06 November 2012

Why can't I delete these?

I was cleaning out my phone's photo album the other day, but there were a couple of photos I couldn't delete.

Senseless pictures really, but things that I'd rather not delete.

When I see them, may sakit, may kurot.  Pictures that really make me pause for a little while when scrolling through my photos.

They're remnants of ordinary, everyday things, but those that come with a special feeling.  A nostalgia for a certain space in time where you suddenly see, hear, feel, taste, and smell every detail from those sweet memories.

15 July 2012

This is the view from my window on the 12th floor of a condo building in Manila.  Every morning, every afternoon, and every evening I see this.  In fact, I have several pictures of this view, but on this day I woke up late in the afternoon to find the sky an interesting shade of orange-ish pink, which coated Manila's buildings with a blood orange colour.  It was quite magical for me.  I texted him in excitement of sharing what I had seen, and to my delight I received a fervent reply.  It gave me the impression that things went well.  I had only met him the night before.  We made on-the-spot plans to meet that night, and he picked me up from one of my favourite coffee shops in Quezon City.  We dropped by Burger King to talk for a while and get to know each other.  That night I met a handsome, witty, intellectual guy who was easy to talk to and kept up great conversation.  He brought me home before the sun rose, and as I woke up the colour of my world magically matched the elation I had felt within.


20 July 2012

The Pit, Asturias.  Often an inuman place.  Sometimes my classmates and I go here for lunch, or if blessed with an early dismissal (or perhaps class suspensions) a few buckets of beer accompany us.  A few drinks to finish off the day has always been a good idea, and trying out the new Antonov seemed like a good alternative to the tummy-bloating Red Horse or San Mig.  I took a picture of the Cosmopolitan and the Kamikaze because of the awesome shades of pink and green that they came in (not to mention they tasted good too!). Also managed to get his elbow in the picture.  This is the third time I met him.  Training was cut short on that day because of the monsoon.  He told me he was at Starbucks in Dapitan and I coyly asked if I could join him.  We decided to try the dish he told me about the last time we went out.  I felt safe that we could share a common territory: Dapitan.  As we shared second-hand smoke outside Starbucks, he asked me to accompany him the following night to a party he was going to with his high school friends.  Panic and kilig collided inside my stomach and sent shivers down my spine.  I felt special that he wanted me to meet his high school friends already, but my social phobias kept me weary.  I swallowed that fear and gave a resounding, "Sure, of course."

20 Aug 2012

On my last birthday, two awesome friends gave me a bottle of my favourite alcohol, Baileys.  It came with two cool glasses like the one here.  It isn't filled with Baileys, however, that's Gataka. Gatas, Tanduay, Kape.  He offered to make "Baileys" for me and my friends then.  My friends really liked him.  They thought he was charming, cute, and really knew how to get along.  Well I don't think I would have liked him as much if he wasn't, right?  I was tearing myself up that night.  I had been doubting for weeks whether he liked me or not.  We had plans to see each other for a little bit after his meeting in the afternoon.  I waited all afternoon at my friend's place for his update.  I waited, staring at my phone until the sun disappeared, dinner was served, and the hour hand passed 9 P.M.  I was telling myself to give up on him.  This was affirmation of everything I was thinking, of the things that I was scared of confirming: that he wasn't into me, that I wasn't the one.  I convinced myself to forget about him if we didn't see each other that night.  As I was nearing the breaking point, my phone flashed a message at 21:59.  He had finally texted, and the usual butterflies in my stomach, ventricular arrhythmia, automatic smile, and feeling of "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeh" came as his name graced my home screen (as it always does).  His meeting at 2 P.M. lasted until almost 10 P.M. I had assumed that it was too late for him to come over, but he gave me a call.  We invited him over, knowing that he couldn't be out for too late.  He ended up staying till morning, spending the night in my arms.

05 November 2012

Why read horoscopes?

When getting to know a new friend, a question that I find sparks quirky conversation would be:

"What's your zodiac sign?"

Then you hear a cascade of questions relayed about each others' traits and if, or how, the characteristics of the zodiacs match their personalities.

Then I got (or rather felt) criticized by someone I dated recently about my fondness of reading horoscopes. He blurted out, "Doctor ka ba talaga?" I guess it was for the lack of scientific basis that sparks most skepticism about horoscopes.

I began to reassess the real reason why I read horoscopes.

I guess its been a thing for me and my friends to read about zodiac signs and horoscopes.  Sometimes we find ourselves sitting around reading twitter feeds about certain traits and seeing if we relate to them, or to someone we know.

I guess there's really no harm in my interest of horoscopes. But what keeps us reading them?

I suppose it's a fascination with being able to predict the future, being able to take control, feeling somewhat omnipotent or perhaps even God-like.

Often times now when I'm asked, "Do you believe in horoscopes?" I often resort to Zenaida Seva's famous line, "Hindi hawak ng mga bituin ang ating kapalaran. Gabay lamang sila. Meron tayong free will, gamitin natin ito."

We just want to believe in something. Perhaps even find out that we are not the only person going through the same thing; that maybe someone out there, a fellow Taurean or whatnot, is experiencing the same thing.

A line from Floy Quintos' play, Fake, hit close to home when the character Jose Marco alluded that we create and believe in things because we want to create hope. Hope is the, "flicker of light that we hold on to in the darkness," when we are lost, don't know what to do next, or perhaps are even looking for a sign.

I read horoscopes for guidance and hope.  Admixed with free will, my path will always be lit.  If anyone ever asks me again, "Why read horoscopes?" I'd proudly answer... Why not? Wynant :)

25 October 2012

Why am I smiling?

WYNANT, MARVIN A. --- FAILED

That was the verdict of my remedial exam in Behavioral Medicine 2, posted on the bulletin board on the 2nd floor of the medicine building.

I went through a mini stage of shock.  I thought I had passed until I realized that the alphabetical list should have had "Zuniga" after my name.  I found out that Ms. Zuniga rounded out the list of passers of the exam, and the list (a long list of three) of failed examinees followed.

This is the first semester in my life where I will be getting a failing mark on my transcript.  I'm already a year behind my original batch mates in medicine, and now I'll be another year behind.

But I'm smiling.

While others may be hanging around the bulletin board waiting for the world to change, or perhaps rallying at the department's office to recheck their grades, I left the building with a little hop in my step.

I know I didn't do my best in this subject.  Hell, I barely even did anything at all in the second grading period.  I deserve this, but I'm not taking it hard on myself.

I have been looking for a sign.  I know for myself that if clerkship were to come in the next year, I wouldn't be ready.  I feel selfish on my parents' behalf for wanting to be delayed and having another year to put me through school, but I'd never want to risk patients' lives if I wasn't ready.  I need another year, and I think I got what I asked for.

I also believe this will give me the chance to grab some opportunities that I've let pass by.  Throughout school I have always been hindered in many things I have wanted to do--- learn more in dance, teaching, modeling... But it's always been forgotten because of school.  Perhaps now those lost opportunities will appear again.  Maybe even new opportunities, such as European tours and competitions of recent gossip, are in store for me.

The future is so unclear, frightening, but above all else exciting.  I got a failing grade, so why smile? ...Why not, Wynant? :)

Half-assed smirk. Bagsak? So what.

Why am I here?

I am Marvin A. Wynant, M.D.   <--- That's something I'd like to say confidently in a few years time.  However, now at 25 years of age, I can only simply say that I am a 3rd year medical student at the University of Santo Tomas (the royal and pontifical Catholic.. yadda, yadda... alam niyo na 'yan)

By the way this is me
I like taking stupid pictures of myself.  So don't worry, that's not my everyday look.

I'd like to say that I'm not your ordinary medicine student.  While most medicine students rush home after classes (some after spending a couple hours at the gym or playing DOTA), I rush to rehearsals.

I dance.  It fuels me.  I come home tired and worn out, but always alive and fulfilled.  I've been taking dancing seriously since I was a freshman in college (2005) and although other passions should take a backseat to medicine, dancing has always been there trying to grab ahold of the steering wheel.

While my classmates have their noses stuck in their books or their highlighters giving life to their handouts, I can be found stretching, spinning, sauté-ing.

Honestly, my grades do suffer from this. I should be on semester break now, but I didn't do well enough in Psychiatry and Radiology to completely pass the subject.  I have to take remedial exams to get a passing grade.  (Radiology exam will be later by the way, and yet here I am creating a blog)

But could you live without passion?  In a world where everyday drains you emotionally, mentally, physically (the true life of a medicine student), what would you run to?

Forget smoking (trying to), forget drinking (that's only for the weekends).  Do something that can tap into your deepest emotions.  Do something that allows you to physically release what's been weighing down on your soul.

So with medicine and dancing taking up my time and my spare time, why write a blog? Inggitera ako eh.  Haha.  No, but really, in high school, I wanted to be a broadcast journalist.  I was part of the school newspaper and the yearbook staff, and took up college english in my junior year of high school.  (So where'd medicine come into play?) I developed an ardor for writing.  I felt a certain warmth when I wrote.  It's something I'd never want to let go of.

Just as the audio and visual aspects of dance can affect the emotions, the written word has its own immense power.  A power to move; a power to influence.  I have already moved through dance.  Maybe this time I can move through words.

So why am I here?
...why not, Wynant?