A Single Cookie

He does not have a name I can speak of nor does he have a face I can say much about. He is an amorphous figure that I cannot describe. I can't say much about him, but I can say a few things. I can say that he is an ethereal man. I can say that every time I talk to him, hours turn into ephemeral moments, and before I know it, the day is over. I can say that he means more to me than others would believe. The one thing I can't say though, is how I really feel about him.

We live pretty far away from one another, but that doesn't change anything about our relationship. It's a relationship of, well, true friendship, but I care more for him than he could possibly know. Sometimes, it should allay me that he lives far away from me, but it doesn't, not one bit. The bright side is, he doesn't have to see my moments of sadness, embarrassment, or fear, but what about my moments of happiness or excitement? I want him to be there...here...for those moments especially. I want to share it with him; I want to see him smiling too. It feels like he lives across the country; that's exactly how far away it seems, and this makes me insecure. What is one to do about these feelings of insecurity? Nothing can break the bond that we have right now, but what about later? Something may happen where our lives are torn apart, and then what? He'll slip out of my reach, and I'll watch him walk away to a new life; one where I'm not involved.

He has impacted and changed my life in more ways than I could ever imagine. He's patient, funny, kind, and never temperamental. He knows when it's okay to be sarcastic or witty, and he knows the right times to be serious. He always tells me to be happy rather than upset, and he tells me to be brave when I'm scared. He sounds so darn convincing sometimes; so much so that I can't help but listen. He is a sang-froid who never panics or physically reveals his true feelings or thoughts. He is always calm, even in the worse situations, and he always thinks rationally no matter what has happened. Although he may like to hide what he's thinking, I make sure he tells me everything. He knows that I hate guessing or wondering if anything is wrong, and he knows that he needs to tell me; sometimes I think he knows me too well. He hates when I worry about him, and usually tells me not to worry about him. However, he's allowed to worry about me, and he always does, even when I tell him not to. Something here seems somewhat unfair, but I smile at his words nonetheless. I may not be allowed to worry about him, but I'll let you in on a secret: I always do.

I tend to be stuck in constant moments of ennui (I think I need more to do with my life), but they're broken when I start a conversation with him that usually begins with the simple word, "hi." That seems to be when the magic begins. It starts off with the normal greetings, but then it veers off into the most random topics that lasts for hours. We have been talking to one another for years, wouldn't you think that by now there would be nothing left to talk about? I tend to talk in a garrulous manner whenever I'm with him. Everything I'm thinking about just seems to come pouring out of my mouth within the span of half an hour. I know most of the things I say have no point or mean nothing, but he always listens with interest to anything I have to say. He laughs at the right moments, smiles, or says something in agreement just so that he knows that I know that he's listening. Whenever he talks, however, the mood shifts. It's as if every word spoken means something. He is never really a quixotic thinker. No matter how harsh the truth may seem, he thinks realistically. Our conversations tend to go from funny to serious or from happy to sad, but they always keep me entertained. I take everything he says to me, which is mostly advice, to heart. He teaches life lessons, sometimes without even knowing it.

I tend to make a lot of mistakes or say things that don't make much sense, but he never derides me. Some people make fun of me for it, and I get embarrassed. However, he does the opposite. He may laugh a bit, but he'd say it's okay and that everyone makes mistakes. However, sometimes I feel like I make more mistakes when I'm with him then with anyone else. What I love about him though, is that he knows me so well. He could probably write a whole dossier about me, but maybe that's because I'm just predictable and easy to read. I mentioned before that he doesn't reveal much about himself, but I'm pretty sure I know him just as well as he knows me. I know that if I really wanted something, he'd give it to me. For example, he could be eating the last cookie on a plate, and I'd ask for it. He'd probably tease me a bit, but with a simple "please?" he'd cede it to me. He succumbs to my begging, and for that I always give him a huge smile. Some may say he spoils me, but I'd say it's something bigger and better.

When I say I know a person, that means I REALLY know them. With this one person, I know him better than I know myself sometimes. I could write a whole novel about him, but I'll keep it as simple as possible. Everyone tends to be maladroit at something, whether it be something like sports, writing, or playing games. It can be anything. Everyone is good and bad at something, but this one person seems like he rejects that idea. He has the most incredible skills when it comes to learning quickly. Oh sure he may be bad the first time he tries something, but give him two or three more tries. He'll be better than you within a matter of moments. Even though he is amazing at pretty much anything he tries, he is in no way a supercilious person. He won't rub it in your face that you lost. In fact, he'll just call himself lucky. Though to me, he seems to be awfully lucky with everything in his life. I think every person in the world would be invidious of everything he could do, and everything he has the potential to do. I know I already am.

He is my best friend and my enemy. He is my rival and my companion. I could write so much more about him, but then I think I could possibly crash the server. My heart is burgeoning solely because of him. Every since I met him we have slowly been coalescing. He is a part of me, and I'm a part of him. He is unique in more ways that I could dare to describe. His heart is like the last cookie on the plate. It is always waiting for someone, but it is always willing to be given.

A Secret Life

Is it possible to ever "live" another life? Would someone ever be truly happy pretending to be someone they're not? Welcome to the life of an actor. In some ways, actors are found hidden within everyone; they are not only the people found on stage or on the movie screen. It is something more. Sure, an actor could play an epicure in a movie, eating at the best restaurants and drinking only the most expensive wines. However, the question I would like to present is: How much of our lives do we spend pretending?

Everyone has probably been to at least one bacchanal, where they would find themselves dancing, drinking, eating, or socializing. Exactly how many people in the room pretend to be someone they're not? Are they doing something that's socially acceptable? Whether we want to do something or not, people are imbued with the lifestyles of today. We are forced to bend ourselves to "fit in". No one would want to be deemed a "loser", would they?

I would exhort most by telling them to stop pretending. I would tell them to be themselves, rather than who they want to be. It's a world of ideals. However, if I were to spread my thoughts, I would just call myself a hypocrite. I would not want to preaching bombastic words, when I don't even support them. I would sound like a know-it-all who, in reality, knows nothing.

This also might explain why it seems so odd to see some famous actor in a cameo. They would usually be found playing the main role, but why did they only make a quick appearance? One would think, "That's not like them to do that." The problem is, we would never really know if it's like them to do that. We don't know anything about the actor or person.

I want to see how many people actually live lying to others, and most importantly, themselves. How hypocritical can we all really be? I cannot deny what I've done in my life. I've pretended to be someone I'm not; I've outright lied to others; I've acted like a complete fool. Who is to say though, exactly when we're acting? If we "pretend", does that mean we don't really know ourselves? Is this a way to escape answering the question? We want to find ourselves and express ourselves in major ways, but how can we do so?

I've been ranting on about pretenders and actors, but I don't think that I can even answer my own question. How much of our lives do we spend pretending? It would be too harsh to say we spend our entire lives pretending, but it would be a lie to say we never pretend. We live in a society based on focusing on others' opinions. Who is to say what is really cool and what's not?

I have found that pretending is an addiction. You say one thing to escape another, and you just continue to do it for the rest of your life. It is an addiction, a habit, that no one wants to admit. So to answer the question of how much of our lives we spend pretending, there really is no answer. We do it unconsciously, and many refuse to admit it. Meet the leaders of tomorrow.

My Summer Part II

I definitely miss the Summer days of going to the beach and relaxing all day long. However, once the week-long vacation was over, I was put to work. During the rest of the Summer, I volunteered at UMDNJ, the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey in order to finally see how a hospital actually works. However, I discovered that everything was a lot different than I pictured.

When I was assigned to work in the PAC-U (Post-Anesthesia Care Unit), I expected a lively day filled with a million different exciting moments to keep myself preoccupied and busy. Before I could find out how "exciting" it was, I was switched into Same Day Surgery. Working in Same Day Surgery became one of the worst experiences of my life.

I found myself mixed in with a bunch of gregarious nurses, but they didn't seem to like me very much. I never exactly knew why, but they always treated me like a pariah. I mean, I know I was only a volunteer and not an actual worker, but they didn't have to treat me differently. I would assume nurses are nice and caring to everyone, but I was wrong. I realized some of the people in Same Day Surgery were the antipodes of what I expected them to be. I knew they laughed at me sometimes when I didn't seem to be around, and they would criticize me too. I tried hard to be chary; I think I wanted to win them over with all my effort.

There was one time when a nurse tried to be nice to me. She taught me how to take a patients' temperature, and how to take his vitals. I was ecstatic. I thought that if I were finally useful, then the other nurses would like me. Oh how I was so very wrong. While I was taking the temperature of a patient, a different nurse began to yell at me. Apparently I wasn't allowed to take the temperature or check the vitals. The nurse started yelling things like, "What if you took the wrong temperature? What if you did something wrong? Then the hospital would be blamed! You're only a volunteer, what if something suddenly went wrong?" The whole time I was silent and wondering so many different things. How exactly was this completely my fault? One nurse told me to do it, and I did it. Why was I the only one wrong in this situation?

At this point, the nurse that was yelling at me began to exacerbate me. I was getting angrier and angrier at each word directed towards me. Who was she to yell at me? I only did what I was told. I was following the orders of another nurse like a well-behaved minion. What, exactly, was wrong with that?

And is it possible that my day could have actually been made worse? Why yes, it could. While I was in the back doing other work I was assigned, I went towards the Nurses Station to grab something. When I got close enough, I heard a bunch of roaring laughter. They were talking about what had just happened with me. They talked about me as if I were an ingénue. The nurse who taught me how to take the temperature and vitals was the women laughing the hardest. She was defending herself, but she said nothing to clear my name at all. I was suddenly hit with a paroxysm of emotions. I was angry, but then overwhelming grief struck me.

I tried to come up with excuses as to why the nurses acted the way they did. I tried to see it from their point of view. I tried to describe them in the nicest ways possible to my family, but every single nice thing I said about them disappeared. Once the nurses started to make fun of me and laugh at me, that was when I abjured every belief I had in them. I tried to believe they were completely good people. I tried to believe that they probably just had a hard week, but I learned that I was wrong.

I ended up breaking down and crying. I felt like an idiot, and it was obvious the nurses thought I was one too. I was constantly importuned with crazy assignments, and I had nothing to show for it. I was never appreciated being there, and I only caused more trouble for the nurses. Everything just hit me. I was a naive girl that did everything wrong. In order to preclude an event like this from happening ever again, I decided I would go to the volunteer office and change the section I was assigned to.

Because I actually did know someone working in the hospital, I was allowed to shadow her instead of working in Same Day Surgery. I was actually allowed to switch from Same Day Surgery back to the PAC-U, but I would normally just shadow my family friend. She was a PA (physician's assistant) for the Assistant Dean of the University Medical School. He was an eminent man known all around the hospital. His main focus dealt with Pediatric Surgery.

When I discovered I was allowed to shadow such an important doctor, I was filled with brio. I would finally get to see what I wanted to see: surgeries. Another great thing about shadowing this man, was the fact that he was so important. Medical students would shadow him too, in order to gain experience. This time, I wasn't alone. I was able to listen to enigmatic discussions, where the students and the Assistant Dean used random medical terms I had never heard before. It was actually more interesting than I thought it would be. Even though I didn't understand more than half the things they said, I enjoyed shadowing and observing. For the first time since I had arrived there, I was actually enjoying what I had to do.

The experience filled me with both happiness and sadness. There was one time I went into the pediatric emergency room. The sight of it was depressing already. There was one time in particular when I was forced to watch the PA try to resuscitate a baby that was only a few weeks old. The maudlin mother was sitting on a chair watching the sight, crying the entire time. Every time I think back to that day, I get begin to feel sorry again. The nurses and doctors attempted to resuscitate the baby for over half an hour. By then, everyone knew the ending to the story. The baby was dead. It was as if God commandeered the baby's life, and the doctor's could do nothing to stop it. Was it really time for such a young baby to go? The scene haunts me. For the first time in my life, I had witnessed the reality of human mortality.