To the one who was never meant to be:

I kinda miss you tonight.
Not the I-badly-want-to-see-you-now kind, just a subtle regret that you aren't present in my life any more and I somewhat wish you were.

I find that I can no longer recall your face in the details like I used to. For in those days I used to memorize every line on your face, your slightly lopsided smile with the perfect white teeth, the soft brown roots of your hair, and those eyes which colour I could never really tell. Your scent, strawberry cheesecake. How you reminded me of sunshine. The sound of your name rolling off my tongue. Five-thirty waiting for you in the foyer wishing you would walk by. How you could always take my breath away and leave me tongue-tied.

Despite all that, looking back I don't think I had truly loved you. I thought it was love back then, but somehow it wasn't. Or maybe it was, but I had gotten over it now and could no longer comprehend how I felt before.

You see, as unbelievable as it might sound now, there was this one time three lifetimes ago when "loving" you was my world. And despite the pain and the tears and the shoulda-coulda-woulda, I kinda miss the sentiments of that. There is a kind of bittersweetness that sounded almost romantic; destructive but beautiful.

Things change over time; I bet I did, and so do you. But just so you know, I still like your previous last name better. For that was the you that I knew and loved.

Wherever you are, I wish you are happy, just like I am happy. It took me a while, and many regretful choices in the interim, but I had once again found happiness in the form of love.

I miss you.
Not in an I-love-you way, just... in an I-miss-you way.

But as always, you'll never know. 

Knick knacks

The mystery had finally been solved. Our deductions were pridefully accurate, and when interrogated, the 'culprit' (surgeon...orthopod...duh) confessed right on the spot. Case closed, one point for Detective Stephen and Detective Christine! =)

I would've loved to tell you that my life had been happening but it sadly isn't. The power trip in the psych unit medical officers' room has been the highlight of the week. Pathetic much? Heh. Still, I'm not complaining, somehow I am getting used to this mundane, slow-paced rural lifestyle. I am still undecided whether it is a good thing or not.

Fortunately, the fortnightly drive down to Hobart and back is starting to be increasingly enjoyable. Especially when singing along to Taylor Swift records. (Don't judge me! =P)

Interview calls seem to be gradually coming in from the mainland and all, I am both anticipating and dreading the one from Hobart. I NEED to get a job there next year. Burnie is no doubt a very beautiful place, but it gets tiring, all these 'long-distance thing' with my beloved boy. It gets lonely too.

30 weeks down, 22 more to go.

At times, I'm jealous of those people who get to see you everyday... 

 

Of purple fingers, unequal pupils and sore bottoms

You might wonder what rotation could offer me such great opportunities to review these mighty presentations. And some of them were even "urgent"! Of course, purple fingers turned out to be Raynaud's phenomenon and not ischemic fingers; unequal pupils was just due to an old eye injury, and sore bottoms were usually due to prolonged sitting/lying (common in catatonic/schizophrenic patients who assume a statue-like posture, not moving for hours at a time!)  

I am currently in week 3 of psychiatry relief and I am kinda enjoying myself. I had always loved mental health and truly enough there was never a dull moment in the ward! Head-banging, dismantling doors, shouting and wailing were common occurrences. However as the psych RMO, my job seems to be nowhere mental health related. Rather, I was much like the over-exploited pseudo med reg/ward slave/walking encyclopaedia/dental consultant/receptionist/IT support/patient's boredom reliever. Sometimes I wonder, where is the psychiatry?

Anyway, I am not gonna complain because compared to ward cover or surgical rotations, the workload in psych was a breeze. It could easily be as few as 5 jobs per day, including writing up investigation forms. No discharge summaries too, what a treat! I could hang out with my friends in the med/surg ward or sneak out for an hour-long lunch break. Other times, I could work on my languages. Yes I'm proud to announce that I am finally back to working on my Spanish again, after a year-long hiatus! And I am starting to pick up some French too (since the Boy learnt it in high school, maybe it could be our secret language. Heh).  

Also, Stephen (my partner in crime) and I had currently became part-time detectives, whereby our newest case is to investigate the ownership of a certain black Porsche 911 Carrera in our hospital staff parking lot. Whoever it is, what a lucky bastard!

Hmm...or maybe not. =P