

I give Vancity two ginormous thumbs up. up up up! I think the quality of life there is outstanding. Great weather, great people, great food.

When I left Vancouver, I was wearing sandals. As I left the airport in Winnipeg, I realized that I could see my breath.

Oh dear.

I found the house I'm staying in without too much trouble. It seemed to be in a rougher area of town. I asked the landlady about this. She told me I shouldn't walk around alone at night.

Oh dear.

I haven't had dinner yet. It's dark outside, and food is several lonely blocks away.

Oh dear.

Apprehensive

I went to Sushi buffet with my housemates for dinner today. The fish does somehow seem better than in Ontario. Especially the tuna, which was melt in your mouth luvly.

Anyways, it was a combined Korean grill/sushi place, and among the things they gave us to grill were these nice looking mussels. I joyfully threw a mussel onto the grill. After what seemed like a long time, I threw the mussel into my mouth. It was cold. Apparently, our grill wasn't working all that well.

I was reminded of the time I got sick from a raw oyster in Hong Kong. As I remember, I woke up midway through the night in an almost delirious state of nausea.

I'll be heading to bed soon. Here's hoping for the best.

Sleep camel

I wish I could store sleep. That would be awesome.

I'm finishing up my time here in Vancouver. I'll be going eastwards for my next elective. This is not so good, because the time change won't be working in my favour. Getting out of bed in the morning will be very very difficult.

I feel that there used to be a time in my life where I'd gut things out, when I'd stay up as late as it took, when I'd pull an all-nighter if need be.

Nowadays, I find myself thinking "Well, if i'm this tired, I won't be productive anyways...", and then I retire gratefully to bed. The mind is NOT willing, and the flesh is also weak!

Planning for possibilities

All we're really doing is planning for what might happen next. Seeing as how time appears to flow linearly (at least to our very human perceptions), not any of us can say with any certainty that the sun WILL rise tomorrow. Or similarly, on a more mundane level, can I say with 100% certainty that my alarm clock WILL go off, or that my sandwhich meat WON'T go bad etc... etc...

So really, all we're doing at any instant is planning for the next instant. And our plans depend on what we believe is most likely to occur. I'm planning to go to sleep soon. But that is because I have judged that events that would preclude this (ie, Sudden appearance of alien invaders, or Swedish Ski team etc..) are exceedingly unlikely to occur.

This is all somewhat tangential. My real point is that among all our infinite mundane plans, there sometimes appears a ... really excellent plan. Or rather, a plan that would make a most wondrous possibility a very firm reality. And those brief moments, when the realization that a previously unthought of possibility could become a most wondrous reality... well, those really are some of the most precious moments of all.

Sabbaticals

There was this ENT doctor I bumped into last year. He was a graduate from McMaster, and he had also done this enrichment year thing. He said it was one of the best decisions he made.

Anyways, I dropped in on him a couple of days ago. He told me that a couple of years ago, he took a year off, and he and his family lived in Spain, where he learned to speak Spanish and play the guitar.

Like he said, what does it matter whether you retire at 62 or 63?

It makes me happy to think that this could actually the first of many enrichment years that I'll be taking. I get a bit claustrophobic when I think about the number of years of training I still have yet to do. But there is no need to feel like that. Your life is really your own to control, and your options really are limited only by your imagination.

Say I wanted to be a ski bum for awhile. I remember one of my uni friends doing this in the middle of our undergrad. At the time, it just seemed inconceivable to me. But when I think about it, it would be pretty cool. And if it'd make you happy, you should do it. Life passes so quickly! You may regret not doing it someday. Ah, to be young again.

Congratulations big boy!

This past Thanksgiving weekend, the very first of my high school chums got engaged. I've known Vik since grade 3 I think. And look at him now.

I remember I used to tease him quite a bit. "Vik the human body part", I used to call him. It doesn't really make tons of sense. I like to think that I'm nicer than I used to be. It's interesting to think about our time growing up, because I think of him in continuity. That is to say, I don't perceive the Vik I know now to really be that different from the Vik I knew in junior high. It's all just Vik to me. Although, this is clearly not the case, since he's grown into a person that I would hardly think to poke fun at. Although I have gotten nicer...

And now look. My narcissm knows no bounds. A post that began with the intention of congratulation one of my oldest friends as he takes his last steps away from boyhood has once again been subnverted to air my views and grievances. Tis the nature of blogs maybe? Easily corrected I think...

Congratulations Vik and Karen! Couldn't have happened to luvlier people. Let's get this party started!

I'd like to be this cool someday.

Chromeo-needy girl!

I was thinking...

...that we should all hang out with people who let us be ourselves.

So that social masks are unnecessary.

I'm not saying this would be a guaranteed good idea. But it's worth trying, I think.

When you ask someone to marry you...

aren't you saying that you'd rather talk to them over anybody else?



I had dinner at Joda and Jenn's yesterday. I'm mistaken for Joda sometimes, but I can't fault people for mixing up their tall, skinny, long necked chinese guys. Anyways, I know Joda from med school, and he and Jenn are newlyweds. Steph and her intimidating friend Lynn were also in attendance, as they are in town doing electives. I think Jenn used to live with Lynn or something. It just goes to show that everyone really does know everyone.

It occurred to me that marrying someone means you're agreeing to spend the vast majority of your leisure time with this person for the rest of your life.

I'm starting to think that maybe looks DON'T actually matter that much, and we should all just look for someone who's conversation and thoughts we can't live without.

I heart books

I think the amount of information we commonly process nowadays is astronomical. I really don't think humans were evolved to handle the data we do.

My sisters live right next to a bookstore. I'm finding that I rarely visit it though. When I take breaks from my research or from studying, I want to switch my brain off, and a bookstore is just not a good place for this.

I visited the medical bookstore this morning, and bought myself a neat little set of flashcards. Curiously enough, my first urge when I got to a computer was to try and search for online reviews. I obviously think highly enough of this product that I'd spend money on it. Why would I want to have some random person's opinion of it? It seems silly to need to search for validation.

I'll leave you all with a medical mnemonic (That's what's on the flashcards).

Causes of chronic renal failure:

Glomerulonephritis
Lupus
Analgesics
Diabetes mellitus

Systemic vascular disease
Hypertension
Obstruction
Polycystic kidney disease

More feeling, less precision!

I went for a chat with the medical school's career counsellor today.

The bottom line is that I'm not being explicit enough about my accomplishments. Or rather, that I'm not talking enough about the results of my activities, and my successes. And this is after our initial talk, where she told me to use more "action verbs". It appears my Asian instincts towards humbleness will need more blanching out.

She also said that I talked better than I write.

Imagine that! I always thought I was much more articulate in print.

I have yet to start writing any of my personal statements. I told her that writing for me is quite a slow meticulous process. She suggested I just throw stuff on paper. Get the ideas, the concepts, the gist of it in writing. And then, worry afterwards about the precise wording of it.

I think this is an idea worth trying. Time for a more spontaneous, less ariculated Simonscapes! For a little while, at least.

My sister is brilliant: part 1

My sister came back from a band try out earlier this month all distressed because she didn't play up to par.

She said that no matter how much she tried, she couldn't get hardly any sound from her clarinet.

Now, I was sympathetic (Which is really quite charitable of me, since she has a penchant for practicing late at night.), since I am quite familiar with the jitters that accompany live performance. (I've played at numerous recitals, and every one has been a nervous, ulcer-inducing affair.)

Being a plucky girl, my sister had asked to try out the next day instead, and was settling in for an evening of tooting (Which she has a penchant for doing, with or without her clarinet.).

Lo and behold she found herself unable to make a single noise, even in the comfort of her own home!

It was then that she sought to investigate further, and, after peering into the barrel of her instrument, fished out a large, wadded up piece of tissue.

I promise I didn't do it. For real.

Reunited! again! and again!

I met an old friend from Ottawa for breakfast this morning. Emily also ended up going to Queen's and I'll always be grateful for all the times she fed me. The other people at the table were also largely from Ottawa, and in not unexpected fashion, we all ended up being linked by much less than 6 degrees of separation.

Alison was possibly the very first person I met at Queen's. She was in my frosh group. I went to lunch with her and her friends to celebrate her successful completion of her masters. We went to a sushi buffet that also had all you can drink bubble tea. This is much closer to my vision of paradise than I would like to admit.

In the evening, I went to a dinner party hosted by Liz, who highland danced with me at Queen's. She's in the foreground in the picture. Gilly is the blur in the middle and Bonney is the blur on the left. They highland danced with me as well. A fourth highland dancer, Jill managed to duck out of the frame. The last time I saw some of these people, they were in kilts! We played board games until the wee wee hours of the night.



The thing about Toronto is that it's a bit of a hub. People tend to find themselves here, for jobs, for school, to visit. This leads to days like today, where I can catch up with long lost friends three times in one day!

Anyways, I have two thoughts.

I am amazed at the links between people. At how a friend of a friend of a friend will know you, or your sister, or whatever. We're all caught up in this social web. Our roots link us in such unexpected ways! We should work harder to cultivate and strengthen these ties.

The more things change the more things stay the same. Seriously. Everyone was just as I remembered. And from what I gather, I am pretty much unchanged as well. Which is odd in a way, because I feel I MUST have changed or matured at least a little. Maybe we all revert a little to who we once were when we're around old friends? Not that this means one can't change. Just that it's difficult. And that it requires conscious effort. And that it is uncomfortable. And that maybe sometimes, it's worthwhile. for serious.

Encore!

My research has been funded again!

I'm happy about this. I would have done the work even without the financial incentive.

I think a key to happiness (or maybe it's just my happiness?) is novelty. Winning a lottery is terrifically exciting, but would it be so grand if you won it on a weekly basis? Not that I'm saying that my being granted research funding has become a non-event. Not that at all.

Then again, simple, repetitive things can keep me happy for hours.

I suppose I'm just easily entertained.

Coatings

You know how people aren't what you think they are? Or rather, how first impressions can be deceiving? Or how you feel people are much different once you get to know them better?

I think that a large part of this may be our own faulty perceptions. I don't know how many people actually change as you get to know them better, or purposefully hide things about themselves if you don't know them very well. I think we categorize and assume things about people we don't know very well, and then they open our eyes and climb out of the boxes we put them in as we learn more about them.



I've get caught up in the nature vs nurture debate sometimes. My Aunt came to visit last Christmas, and both she and my mother showed up for dim sum in identical poofy white jackets, short bob haircuts and metal-framed glasses. Since they share both nature AND nurture, this picture really doesn't answer any questions. It's just kinda neat. (That's Cousin Jason in the foreground.)

Lunch at Greg's

Muriel and I went over to Greg's new place this past weekend for lunch. He can be seen stirring his butter chicken. The silver pot has cinnammon rice in it. I was asked to cook some rice, and in my attempts to be cuisinary, I emptied half a tin of cinnamon into the rice. I then proceeded to burn the bottom of Greg's pot, and melt the end of his spatula. I was summarily banished from the kitchen, and the afternoon would have been decidedly grim if not for the fact that my rice concoction tasted somewhat decent. In fact, Greg gave it "props". Even so, I doubt I'll be called to duty in his kitchen any time soon.



I don't know what Muriel is doing. Perhpas preparing the samosas? We had ice cream at this fun Dutch place afterwards.

I was reminded of the good times of high school by some of the pictures Greg had put up around his apartment. I really can't complain about my high school peeps. They were quite a group of peers to grow up with.

Another elective student has come on service with us. I think I've just started to really understand that I may not get what I want for residency. There are lots of us applicants, and so far, everyone I've met has been excellent. So it goes.

Simon Guides: How to Rollerblade to Work

I've been braving Toronto's big city traffic on my rollerblades for the past 2 weeks. Urban rollerblading is a tricky business. For one thing, you really can't learn to rollerblade in an urban setting. It's just too dangerous. The roads are rarely smooth, and there are obstacles and vehicles to dodge. I think ideally, you'd learn to rollerblade in a quiet place, and then gradually work your way up to big city blading. Sort of like how I learned on the quiet little streets of Nepean, then got used to traffic in the quiet downtown of Kingston, then got good at traffic in the busier downtown of Hamilton, and am now perfecting the arts of city blading in metropolitan Toronto.

Be that as it may, I do have tips for the aspiring:

1. Wear a helmet!
2. Use both the street and sidewalk! Go where it's smoother/less busy.
3. When going downhill or over rough patches, put one skate roughly 15 cm ahead of the other one.
4. Try to ensure that your skates are perpendicular to cracks and ridges.
4. If you can't stop, TURN!
5. Make eye contact with pedestrians and drivers to signal your intentions
6. Err on the side of safety. You may technically have the right of way, but this will be little solace when you're plastered by a car.

Teaching!

There was a 2nd year student with our team today. I taught her how to suture. It's nice to have more junior students around because it reminds of you of what you do know, whereas I'm typically reminded of what I don't know. I hope the medical student becomes some sort of bigwig surgeon. I'd totally take credit for it.

In another one of the cases, I was retracting a patient's lower eyelid with a tiny hook. When I was removing the hook, it accidentally slipped underneath the patient's upper eyelid!!! The surgeon almost had a coronary, and I almost wet my pants. I don't think I've ever had a scare like that in the OR before. Fortunately, the patient's eye wasn't damaged. I don't want to think about the guilt I'd have to carry around.

It's unfortunate that we have to suffer either misfortune or close scrapes to be reminded of the value of what's at stake.

The Crocodile Hunter Sleeps with the fishes

I was discussing the recent death of Steve Irwin this morning with my sisters.

Justine (or was it Sarah?) remarked on how unusual it was that a relatively harmless animal such as a stingray could lead to the demise of someone who had routinely handled "deadly" critters like 'gators and snakes.

But it got us to thinking a bit. Could the deadly animals the man known as the Crocodile Hunter routinely associated with really have killed the man?

Take your standard crocodile. Say one managed to clamp its jaws onto Mr. Irwin. I'm guessing that the fellows off-camera with the tranquilizer guns would act quickly to ensure that this event would progress no further, leaving our hero with brave new scars to show and brave new stories to tell.

Take your standard poisonous snake. If Steve were to find himself on the wrong end of a venomous fang, I imagine the fellows off-camera would act quickly to admister the antidotes to ensure that our hero could continue his swashbuckling ways.

In fact, when I think about it, the ONLY way I could see a member of the animal kingdom causing mortal harm to our Aussie friend is if one of them could figure out a way to pierce his heart with a sharp poisonous spike to cause a near-instantaneous death.

Crickey.

The Young and the Restless

I was in a lounge celebrating my friend Steph's birthday this past weekend. It also happened that quite a few of my friends from medical school showed up as well. As it turns out, people know people who know people, and many of my crowd from McMaster medical school were already well acquainted with Steph's UT medical school crowd.

I thought this was neat because I had debated between med schools for awhile, so long ago, and I realized that for this night at least, I would have been in the exact same place with the exact same people even if I had made a very different choice.

I'll be doing an elective at UT this month, so I reckon this is my chance to see a bit of what might have been. Living in the big city is alright so far. The bigger the city, the smaller your space.

I shall dearly miss living above my cousin's Chinese take-out back in Hamilton. I'll miss the plethora of currants that grew outside for me to pick at my leisure. I'll miss the wonderful Chinese sitcoms we watched over dinner. I'll miss dinner! I'll miss chatting with my neices while doing dishes. I'll even miss their overzealous guard dog who finally learned to stop barking at me. I'm very lucky to have the family I do!

Teetering

One of my projects entails trying to contact people around the world. The problem with this is that it means I've been having ot wake up very, very early to try and catch them on the phone. Whenever I'm doing something, I'm always thinking: What time is it in Vienna, or Australia etc..

It's exhausting trying to worry about/in multiple time zones. I like to think that I only worry about things when I'm in some capacity to effect change. So usually, I only worry about contacting people etc. during business hours. Now, I'm in a constant state of anxiety because it's not business hours here, it is somewhere else.

I need this insanity to end!

Simon Guides: How to Bug Your Sisters like Simon

In composing this post, I realized with some consternation that of all my earthly talents, this is far and away the one in which I can claim the most expertise. My methods are too numeerous to list, and my knowledge of these dark arts so extensive, that if i were to reveal the deepest and most dangerous of my teachings, anarchy would ensue and your sister would shoot you.

While others would have become depressed at the realization that after seven (and counting!) years of post-secondary educationt, their greatest talent is still something picked up at the age of five, I take a more pragmatic view. You have to play the cards that are dealt, and if this is what I'm good at, then so be it.

Regardless, here is one of my favourites techniques. It's called talking to her subconscious mind:


How to Bug Your Sisters like Simon
1. Address your sister's subconscious mind instead of her.
2. Carry on a conversation with her subconscious mind.
3. Ignore anything your sister says.
3. Continue/repeat ad infinitum.

example:
Simon: Hello Sarah's subconscious mind!
Sarah: Go away.
Simon: Sarah's subconscious mind, why is Sarah so stupid?
Sarah: I have homework! Go away!
Simon: Sarah's subconscious mind, would you mind if I ate this snack Sarah so painstakingly prepared?
Sarah: Hands off my food!
Simon: You wouldn't? Why thank you, Sarah's subconscious mind.
Sarah: sob
Simon: hmmmm. Delicious! Please thank Sarah for me, Sarah's subconscious mind!

etc, etc, etc.

Of course I don't do this anymore. I'm too mature for that.

Grandma!

I was on a morning stroll with my grandmother this past weekend. We stopped by the park to look for her friends. I've been hearing accounts of my grandma's ginormous posse of elderly ladies for awhile now, and was somewhat curious to see what large groups of Chinese octogenarians do when they gather in the playgrounds of suburbia.



Unfortunately, the overcast skies proved to be deterrent enough, and we arrived to find the park abondoned. Nonplussed, we continued our walk and soon enough encountered one of my grandma's friends. Together, the three of us stopped by to pick up another of her friends. We walked on for a little while, with three of them engaged in animated conversation and me walking slightly behind them, until the onset of rain drove us to part ways and head home.

I've noticed my Grandmother makes friends wherever she goes. I don't quite know how she does it, especially seeing how most times the people she befriends don't speak her language. She smiles and waves at people, but I think there must be more to it than that. Or maybe not. 'Cause really, how many of us smile and wave at our neighbours?

Census Results!

Remember the infamous Simonscapes Census?

Well, I've finally figured out a way to disseminate the results. I've put it on Google spreadsheets. I can't figure out a way to post it though. It appears that I have to email an invite to you to see it. So for those who are interested, fire me an email!

So far, 20 people have filled out the survey. I think I'll keep the survey open indefinitely, seeing as how I've opened an account with the surveying service for my research anyways.

I will comment on one result. Regarding true love:
4 of you thought it was a myth
10 of you thought it was misunderstood
9 of you thought it was out there for you to find
6 of you thought it was out there looking for you

As it happens, the six people who thought that true love was looking for them all also thought that true love was there for them to find.
That leaves three of you out there who think that you can find love, but it won't find you.

I'm not sure how to interpret that.

On Truth

I believe in truth.

I don't know how I feel about right. I don't know how I feel about wrong. Context appears to hold ultimate sway over both of these.

But I believe in truth. And I believe in reason.

And I know the frustration I feel when people willingly throw reason to the wind, and with it, any hope or prayer for truth.

The Littlest Chan comes to Town

At long last, my youngest sister will be joining her siblings in the GTA. As it happens, I know quite a few people who will be starting medical school with her. I was a counsellor at a summer camp a few years back, and some of the kids who went to the camp will be in my sister's class.

This fills me with the usual sense of "my goodness, where has the time gone" etc, etc...

But more than usual, it also makes me very aware that I'm quite a bit older than I used to be.

Simon Guides: How to eat a buffet like Simon

I've decided to start a new series of posts (tentatively titled the Simon Guides), dedicated to teaching all you aspiring Simon's out there how to be just like me. These articles will be broad in scope, covering everything from the fundamentals of Simonistic behaviour to the finer points of inner Simonism.

A caveat! I cannot guarantee the effectiveness or safety of any of these Simon Guides. Their only objective is to teach you how to walk like a Simon, talk like a Simon and think like a Simon. Your health and sanity are in your own hands.

The first of these Simon Guides covers a topic near and dear to my heart. Without further ado:

How to eat a buffet like Simon
1. Lay a base. A small bowl of soup with a small bread product is best.
2. Take a quick walk around. Find the seafood. Identify other expensive meat products.
3. Eat seafood. Eat expensive meat products. Intersperse with small salads and small cups of soup.
4. Repeat until full.
5. When full, eat mellons.
6. If able, return to main course.
7. Ice cream finale.

The Subtle Arts of Parenting

Now, I could go on forever on this topic. My thoughts have thoughts on this topic. But today, I thought we should discuss: How to give Advice.

I see many parents out there giving all sorts of advice to their children. This is because they are trying to make sure that their kids benefit from their experience. They are trying to make sure that their kids don't make mistakes. They are trying to do what's best for their children.

Balderdash!!!

First of all, realize that as a parent, you give advice to cover your behind. You give advice so that later down the road, your delinquent offspring can't come back and complain that you never warned them, that you never cared, blah blah blah. Besides, the world has changed so very much that any advice you give your children is likely horribly dated and naively rooted in traditions that are no longer respected.

So the issue is: How can you give advice to your children that:
1. Isn't blatantly wrong.
2. Will adequately fulfill your parental duties.

The answer of course, is to use universal truths. What do I mean by this? Luckily for you all, my parents parented the heck out of me, and I will now provide some real life examples of "Universal Truth Parenting" in action:

Simon: I think I will take this risky job, instead of settling for this safe one.
Dad: Well you know what they say, a bird in hand is better than two in the bush!

Look at that parenting technique. Notice first of all, that the parent should always take the opposite side. That way, if things go badly, you can always say you warned them! Observe:

Simon: I think I will take this safe job, instead of trying this risky one.
Dad: Well you know what they say, nothing ventured nothing gained!

Do you see? I'll break it down:

Step one: Identify what your child would like to do.
Step two: Use a universal truth to support the opposite position.

Using this simple method, you can sleep at night knowing you've fulfilled your parental duties, and filled your child's head with as much doubt as possible.

Front row, far left

In undergrad, I took part in a study where they did a group interview of Canadian-born-Chinese students. In a room of twenty, I was the only one whose social circle was not composed mainly of Asian people. As my niece would say, I was the only one without an Asian posse.

The key difference between me and the others? They all grew up in Vancouver or Toronto. When I was growing up, I was always the only Asian person in my class. I didn't have the option of an Asian posse, as some of my more metropolitan classmates did.

This isn't to say that I didn't know any other Chinese children. In fact, while I was growing up, I literally knew every single Chinese kid in the city. This was because I participated in all three of the activities that make up the holy trifecta of Chinese parenting: Chinese School, Piano and Badminton.

Chinese parents love Chinese School because in addition to language and cultural intruction, there are dictations and tests. These are good because the Canadian schooling system is soft, and as a result, kids have too much time on their hands.

Chinese parents love Piano because in addition to adding culture and music to one's life, it requires hours of practice and stressful recitals. These are good because the Canadian schooling system is soft, and as a result, kids have too much time on their hands.

Chinese parents love Badminton, because unlike hockey (and other rough sports that would allow their children to actually fit in with the Canadians) it is a delicate activity that ensures that hands will remain uninjured, so that there are no interruptions to the dictations and piano practices. (Which is actually not an entirely unfounded fear... seeing as how Greg broke my finger when we were playing road hockey, and in so doing, nearly derailed my high school piano aspirations. A story for another day.)

In later years Kumon was added to the list of Chinese parent approved activities, but this was thankfully after my time. (Kumon, for those of you lucky enough not to know, is an afternoon math program. Chinese parents believe that if you can do math, you can do ANYTHING. I wish I was joking.)

Anyways, the real point of this long winded post is that almost all the Chinese kids in the city were forced/coerced into participating in one or more (and usually all three) of these activities. This made for a very small and tight-knit social network. If you are Chinese, and grew up where I did, around the same time I did, then chances are I either went to Chinese school with you, or met you at a piano festival or badminton tournament.

In fact, I still have a reflex (although it's attenuating as I spend more and more time in culturally diverse climes) to try and catch a glimpse of the face of anyone with black hair. This habit made sense when I used to know all the black-haired people there were to know. Looking back, I think it gave my childhood a smalltown kind of feel!

Consultant of Cool

I'm going to start offering my services as a cool consultant. This is not to say that I'm necessarily cooler than you. It's just saying that:

1. I'm reasonably observant.
2. I'm reasonably creative.
3. I'm honest but tactful.
4. I know what cool is... at least to the extent that I feel comfortable offering advice on how to raise the coolness of at least one aspect of your life, regardless of how cool or uncool your baseline is.

Let's take my Dad for example. Now I don't want to be the one to say whether or not my Dad is cool or not. That's not my role as a cool consultant. But say my Dad were to come to me and say:

"Son, I fear that I am not hip enough. The young echocardiographers make fun of me and my idiosyncratic ways."

Now, a lesser cool consultant would maybe try changing my Dad's clothes, or hair, or car.

I poopoo such idiocies! Know what I'd do? My Dad's name starts with a K. Instead of using his old school name, I'd tell him to start going by his intials: KC.

This would change everything. KC is the type of guy who beats the house at craps, who throws the touchdown pass, who buys his kids expensive toys. Kabam! Instant cool.

In fact, if you're on a first name basis with my Dad, I'd encourage you to do him a favour and start calling him KC.

Thank you very much.

Chinese school crunch

picture
Originally uploaded by chan_siu_man.

I used to hate Saturdays. Up until grade six, I spent every Saturday morning at Chinese school. I really didn't like Chinese school. A large part of this may have been due to the fact that all the quality cartoons were on Saturday morning, and I felt particularly bereaved to have to spend my mornings doing Chinese dictations, knowing that the talk at school on Monday would be about the wonderful happenings on the boob tube two days earlier.

I really don't know how much Chinese I actually learned from all those years of Saturday morning classes. I think the difficulty is that written Cantonese is nothing like spoken Cantonese. We were being taught to speak one language and write another. Is it any wonder that one day a week wasn't sufficient? Not that Chinese school didn't teach me any useful skills. I learned to cram at a very early age. Memorizing Chinese characters is no easy task. They're complicated little things. By the time I had to cram for exams in public school, I was a seasoned cramming veteran.

For your own good

A prevalent sentiment among the parenting crowd is the overarching desire to see their younglings "fulfill their potential".

It is de rigeur to disregard actual accomplishment and focus instead on effort, on perspiration.

The clear benefit to this is that no child shall go punished for falling short, as long as they gave 110% in the process of doing so.

The belief must be that the road to self-actualization and contentment is derived from reaching and exceeding one's potential.

It does seem that living any life would be miserable if one always felt that one were capable of more.

But I wonder whether enough consideration is being given to the cost and burden of trying to "reach your potential". It necessitates hard work and long hours. It's often not "fun". It's about sacrifice. It's about delayed gratification. And life being what it is, the rewards are never certain, and when reached, often fall short of expectations.

Can you be truly happy without fulfilling your potential?
Cause that'd be some stellar relaxed living.

Indulgence

I like blogs. I like the fact that many of my friends keep blogs, and that I can keep up-to-date with their lives with a mere click of the mouse.

I like blogs of people I have met but may not know very well. I like trying to fit what I know about them with what they present to the online universe. I like to see how their thinking fits within the context of their lives.

I also like blogs of people I've never met. I like the glimpses into another life. I like reading about uncommon reactions to common experiences. I like reading about common reactions to uncommon experiences. I like the thread of humanity that links all bloggers, that allows us to read, imagine and empathize with a writer half a world and infinite head spaces away.

It is difficult to find worthwhile blogs. Here are three of the best posts I've read. I've never met any of these bloggers, and I should warn those who are easily offended that these bloggers pull few punches.

1. Written words never make me laugh out loud. ThePeach is the exception.

2. I'm not prone to worrying, but what Ari wrote makes me think.

3. I would have liked to link something from the third blog, but I was told to keep things on the downlow. Secrets are the spice of life!

Hand-me-downs

I started buying clothes later in life than most people.

This is because I have a variety of older cousins and uncles who all happened to come in different shapes and sizes. As I outgrew one relative's hand-me-downs, I grew into the hand-me-downs of another.

Clothes that I outgrew were then handed down to my sisters or younger cousins, and my mother would rummage around downstairs among the bags and bags of hand-me-down clothes to restock my closet.

I never knew what I'd find in my closet as I was growing up. It was a bit like a treasure hunt that way. This may not have been a good thing, since my treasure/trash meter was (is?) oddly calibrated in my youthful days, as my high school friends who were witness to my tight green pants and red velours shirts can readily attest.

There were quirks in the system that I learned to look out for:

1. Uncle Alex has grade A hand-me-downs. It almost makes me sorry that I'm now taller than him. Even today, I am still the lucky recipient of some his rasher purchases which he later deems to be too large or not stylish enough.

2. Shirts and sweaters with the Playboy logo were generally assumed to come from Uncle Max. Who even knew that Playboy made clothes?

3. My Dad insists on dress shirts that are short in the sleeves. He says this is so they don't get in the way. It is also waaay uncool looking. I now buy my own shirts.

4. My cousins Gordon and Jason had great hand-me-downs. The only catch was that their names were always written in permanent marker on the inside collar. My crueler friends in high school use to poke fun at this.

In any case, the benefits of the hand-me-down system entirely outweighted any sort of fashion disasters along the way. Aside from a closet full of suprises, there is the joy of frugality, and also the sheer environmentalness of it all.

I think the hand-me-down culture has suffered in our consumer/disposer era. No one really repairs things anymore. We just throw out and buy anew. I think that's a real shame.

Nothing like Hot Pot when it's Hot

I've been back in Hamilton for around a week now. The heat has made me miss New Brunswick. You know it's hot when even the operating rooms are hot. I hope it cools down.

On a happier note, I spent last weekend in Toronto, where, fortuitously enough, my Uncle Ming's family was visiting from Indiana.

It was lovely seeing them again. His boys sing Beetles songs in the car to entertain themselves on long car rides. This reminds me of the all the hours my sisters and I spent singing Ace of Base when my family took a drive into the maritimes. Clearly, my cousins tastes' are more refined.

The highlight of the weekend was the discovery of a hot pot place that was:
a) well air-conditioned
b) selling 3 dollar lobsters

I don't think ANYTHING falls as sweetly on my ears as three dollar lobsters. It was an epic hot pot experience. The only person who may have been happier than me was my Auntie Susan. I've noticed that platefuls of seafood have that effect on Chinese people.

Sliced heaven

So I've been eating a lot of toast lately. Toast is under-rated. Nothing improves sliced bread like a little toasting. I guess by extension, that would make toast the best thing since sliced bread.

Anyways, I've been alternating between 4 toast toppings:

1. Peanut butter and jam: A true classic. The go-to toast topping. Feeling down? Skinned your knee? Can't hit a golf ball straight? Somewhat concerned about the existence of true love? PB and J will fix you right up.

2. Jam and butter: Decadent. It's got a bit of cheesecake in it, in my opinion. Bridges the gap between breakfast and desert. For added sophistication, use blackberry jam. Eat with pinkies up.

3. Peanut butter and honey: If honey is good enough for Winnie the Pooh, it's good enough for you. Best in moderation, but having your jaws glued shut by peanut butter and honey is among life's greatest pleasures.

4. Butter: To give your sweet tooth a break. The best way to enjoy toast for toasts sake. For toast connoisseurs or those in a rush.

BUT, yesterday, I came upon a fifth topping: peanut butter and ice cream. There are no words. It is simply a slice of heaven in your mouth.

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Ontario bound

My time in the maritimes comes rapidly to a close. It's been muchly enjoyable. I've accomplished much of what I set out to do.

I've eaten a lobster, a McLobster, and Lobster Sub.

Living in a call room for three weeks has been very bearable. I'll be looking forward to some variety in my diet. I've been eating the nursing station toast for breakfast and lunch and the cafeteria special for dinner for far too long.

I've been whinging a bit lately about how the reward for hard work seems to be more hard work. And how every mountain you climb seems to bring you to the foot of another ascent.
But then, I looked down at my pager and noticed it was 11:11.
Quick! Make a wish!

And I realized I couldn't easily come up with something to wish for. I really can't rightly complain about a life like that, now can I? So I tried to wish something for someone else. Did my best to squeeze in a wish before the clock hit 11:12.

Did you feel a warm tingle? That was me. And I was wishing good things for you.

Or it could be that you're doing a number 1.

Out spot. please.

I met Mr. P in clinic today. He is likely the most spry 79 year old I've ever seen. He shook my hand enthusiastically and we chatted amiably about both my career, and his (He is currently employed with a construction company). White hair fell upon a balding pate, and his bright blue eyes were set against skin that was bronzed from the sun. I wondered at his wonderfully preserved condition, and he told me stories about his mother who lived in wonderful health to the age of 106.

He had a mole on his back that itched. After years of nagging, his wife had finally managed to convince him to see a doctor about it.

He lifted his shirt over his head. I saw the mole. It was large, assymetric, multihued, with an irregular border.

The chances of Mr. P living to 106 are very, very slim. The chance of his even being alive in five years is very, very slim.

I know this from the books I read.
Mr. P has a bad spot.

But I don't think I believe it. I just doesn't seem likely that such a healthy looking fellow will be dead within five years because of a mole on his back.

We like to believe that our situations are special, unusual, outside the norm. But, as they say, numbers don't lie. And I know that the vast majority of the time, we ARE normal, we are NOT unusual, and we DO lie within the norm. But we hope anyways. And in spite of the numbers, I think we believe.

Dragonboat redux

I realize I have completely forgotten to mention how the Toronto Dragonboat Regatta went.

Actually, this is not an accident. As it happens, I kept it under wraps on purpose. Why the secrecy? I will tell you later.

We ended up coming in 2nd in our division. A team from Virgin Mobile (the cellphone people) also was in attendance. They were short people, so I rowed for them (along with some of my teammates) and we ended up coming in 1st in that division! So a grand total of 2 medals for the regatta.

I had hoped to be racing against my sister, but she unfortunately welched out of the whole thing. Ah well.

It was very good times. Our team even got caught up in an impromptu dance party while waiting in line for the ferry.

But the reason I've held off from doing a Dragonboat post is because I am now finally able to announce that I was awarded the "Most Spirited Paddler" award! The awards were presented this weekend. Since I wasn't be able to attend the end of the year shindig to receive my accolade in person, I was called a couple weeks ago to film a video acceptance, and told to keep it under my hat.

In conclusion, I give the dragonboat experience two spirited thumbs up.

Lobsters

I had the opportunity to poke around downtown today. The first thing I did was eat a lobster. I got into a conversation with a local, and the first thing she asked me was "Do you speak English?"

I can't really remember the last time somebody asked me if I spoke English. I'm beginning to suspect that there aren't any CBC's (Canadian born Chinese) here in Saint John. Course I was in a restaurant right outside where the cruise ships dock, so I think the area probably has a rather high baseline of foreigners.

I also went to see an act at the busker festival. Most of the buskers claimed to have bachelor of arts degrees. Except for that one guy with a masters in education.

I then went to get a McLobster at McDonalds.
The subways here have just started a Lobster Sub. Is this a local phenomenon, or can I hope to find such a product when I return to Ontario?

To the range

Things are going as usual here in New Brunswick. I saw my first ever real live unrepaired cleft palate today. I'm also getting pretty good about identifying odd spots on skin. There's a lot of spot spotting at this elective.

Ater work, I decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather to go to the driving range with a fellow medical student. She had never been golfing before, and I tried my best to pass on Uncle Alex's tips and tricks. After one too many dinked balls, she went to the guys at the booth for advice. No one else was there, so the two fellows manning the booth came around to give us pointers. They also gave us a free bucket of balls. The lesson in all this is that it is handy to have an attractive female around.

A strong case for the East coast

One of the doctors invited me to his house for a BBQ this weekend.

I get feted with lobster whenever I do a placement in the Maritimes. This is a very good thing.

Also, the other day, one of the OR nurses gave me an ice cream bar when we were between cases.

I have to say that the hospital staff here are very friendly.

Outdoor Golfer Simon

So it turns out that I'm a 10 minute walk from a golf course/driving range. It's an "aquatic" driving range. It means you're golfing into a lake.

I made a rare venture outside to go hit some golf balls. I can't keep from slicing the ball. The fellow at the driving range told me I had a good accent. At first, I thought this meant I was starting to talk like a Maritimer, but then I realized he was complimenting my command of the English language. It's nice for us kids who learned English as a second language to get that sort of validation.

I'll head back out in the weeks to come. Even if my swing doesn't improve, I can go to amaze the locals with my linguistic abilities.

Indoor Bubbled Simon

So I'm living in a hospital for the next three weeks. My room has a bed and a desk in it. There is a shower down the hall. I eat a bagel for breakfast and a bagel for lunch. As a treat, I eat cafeteria food for dinner. Every morning I leave my bed and in two steps, find myself by a patient's bedside.

"Bubble-living" (A state of being where anything outside your immediate environs ceases to have importance.) is something I'm quite familiar with. Whether it was at Queen's, or French Camp, or Nerd Camp, my universe shrunk each time, so that I lived in odd little pseudo-realities where the rules of existence were tweaked and twisted. At Queen's, it was normal for an Asian kid to wear a kilt every Saturday to dance at Football games. At French Camp it was normal to dress up for random theme nights at a campus bar that only ever played the same 15 French dance songs. At Nerd Camp, it was normal burst into spontaneous applause.

Actually, I think Bubble-living may be inevitable. The world and it's problems are gigantic and crushing to an unbubbled mind. It's a real treat to be able to retreat into a small insular bubble, but I think it's important to exist in the biggest bubble you can, to keep expanding your bubble and keep introducing new things into your existing bubble.

This is all rather tangential. My actual point was going to be that my current bubble is really small. But I'm wondering about that now, seeing as I have the internet to let the light in...

No, the real point of this post is to declare that if I want, I don't have to step outside for the next three weeks!

Isn't that something? Half of me wants to do it, just to say I did. It'll be the longest I've ever been indoors. I already cheated a bit though. I stepped outside today after my nap. The air smelled like the ocean.

Homeless

Moving is incapacitating. I've done nothing but attempt to pack my life into boxes for the past week. I haven't studied, I haven't worked. All I've done is eat, sleep, and move. I gave my keys back to my landlady yesterday, and now find myself in a curious position: homeless.

What I'm saying is that my lease ended in one place, and I chose not to find another one. All my belongings are scattered to the wind. I left some stuff with my downtown cousin, some stuff with my mountain cousin, and LOTS of stuff with Sherm. I'm taking my a rolling suitcase, a duffel bag, and a backpack, and I'm hitting the road.

My current plans have me moving cities once a month (roughly) until sometime next year. The plan is to exist rent free by staying with family and friends.

So if you've ever wanted the satisfaction of putting a roof over a homeless person's head, now is your chance!

Mulberries

The tips of my fingers are stained purple from the mulberries I've been picking from the tree in my neighbors front yard.

For the past weeks, the sidewalks in and around Hamilton have been littered with these blackberry-look-a-like berries. I've never seen anyone eat the, so I assumed they were inedible.

On the way to school one day, I had picked one off a tree to try. I quickly spat it back out. How pissed would my parents be if I were to keel over from eating poisonous berries?

A couple days ago, I was mentioning the berries to my nieces as they were helping me move. They told me that the berries were totally edible. And that they were called mulberries.

For the next few days, I ate berries by the quart. Standing in the sunshine, enjoyed their sweet nectar and painted my face and fingers a purplish hue.

The most tragic thing is that I've spent 3 summers in Hamilton, and I only discover these berries now. I left Hamilton yesterday, and my plane to New Brunswick leaves today. I really don't know if I'll ever spend another summer in Hamilton. But if you were to ask me to list the best things about doing medical school at McMaster, the mulberries would easily be in the top three.

Ah mulberries. Our time together was brief, but so very special.

Happy Canada Day!

I went with my neices to see the fireworks for Canada Day. Here in Hamilton, they have them set to music. It's fun, but you miss out on the hissss and boom that naturally punctuate and accentuate such an event. I usually spend Canada Day in Ottawa. The high school crowd usually gathers, and it's always nice to see how another year has grown people up.

My classmates from medical school are all starting work about now. This is terrifying. To think that you might go to a hospital and be faced by one of my peers! (To those same classmates: I believe in you! Break a leg.)

I'm in the process of packing right now. The goal is to get rid of all extras, and take essentials only. If any of you have ever coveted any of my stuff, now' s the time to speak up. The only untouchable is my tablet.

Speaking of my tablet, I spent the weekend re-installing everything on it, so now it is a much leaner, cleaner machine. It was probably the most techie thing I've ever done in my life. I had to follow an online tutorial and burn my own Tablet XP boot disks. I must give props to Arlen, my childhood tech-support guy, who was always a phone call away, even from his current abode in Seattle.

There's a certain reliability to childhood friends I think. I recently had to probe Vik and Greg (Not as bad as it sounds... but more time consuming.) for one of my projects. I don't think either was chomping at the bit for a week of early morning probing (At least I wore gloves?), but it can be difficult to say no when you share so many experiences and memories.

I suppose the point is that if you have your friends long enough, they become sort of like family that way.

Emoticons

I find that some of the people I chat with online like to pepper their conversations with a variety of emoticons. You know what I'm talking about. Those winky, smiley, gasping, laughing smiley faces that have become oh so ubiquitous.

I'm somewhat ambivalent about the use of these emoticons. I suppose I just don't believe you can really be laughing if you have time to input a laughing smiley face into our conversation.

Also, I come from a somewhat reserved family and culture, and it just seems heavy-handed and a bit forced to tell someone that you are now happy or laughing or winking. I wonder what it says about my psyche that I don't believe something unless it's being told unintentionally or unwillingly. Another discussion for another day. I have a different point today.

I wish people wouldn't use emoticons that represent actions that they wouldn't ever do. Never mind if they are actually actively engaging in the presented emoticon action/emotion.

As an example, those winking smiley faces. I don't have a single friend who winks at me during face to face conversations, and yet I have friends who throw these winks into online conversations. What's with that? I KNOW you're not winking! And I know you know you're not winking! For all you online winkers out there, you better start winking in real life, or I will start outing you for the liars that you are!

Tomorrow's Raceday!

The big Toronto Dragonboat festival is this weekend!

It'll be fun I think.

One of the co-captains asked me to think about running to be a captain for the team next year. I was muchly honoured. I'll be away from Hamilton too much to do it though. Ah well. I always wondered how they selected the team captains. Rowing ability is clearly not a factor. We go to buffets after practice sometimes. Perhaps it's by food consumption. I'm really good at that.

One of my sister's friends has been my volunteer patient this week. Sometimes, we'll play catch at lunch. She is THE best girl thrower I have ever personally witnessed. It's so that people passing by make comments about how she has a good arm. And doesn't throw like a girl.

I don't think they're being sexist or anything. It's just highly unusual to see a girl with a gun of a throwing arm. Especially little slender Asian ones.

From Presto to Andante- Census results

The Simonscapes census is still collecting, for those of you who've yet to fill it out.

However, early analysis has already revealed a not so hidden truth.

Question 6: If I had to use one word to describe the way Simon TALKS:

1. excitedly
2. energetically
3. fast, sometimes slurs syllables
4. like dad
5. intricate
6. happily
7. loud
8. too fast
9. fast
10. quickly
11. Lots
12. humorous
13. fast
14. loud
15. rapidly
16. funny

My parents have been harassing me about the speed of my elocution for some time now. But parental advice upon my ears, is like water upon a ducks back; I just attributed their complaints to their aging thought processes and imperfect grasp of the English language. In retrospect, this does seem silly, seeing as my Dad is a university professor, and my Mom is a translator. And looking at the census results, they don't appear to be the only ones who think I speak too quickly.

But that's perhaps a simplification. I realize I tend to chatter, but I've always believed I could turn on my 'professional' voice as the need arose. This illusion was dispelled when one of my volunteer study subjects had to phone my sister since the message I left on her machine was unintelligable.

Which got me thinking that perhaps speaking quickly, and all that it implies (excitability, immaturity, flightiness?) isn't something you can turn on or off. It becomes a part of you.

I speak quickly because I'm eager to get my point across. It occurs to me that perhaps I should slow down, so that I get the RIGHT point across.

Initially, I thought that speaking at a more moderate cadence would be but a small change. I wonder now, whether it would cause greater ripples. I'd give a different first impression. I'd appear more professional. My parents would understand what I was saying, so they wouldn't be talking to me from a baseline of irate confusion. I'd have time to think about what I say. Conceivably, that might even result in my saying less stupid things. Or even... more smart things.

The slow talk movement begins today.