Disclaimer
The reader accepts, on reading of this disclaimer, that the Internet is a vast wasteland of crap that spews out of human minds. This blog is no different. Any assumptions or conclusions that the reader draws from this blog are not the responsibility of the author, along with any physical or psychological harm that might result from the reading of this blog.

Author
The author is a paranoid, deranged and cynical misanthrope who records snippets of her life so that she will remember them when she grows old and withered. The identities of any names or initials on this blog are based on the assumptions of the reader unless otherwise specified, and the author claims no responsibility for them.

Reality
The author somehow got into medical school. Yes, you of the general public, shudder and fear the wrath of an inept doctor.

Loves
Reading, Maisy (my dog), tea, writing (albeit badly), piano, music, junk food.

Hates
Almost everything else besides the things mentioned above.

Friends

 Bao Cheng' Bernice' Chien Young' Chun Hing' Claire' Faustina' Felicia' Ferly' Gloria' Irene' Irene & Jiaying' Jac' Jiamin' Jiasin' Jiaying' Lutheng' Karene' Marissa' Melesa' Mingyi' My fictionpress' Pamelia' Pei Rong' Qiu Ting' Rachel' Satires Site' Stasia' Sylvia' The Clique' Vinette' Wenjia' Xin Rong' Xue Ying' Yanne & I' Yanne & Jamie' Zeena' 203'

Archives

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Chat area


 Friday, June 12, 2009

It's 11.44pm and I should be tucked up in bed, resting my brain for my exam tomorrow and allowing it to heal from the flogging it got from the chinese exam today (where I realised, to my utmost horror, that we were only allowed to have 1 dictionary. Not the original 2 [Chinese and English-Chinese] we were told as most of the students have a combined dictionary), but for some strange reason, I've been compelled to blog. Yes, about the ever popular topic of the rat race.

I admit I have contemplated this topic before (huge understatement. For all eternity probably hits the nail), but perhaps I've been too drunk on my ultimate success in the rat race (albeit the Australian/West Australian one, which is somewhat inferior compared to the rest of the world. Think Usain Bolt vs... Me) to really get down to thinking about it. And I've perhaps been too naive to attempt to close my eyes and wish it all to go away now that I'm in uni.

As you would have guessed, once again, I have been too gullible. Too ignorant, even bordering on stupid. How could I ever have expected it to end? There are still people who wish to tread on you, just maybe for the sadistic pleasure of hearing the pop of your intestines as they explode, or seeing you squirming and writhing in pain while they laugh.

It has been especially annoying knowing the disadvantage I'm at for not doing biology/human biology (which I have never been interested in), considering the course I am doing is really, just that. It doesn't help that just because I emerged (amazingly) as one of the top students in the State, people expect me to do really well. Honestly, get real. Not everyone did bio/human bio. Not everyone did an extra year of study (A levels). And not everyone has the luxury of doing nothing except sitting on their asses studying an ungodly number of hours (as other people do actually have to work).

It really gets on my nerves when I get scorned for getting my current grades as 'you were one of the top students'. I know the hidden implication in most of these cases is that Perth education sucks or it was a fluke, and I agree on both counts. I would never have been as successful had I been in Singapore. But honestly, I don't give a crap. Whether I get 50% or 99.9999% in an exam ultimately doesn't matter. We all graduate as doctors. If it would satisfy your sadistic pleasure to know that I did worse than you despite acing my university entrance exams, so be it. Why you would bother competing, I have no clue.

I guess that has already been shoved too far down your throats to make you regurgitate it out at this point in time (rather unlike the way people regurgitate stuff for exams without knowing the meaning). I guess I can't (and am rather unwilling to) stick my hand down and grab it out. However, I would appreciate it if you left me alone and stopped hounding me for my grades. If I say it was bad and refuse to share, don't keep pinning me to the wall with your constant 'what did you get? It can't be that bad?' because it could well be, and it would help if you were a bit more sensitive than a hairpin and saw that I am actually rather disappointed.

And I would also appreciate it if there was more open sharing of information. While I attempt to do so as much as I can, I don't see much reciprocating going around. Perhaps I haven't been there, or somehow don't see it, but it seems like a lot of the people in our year are highly selfish. Does it benefit you that you are the only person to know the answer? There isn't a fixed quota/ranking system in university anymore. Even then in high school, I didn't agree with this ongoing backstabbing/hoarding of information in hidey corners. What more, it DOESN'T MATTER NOW. The stories I've heard from the seniors about notes/information/help circulating around the cohort don't seem to be true at all. I personally can't say much, seeing I don't write notes. However, I do attempt to help whenever I can, which is sadly, more than most people do.

What I've been saying, distilled into two words, is GROW UP. It is no longer high school. And I should grow up too, I guess. The world isn't that simple after all. Changing myself doesn't mean the world will change. Nice try, Gandhi.

Haha. This is probably why I never wanted to do med. And probably why I would have chosen to do some math-y course that allows me to be locked up for days with just a few equations. At least equations don't bitch and backstab.

I do admit that some people do try to help, which I appreciate very much indeed. I don't really have a specific person in mind (except for the marks bit), if you were wondering. And I guess this is just a random cantankerous rant and I should be going to bed now.

11:44 PM