I came back home a few days ago. With much anticipation, trepidation and to a significant degree, perspiration.

I received the news of our job applications whilst in the coach, as we passed along the Malaysian highway; my best friend on the other line, her voice crisp and clear - a reminder that these matters ought not to be forgotten. For they are always closer than you think. Bound inextricably by fate, by chance. By e-mail.

I am happy with my choice; I must admit I am not thoroughly over the moon because I put less weight into this than any average medical student does. My heart had told me to pick this hospital; if one should ever faithfully listen to any organ in the body, that should be it.

So here it goes: my first working steps. In truth, I am a little fearful; I do not know why. It does not come out of incompetence; I know what I am signing up for. It comes from the inescapable realisation that I can’t fuck things up anymore - with patients’ lives, with my life and with my academic future.

I can only pray for guidance.

This blog may disintegrate into the ashes of oblivion. I understand that my paltry excuses can no longer sustain its life.

This space initially started because I had to rant about a teen’s first-love and A-Level frustrations. It then became a way to keep in touch whilst overseas, to muse about cultures and societal expectations; to bridge the gap between my past and present. More recently, it became a way for me to keep my sanity when I truly did fall for someone, swimming against the tides as my barrier exams opposed the emotional suffrage; cut into half, split into two. My heart and mind were in pieces.

But it came together. And it doesn’t mean that I now live without drama, not without fodder nor reason to commit; I just don’t feel that my life has to be written as often now.

Which is why my posts have been far too few in between, their content not quite tied down by a common theme. I don’t want this to resort to a page that pens down the inconsequentialities of routine. Nor am I ready yet to let go.

So, to the (roughly) five people who read my blog still, here are my apologies should you did come by long before, only to be graced with the same stalwart absence.

This post should count as an update; an indication that I am still living life.

#1 Graduation Paraphernelia

As we are, thankfully, approaching the end of university, times are now consumed by students organising graduation week events; while impatient waits by the mailbox for job spots steepens the excitement. I suffer from neither because, being me, my application is confirmed in August and social events are always better handled by others.

But the discussion of what slogans to put on the Grad t-shirts/jumpers did amuse me and just this once, I will put in one of Danny’s suggestions, because not only did it make me smile all day, it reaffirms my belief that Danny and me are quite often on the same page: “Bacteria… it’s the only culture some people have.” Hooyah, you nerds!

#2 The Visitors

A cousin flew in from Perth (he had visited my uncle there).I had to struggle with the notion that he is no longer a little boy, that he is now A MAN because his voice is broken and that he has just finished his national service. Now, he is an amazing chef waiting to advance his studies in a prestigious culinary institute. It was rather fitting that we watched the MasterChef finale with his perfectly executed roast chicken for dinner, juices running down my arm, a creamy leek side dish gracing each biteful.

A ‘family friend’ from South Africa was our house guest over the weekend. It was quite an experience to discuss customs and culture from a place I had always longed to visit; dishing out insights from growing up during the cruel apartheid period - a topic I had always been fascinated with. From her personal experiences, she gave advice that life is a huge lesson, that I had more learning to do still. The visit ended with an early wake-up call - 4am to be exact - as we said our goodbyes and made our hugs, as I sleepily stood at the driveway, the icy cold piercing me, final words she uttered warming me still, as the car pulled out of the driveway to head to the airport.