Cultural Vs Real

It's been a minute. I started talking to my father a little, via email. I have bad dreams about him every once in awhile if I think about his response to the current realities, so I try not to think of him. I am not used to being the one with daddy issues, but although he raised me well, he seems to have abandoned whatever he taught.

I just went on a 6-day trip to San Francisco, visiting Napa for the first time. My host was a dear friend from university who continues to be dear. I am glad that we have both worked on bettering ourselves as humans, and that it shows.

My podcast was mentioned again in a major publication. The numbers do not reflect the recognition, but I do, and even my narcissistic sister gave me props for it. Being mentioned once could be a fluke, but twice? And by a different writer? We must have something going. And tonight, we released our 100th episode. The whole medical thing is not where my natural talent lies, but this podcast is precisely such. And that is a struggle.

I rescheduled my test date for September 4th. I do not know whether I can be good enough by then. Despite how refreshing that San Francisco trip was, and how I finally felt like my real self, I simply do not know whether the discipline is in me to make this thing happen. I do not know if I can do it. I have hardly touched my Bible in the past few months, and I just... I am not sure. This test, and the similar one that I can take around a month or two after, is the last thing. Once I complete these, I can be done with tests aside from board exams, and board exams are not even technically prerequisites for most jobs as a doctor.

I honestly just wanted to check in and write a little, since I know that it is unhealthy for me not to do so... But as a side note, do you ever find yourself agreeing with all of your friends who have lost their faith, and feeling very critical of many of those who still retain it? It is not across the board, as all the co-creators of the podcast are believers, but some of my closest friends are no longer Christian. And I agree with their criticisms for the most part. But Jesus is still good, and they acknowledge that fact. It is just this baggage of the Christian culture... At the time of my last reading, I was in the book of Acts, but I think I may go back to the gospels simply because the Apostle Paul seems to me to be notably more judgmental than Jesus, to an extent that Christian culture adopted a "spirit" of being judgmental rather than accepting. Even I feel ostracized for believing in science.

The Other Life

Today, we scheduled a podcast recording with an Emmy nominated writer for perhaps the most famous mainstream sketch show of the modern era. I am listening to his podcast as they discuss the world of acting and comedy, and I cannot help but wonder about that world that I left behind for medicine. I watched a twitch stream of one of our recurring guests and he referred to me as a real doctor... and a comedian. People keep referring to me as a comedian and, like titles such as improviser or actor, I have been hesitant to use such a term. In my mind, to properly claim any of those titles, one must pursue that vocation professionally. To act, acting must become your job, at least part time, which means that I am a former child actor. "Former" and "child" are necessary qualifiers. But now I am the host of a weekly improvised comedy podcast, and though it currently does not generate revenue, it could do so in the future.

The thing is, I found myself at a certain point in December. I admitted to myself that I may not be able to pass this exam. Months later, I have regressed further in my knowledge. I still hope to get back into it any day now, especially with vaccines potentially allowing stress relief to be a legitimate option. That being said, what if comedy becomes a legitimate prospect? As soon as I am able to practice medicine, I of course want that, but what about my childhood dream of acting?

I was telling my mother about some of these podcast-related things today. She brought up how I had been trained in improvisation in acting classes, and how our manager saw me as a young Jack Nicholson. In a sense, it all comes back to this question that began when God first told me to go into this. What am I good at? I soon learned that I am naturally very good at many things outside of the world of science, and it was only years of hard work that turned me into a medical scientist. And the other sides of me continue to reveal themselves. I would even argue that much of what makes me a good doctor is the performative side, the bedside manner. These are all just pondering thoughts in my mind, and I hope to make residency a reality next year. I just have to find a way to make my brain and body comply...

Anxieties & Remembering

Well, the funeral weekend is upon us. As I sip on scotch in an attempt to reach through my palate to the history of my deceased grandfather and his forefathers, I also fight through a tightness in the face, chest, and abdomen. Rumor has it that my predictions are coming true, that my being unwilling to attend funeral proceedings will be viewed as disrespectful, leading one or more parties to consider no longer speaking to me. The primary reason why I am not attending the funeral is of course because it is an indoor gathering of people during a pandemic, and at least one of those people is already reportedly ill with some sort of respiratory infection. So yes, I will be ostracized for preventing harm, as my oaths require, and those who continuously mocked the virus and those who fight it will be in attendance, as will the person or persons who gave my grandfather the virus that would give rise to the whole occasion. But I am seen as the selfish one. That being said, I dislike playing the victim, so I will attempt to move on from this preoccupying digression. And I genuinely wish that I could be there.

October 19, 1931 - January 18, 2021

One thing that I thought was so romantic in the most old fashioned sense was how my grandfather proposed to my grandmother by post. I never asked specifically about their dating experience, but it is my understanding that they met in London, and he was only there for a few weeks before taking a job in Kenya. From there, he presumably continued dating her by mail. If I recall correctly, it was a matter of months between meeting and proposal. According to him, the reason why she said "yes" was because "he had a job". They had grown up during the Great Depression, so job security was obviously an enviable thing, but how wonderful that they would remain apparently happily wed for the rest of their lives until she passed. He would say of her that when he was a "maybe", she would make it a "yes" or "no" in a given important decision. He was charming, kind, and intelligent, but she brought a balance to it that I unfortunately never had the chance to learn to appreciate. I wish that I had asked better questions of her. But then again, the only way I ever obtained full answers from my grandfather was by having meals with him without parents or relatives. An unfortunate thing about having a funny family that thinks highly of themselves is that they love to hear themselves talk. I say this as someone who is quite aware of my own tendencies in this area.

The first time my brother and I went out to eat alone with my grandfather last year, he had something to show us. The gleam in his eye and his giddiness was reminiscent of a child who had managed to catch a frog by the creek. It was a card indicating a prepaid cremation, all expenses covered, just as his wife had had when she passed.

I think back to the last time I saw him. It was December 26, 2020. I had seen him earlier that week, but I had also skipped Christmas festivities, and as his cognition was leaving him, seeing people on these occasions were becoming a more treasured thing. We had dinner at our city's British pub. Covid cases were quite high at the time, but the pub was clearly at least at half capacity rather than the required quarter capacity. As at many meals in recent months, I scraped my brain for any question to ask him about his past, any new story to learn from him that evening. This is of course an occasion where if I could go back, I would have just asked him about anything, old or new. And wow, the thought of speaking with him again really brought tears running down my face. I admittedly thought that I "took care" of that in previous writings, but this must be what grief is. I imagine asking him to tell me about when he wrote the charter for a school in Kenya, and hearing his tone as he minimized his role and emphasized the impact that it would have on a young girl's life in such a time and place in the world. Picturing him describing the Terracotta Army and how amazed he was at the detail of the carvings, or about his novel teachings on the book of Revelation, or, more exciting, telling us about growing up during the London bombings of WWII. I had asked him why he took the job in Kenya after he had just acquired one in London, and he referenced the romanticized concept of British colonialism. As someone who has traveled more extensively than most at my age, I assured him that it was quite understandable.

Once, a dear friend of mine and her boyfriend were in town. Our family was having dinner at a hibachi grill restaurant, and I invited this friend to join us. They came and it was a lovely time. At the end of the meal, I assured them that they would not need to pay, as my grandparents were generous in these things. My friend, however, went aside to them and handed him cash in an almost desperate manner. In a rare moment of openly genuine sincerity, he returned the paper bills to her hands and said, "Keep the money. Your presence tonight was the payment."

Regardless of my many complaints about this family, I grew up in immense privilege, and it is easy to say without reservation that this man's influence changed my world in positive ways that I will never know nor be able to articulate. As my sister once put it, "he's the man who gave me everything." But you cannot have a proper legacy without bookends to the start and finish.

Worsening & Bettering

I have been overwhelmed on so many levels. One might ask, "Oh, deadlines? Do you have work to do? What is it that so demands your time and attention?" But such an individual's questions would be met with very little in the way of a substantial explanation. In December of 2019, I was exhausted from nearly two years of constant study and work to complete my degree. Following that, the relief I had hoped for and expected was all tossed aside as I waited for eleven months to be allowed to continue in the next phase of my career. When I took an assessment and found myself to be too poor a candidate to do well on an upcoming test, and when, in the same time period, family members were exposed to Covid-19 positive people and yet refused to isolate while in the same abode as myself, I fled. I fled to my mother's Airbnb in somewhat more rural Canton, Texas, and I hid. And my grandfather died, and I mourned. And I dropped my healthy habits.

Though I have never experienced a break-in at my home, the feeling of having people who are serving as SARS-CoV-2 hosts occupy the shared spaces of your place of residence must surely at least serve as an echo such trauma. So even here in Canton, I am often filled with anxiety. I usually have worse allergies when temperatures drop outside, so I gave up running when I noticed this happening, for fear that I would compromise my lungs with regard to SARS-CoV-2. This is a poorly founded hypothesis of mine. Since I began exercising regularly at university, I have referred to jogging as my antidepressant. I have barely touched my Bible. I drank more. Bourbons led the way of course, with the occasional scotch added to the mix. I did not drink at the levels of those with liver cirrhosis, but I certainly drank enough to cause some small concern in myself. This is in the past tense only because with the winter storm that hit this unforgiving state of Texas, I ran out of liquor and my car has been stuck, so all of my shopping has been done on foot (and the nearest liquor store is half an hour away).

And then one of the few friends that has assured me that I am okay for taking precautions, that Covid-19 is a big deal and all of that, a friend who, along with two others, is one of the co-creators of my podcast, said that she does not care about the vaccines, that she only cared about her grandparents, and since those grandparents are now vaccinated, she is not so concerned about SARS-CoV-2. I said that if we continued talking about it, I would get pissed, and she said "me too" and left the group chat. Bear in mind that this group chat has been ongoing for years, the place where we bounce sketch comedy ideas off of each other all the time and also just share whatever we like. So hopefully something else is going on that she can resolve, because I am a doctor who swore an oath to prevent harm, and that oath does not only apply to my own kin. Not to mention that my grandfather died from it a month ago, and frankly, I do not wish for more people to die from this virus, not if it is within my power to prevent such an event.

Anyway, I worked out a little today. It is still muddy outside from all of the snow so I did not go jogging, but I hope to renew my good habits and get back to studying.

And to be honest, I am not sure that I can pass this test. Nor the one after it. But I did just take two months off from studying, so if ever there was a time when I could possibly feel recharged, I hope that it is now.

Upcoming Funeral Of The Family Patriarch

As difficult as my grandfather's passing was, it was inevitable. Short of the return of Jesus, a topic of great focus for the Bible study which my grandfather's taught on a weekly basis, he was going to pass away. A shortcut was introduced, but it was generally as natural as anything else in this life. Other things related to his passing, however, are not a matter of such necessary consequence. The principle matter to which I am referring is, of course, the funeral in six days. My father, who has continuously lived in denial of Covid-19 and the dangers thereof, told us the date of the funeral and that he expected us all to be there. In my case, of course, such expectations are poorly placed. No claims of "social distancing" are to be reliably believed from my father who had attended church while reportedly noticeably infected with Covid-19. So even though we live in a technologically advanced age in which a group could manage to grieve together to some degree, this is not mentioned as a legitimate option. Everyone could get tested beforehand, or isolate, or anything, but each of these requests would be too much to ask from such a stubborn and prideful people who continually live in denial.

So even as my oldest brother is coming into town, a brother who has been living even more reclusively since the pandemic broke out, I have no plans to be in attendance for this event. To go there would be to mourn a preventable death with those who caused it, and who continue to be in denial about it. A people whose very gathering will represent a chance to instigate further spread of this disease, a further propagation of the mode of death that has ravaged our planet.

I anticipate a difficult weekend in which I will be labeled as a selfish person, a black sheep. How odd that to do the right thing could be so...dreadful. But my family does a poor job at empathy, and at this point, I do not expect them to understand.

My youngest sister, who says cruel things because her psychological disorder compels her to do so, said that I might as well spit in my grandfather's urn if I will miss the service. She later apologized, and then proceeded to insult and berate me via text again until I finally blocked her (again). But the thing is, I have compromised my own rules regarding viral safety in order to have weekly meals with my grandfather for the length of most of the pandemic. The reason why I compromised has been, in a very literal sense, killed by the compromise of others. The funeral will hold the ashes of a deceased grandfather and a room full of those who may be infected with a highly contagious and deadly virus. Needless danger in a dangerous time and, once again, I will likely be made out to be the bad one. But I do not wish to emulate my grandfather by imitating his mode of death. Rather, as I see so many Christians willing to sacrifice the lives of those around them for the sake of small convenience, I will endeavor to see the Christ in these people rather than allow the threatening anger to take hold. Forgive them, for they know not what they do.

Mourning My Grandfather

My apologies if these thoughts sound scattered. They are. It is the passing of a human who has impacted many others in a significant manner, and such a matter has broad-reaching ramifications that can be difficult to encapsulate via mere words. Some paragraphs may sound out of order or context. I was writing through tears and attempting to document as words came to me, so I do apologize.

I wrote this five days ago and posted it to Facebook...

"Grandpa passed away last night. The same guy who grew up in the London bombings (same age as the children in those Narnia books), who in his early 20’s left his job in London to take a job offer in Kenya, who started a family by proposing to my late grandmother in London via a letter sent by post while he was still living there in Africa, then moved around to Philadelphia, went back to Africa on sabbatical and stumbled into writing the charter for a school for women there (and that school is still running to this day), the guy who later moved to work for Boston University and gave them financial success, the guy who saw and did so much with clean wit and intelligence, the guy who needn’t apply for a job since that first one in London because he was so sought after, the guy who (along with his wife) would insist every Christmas that rather than get them any gifts, we should instead buy a goat or pay to have a well dug for the less fortunate in the African nations where they themselves had seen that poverty in person, the guy who (along with his wife) at Christmas would also require us to study scripture and be able to answer Biblical questions so that the real focus was always on that rather than gifts or money, the guy who set up trust funds so that I and the rest of my siblings never had to worry about being able to afford an education (and now I am a doctor with no debt), the guy who even as his cognition began to leave him would continue to make witty replies and comments in conversation, the same guy who has been waiting patiently to see Jesus and his wife again in person, that guy has finally finished with this particular race and has been called heavenward.

More caution about covid would have surely given us more time with him, which I would have loved, though I recognize that that is also a selfish thought. Over a year ago, when asked what his New Years resolution was, he replied that he was in the waiting room. It took awhile, during which time I was fortunate enough to learn so much about his life, but the waiting is finally done."

I have never had to process grief before. This man was an absolute legend in ways that I will never be able to credit or articulate, and he always gave glory to Jesus when flattery was directed his way.

Family got together for what I refer to as "Covid Christmas". Weeks later, my grandpa passed away from one or more family members who are in denial about the reality of the pandemic we currently face. I wrote the above words after I saw that my sister had posted something about how grandpa gave her everything. I had learned so much about him in recent past that I wanted to share, so much that I needed to post this. And of course, it does nothing to capture his wit and charm. His favorite restaurant was a local Thai place. We would go to Koung Thai and if any waiter or waitress was unfamiliar with him, he would establish is running jokes, one of which was that he was an employee who worked from 12 to one each day with an hour off for lunch. If it did not naturally come up in conversation, I would ask him about his hours because he truly cherished these little jokes. He would then always tip a given waitress or waiter with a separate $5 (more or less, depending) with a Christian tract. After we ate, he would wait to make sure that the owner was there to accept payment. Then he would deal with the check and crack further jokes about employee discounts and such. These jokes were so recurring and consistent that for Christmas last year, we were going to have a Koung Thai polo shirt made for him, but when we asked the owner for some form of a copy of the logo and he learned that it was for our grandfather, he simply gave us a shirt.

Until just months ago, I assumed that the reason why he had traveled to African nations and other places around the globe was because he had done some missionary work here and there. But from what I understand, this was all a result of business. He was an accountant who wrote up reports, which was apparently a skill that was in high demand at the time. I assumed that he was a missionary because sharing this love of Jesus is what defined his life and the life of his wife. 

When I say "until just months ago", I am referring to the results of this pandemic. Some people are in denial regarding the reality of the current horrors. One week last year, the death tolls from Covid-19 hit 100,000 and this was the point at which I was no longer willing to tolerate family's denial of reality. Though my siblings advised against it (because although I was right, they recognized how stubborn my father would be), I gave my father and stepmother an ultimatum: they would act in accordance with reality and take measures against this global pandemic, or I would no longer associate with them. They chose the latter option. At my request, my brother then arranged for us to have meals with my grandfather that did not include my father nor stepmother. Over the course of such meals, I learned most of my grandfather's life story. This revelation of his life story resulted because he would normally be interrupted by my father or stepmother or anyone else. On the first such of these occasions, my grandfather shared with us a card which was a prepaid ticket to his eventual cremation.

When some things were a "maybe" for him, he said that it was a "yes" or "no" from his late wife, my grandmother. Though my memories of her are a strong Scottish accent chiding us with "naughty naughty", he held her in such remarkably high esteem that I regret never learning her story like I was able to learn his. It took a global pandemic for circumstances to allow for me to finally learn these things from my grandfather, but I digress... 

He regularly taught a Bible study on Wednesday nights. Like much of that side of my family, he was incredibly focused on a specific interpretation of the book of Revelation. This admittedly disappointed me somewhat, because I believe that a book with such a great quantity of metaphorical content and references should probably not be taken as specific guidance. That being said, this was an elderly British gentleman sharing with fellow elderly people about the end times, which is a great comfort to those who are nearing the endpoints of their own mortality.

His image so readily comes to mind. The short term and the long term memories fight for dominion, as he is such a memorable figure in my life. He would arrange for all of his family to be there for Christmas. "There" in this case would, in my memory, be in Florida. His highly intelligent family had naturally become financially successful, so as a grandchild, I would always be privileged to stay in a fancy hotel where we could potentially charge items to the room. And we would go to Disney World and Universal Studios. What a life.

He told us a little about how he grew up. As mentioned via that Facebook post, he grew up during the London bombings. For roughly a year, per his testimony, they had a metallic kitchen table that, when the alarms went off, would lower from its suspensions to cover the family underneath in case of their home being bombed. The children would all sleep underneath this lowered metal piece sometimes. He said that it was something in the area of eight months that this went on, largely because their coastal town was among the first that a German bomber would encounter on a flight westward toward Britain. Unlike those children in the Narnia books, my grandfather did not start out with such privilege as to be able to move to a home in the country. He and his family endured. 

He also told us about a particular occasion in Africa. If I am not mistaken, this particular event happened in Uganda. He was a young adult man driving with his children in the car in Africa, and he passed what he recognized as a rogue elephant, an elephant without a herd. This rogue elephant began to charge in his direction, and much to his horror, his car stalled. He struggled to start it again. His children were in the back seat, blissfully unaware of the giant creature stampeding their way. He kept trying the key and it finally turned over, and he was able to escape such a menacing moment.

That time he was living in Philadelphia and went on sabbatical to Kenya, he sounded as if he had had no particularly ambitious plans. But then someone there was founding a school for girls and my grandfather was asked to write the charter for the school. They deemed this charter to be so well-written that they sent it to other new schools across the nation of Kenya to serve as templates. My grandfather would stop and emphasize just how critical such an education was for these girls, that they otherwise had no route to independence. It gave them a path to freedom. Even as he spoke proudly of being a part of such an endeavor, he also said that his name was not on any of these schools or enterprises. Notoriety was not his goal.

Like my father, my grandfather was one of a tiny few who passed his CPA exam on his first attempt. I say this to emphasize that this was a man of significant intellect, in addition to his ambition to share the gospel of Jesus Christ. I achieved a doctorate in medicine, but with relation to our family, I think that work ethic is the main positive characteristic that I managed to inherit.

This is all that came to mind tonight. I no doubt forgot some incredible portion of my grandfather's legacy, but this I hope is an understandable part of a grandson's documentation of a remarkable human's history. I wrote this through tears, but he is in the best company now.

EDIT: Added a few things here and there, including details about the school in Africa. I normally do not edit my posts, but neither do I normally share them.

2020 Reflections Pt 2

Then it was my birthday. I met up with a dear friend to go camping in Oklahoma, where we partook of a $100 bottle of speyside scotch. We talked about our faiths (he had lost his) and I struggled to fathom the types of people who would claim to be Christian and yet were unwilling to inconvenience their lives in any significant way that might save the lives of those in their community. Questions of faith, ones in which I am forced to confront my own beliefs and reckon with their inadequacies, these are things which I appreciate.

I had recently taken a test to try to get my doctorate before I turned 30. No. I was not speaking to my father, but I went to his (well, technically the family's) lake house for my birthday weekend with my podcast team and my sister. When my blood mother was in charge, the rules were much the same, but the micromanagement was notably different. We kept it cleaner than we found it, as usual. In any case, I was very stressed throughout the weekend and had a small breakdown among my friends, which was graciously tolerated with apologies.

Following my birthday weekend, well, what else has changed? That girl I had told that I liked? She claimed to be anti-mask, and said that I need not be so pro-mask just because I was a medical student. Beyond simply being a medical student, the simple oath that we both swore to prevent harm should have kept a mask on both our faces, but needless to say, my affections for her all but ceased immediately.

Then July happened. Then August. Then September. October. November. With each month, more deaths were listed, and less people seemed to care. When holidays came, I reaffirmed that I would not be present for gatherings of human bodies. Need I remind anyone that this is completely reasonable and sane, and objections to such require significant qualifications to be considered otherwise. But of course, family pushed through, and now my father and stepmother and her family all have this virus infecting their bodies. As of yet, we lack the knowledge concerning how it will affect their lungs and the rest of their bodies in the future. As of the most recent update, my father is still in denial about being infected at all.

When siblings went to family Christmas, were exposed to Sars-Cov-2, and then returned back to the place where I live with my mother, who is in an age group which is at greater risk, I was displeased. That, of course, is a mild way to put it. They casually mentioned being exposed to people who later tested positive for the disease. They remained in living areas of the house as we tried to continue functioning as if a deadly virus were not in our midst. This of course ended when I finally moved out to one of my mother's Airbnb's in Canton. This, of course is white privilege at play. I have a safe unoccupied place to visit to isolate from the virus with many modern amenities and no significant fear of the virus.

2020 Reflections Pt 1

Ah, 2020. What a year. It began as most years do, with the horrors of climate change doing their work through consuming Australia in flames. And I believe that somewhere near that time period, people in Beijing (or possibly Hong Kong? No internet as I write this) were protesting the government and fighting for their right to wear masks, to protect their identities.

As for me, I was finally applying for my test permit to retake the Step 2. Little did I know that that two-week process would literally not be complete until Christmas Day. I had auditioned for America’s Got Talent but messed up a little in my performance, so that was unfortunate. On the bright side, I would soon run across a Facebook post asking for singers who were either very good or very bad to be on a new tv show. Ah, January. I had allowed myself to like a girl, a former high fashion model who was now working as a nurse. As it was January, I had already begun work on her Valentine’s Day gift of various mini bottles of scotch.

So I sent that gift and then went on a cruise with some family. There had been two cruise ships with Covid-19 cases thus far, but these were around the east coast, so I for one saw little chance of these issues affecting us. However, it spooked my brothers, and one sister could not make it because her boss, who would later be arrested by Interpol for having a 17-year old killed in Brazil, decided at the last minute that she needed to stay. So my mom’s boyfriend and friend joined us. The friend is a psychologist, and at one point we would discuss my sister’s psychiatric diagnosis. Narcissistic Personality Disorder was the winner, and what an uncomfortable thing to recognize in your own genetics. The cruise was fun. It ended and it was then Valentine’s Day, and that girl I liked let me know that she appreciated the gift.

I flew through the audition process for that singing show. Turns out that it would be hosted by Dr. Ken, a role model in my life in some ways, and certainly a comedy influence. The network loved me and I was to begin filming later in March, so I would need to start my trip to SE Asia a little later than planned. Then a dear friend visited the area and stayed with us while he played a show and then we went out for drinks. I met a nice young woman who gave me her number so that we could go out on her boat and go to karaoke together. I had been in need of a local karaoke buddy so I could unwind after studying. This was early March as I recall, because this was the last weekend when it was still considered safe to go out. Then the world went into lockdown. St Patrick’s Day events were cancelled. I got the call that the show would be delayed. I got a refund on my flights to Bangkok.

And that is more or less when life stopped.

We went into lockdown for a few weeks, during which time the federal government did little to nothing to solve the current issues. Conspiracy theories prevailed and spread widely. In late May, I told my father and stepmother that if they will not do the basics of complying with basic public health recommendations, I would no longer partake of their company. Much to my surprise, they chose to disregard the health of others rather than have the pleasure of my company. Aside from a few holiday texts, I have not communicated with my father since. They, meanwhile, have sent some very insulting and condescending messages to me. Shortly thereafter, I told that girl that I liked her romantically and gave her a specifically worded poem so as to preserve friendships if the feelings were not mutual.