When everyone told me about the struggle of studying medicine, sleepless nights
and loss of appetite, nobody told me about the agony medical students go through staying away
from their families for years till they finish their studies.
It was the that time of the year when I had to leave behind my family, every tiny definition of my
mere existence, and move ahead to learn more things, following the childhood dreams I’ve
always treasured in my heart. I stuffed my baggage with things which that were piled up all over
my room, yet I didn’t know which ones weren’t needed, because each of these things held
memories and tiny tales which only they could tell. As I sat in my room for just one more night, I
noticed how I’d left patches of unfinished paintings in my room; the books were all dusty; there
were curled up spider webs; and a unique smell of its kind, all of which I’ve taken for granted. I
also noticed how there were cracks in the ceiling and when it was raining, it was always
dripping, but it wasn’t a big deal that I had even paid attention to. Was it comfort, or did I find
peace and home even in brokenness? We will never know.
The next morning, I woke up, and thought to myself, “Will the sun forget to greet my bed every
dawn even if I wasn’t there? The irreplaceable ginger tea mom made for my stuffy nose; dad’s
long good morning for my morning anxiety; and my sister, just being herself. My sister chased
her dreams through virtual realities and coding in computer languages. The tapping of her fingers
on the keyboard was very annoying to my ears, but I found comfort in those irksome noises. I
thought to myself, “Will there be days where I will miss my fur baby Whiskie’s soft meows?”
These messy warm bedsheets in my bed begged me to stay a little longer; the pillows that held
back the words I’ve always failed to say but swallowed and whispered under my breath. This
room that heard my prayers, which nobody else did, the mirror hanging on the wall never noticed
that I was growing older day by day and that I would be leaving for college soon. Everything
was so sudden, but the earth keeps spinning and life has to go on…
But yes, attachment to inanimate things is real. Trust me.
As soon as I walked into the car, the pain crept into my soul, as my neighbours stood by, waving
goodbye, witnessing a budding doctor. Immaculate memories in these small streets of this
unknown village, Niranam, in Kerala. I wanted to say goodbye, as I spoke words that were lost
somewhere in my mind. The sun shone brighter than ever, waving me goodbye in his own way
as I opened the car door. The wind blew a little just to pat me on my shoulders, saying “Way to
go, little doctor!”
Everything felt like a dream come true, but I felt as though I was missing something. I was lost
in thoughts of home and everything that had to be sorted. It was overwhelming, but I held back
my emotions and thought about all the goodbyes I’ve owed to people and thought to myself that
maybe some things are better left unsaid. Some goodbyes aren’t goodbyes.
When I reached the airport, it was almost midnight, and the moon was hiding behind the clouds,
crying. The sky was dark and beautiful with stars twinkling brighter than my tearful eyes; or
perhaps, was it my long-gone grandparents’ blessing me from the stars they reside in? Atrocious
thoughts were invading my mind, and anxiety went haywire. I just wanted a shoulder to cry on as
I looked back at my family one last time before boarding and comforted myself, “This Mizpah is
divine and this Metanoia is inevitable.”
When I felt like breaking down, I felt solace when Robert Frost gently whispered verses from his
poem into my ear
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I’ve promised to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep.”
And that was how I knew I had to be a confident, hopeful little doctor who was once her parents’
little baby girl.
Personal Writings