My own story
My story about how I conquered my first year in medical school is probably but a drop in the vast ocean. But for the sake of my sanity, I shall write anyway, because earlier, as I was making myself a cup of coffee, I realized I had gone far. I’m almost through my first semester in second year, surely that means something. The clink of the spoon against the mug echoed in my ears, going “You are almost there”.
Actually, there’s still no official confirmation that I passed my first year. I haven’t seen my grades yet because the admin did not, would not, post our grades online. The damn pandemic begun just as I was celebrating the end of what seemed like a dreamy year.
A month before the lockdown, me and my med friends decided to unwind after a brutal module exam (about the kidneys, blergh). I study in the quiet city of Legazpi, sparse in sight, sparse in population, sparse in attraction. But their medical school attracted me for one simple reason: Tuition is free. I packed my bags and left home for Bicol, the home of the most beautiful volcano in the world.
One attraction in Bicol is the Legazpi boulevard. I wasn’t going to come with, but a sweet person convinced me to go. We needed it, she said. And she was damn right. We went there before sunset and when we arrived, we saw that it was beautiful, and our hearts rejoiced. The sky was pink, the air was salty. The sound of the waves felt therapeutic to my ears. The moon was full and big against the cotton candy sky. We couldn’t speak; we were in awe. We took pictures, we looked at everything and everyone. People were sitting on benches, some were jogging, some were skateboarding. We arrived at a restaurant soon after and had the most filling dinner. No phones allowed, the mother figure in the group said. And so we enjoyed each other’s company.
I never dreamed that that would be the last time I bonded with them. A week after there was chaos...in the form of a damn virus.
I digress. I was supposed to talk about my first year in medical school, but outside the classroom and without my uniform on, I find it hard to think of infectious diseases and pathophysiology of asthma and the mechanism of action of penicillin. Although not entirely good for my academics, I am glad that I haven’t let my being a medical student consume me. I’m so much more than that.
