I’m sitting at the King’s Food cafe in New Hunt’s House, facing outwards towards the two friends who are chatting, working, having lunch. There is a quiet conversation to my right, and in the background, the sharp squeaks and clicks as the barista makes another order of the large cappuccino.
I’m not working, nor am I worried for working, because this hour was meant for a missed session of patient history taking practice. One where the patient didn’t turn up. This hour was meant for something else, so the more responsible part of me has her mind occupied with the framework. Presenting complaint. History of presenting complaint. Systemic Enquiry. Past Medical History. Drug history and allergies. Family history. Social History. Summary.
But instead, for a little while, I felt like I can write down a sense of calmness amongst the business that surrounds me. The feeling that I’m frozen in a bubble of my own, frozen in time, in another dimension, as those around me hustle and bustle like bees, carrying out their tasks and lives, whilst I pause my own for a little while.
With the office skirt forcing me to sit upright, and the just recently eaten toffee banana muffin pressed against the thin leather belt, I write this post.
I’ve started questioning a lot lately. All the choices that I’ve made in my life. My academics. My career path. My faith. My relationships. Were they my own, or otherwise influenced by parents, friends, peers, society, external unknown and yet-to-be-known forces.
My views mainly remained unchanged. But I can’t help but wonder whether or not I’m simply holding on to those choices and ‘sticking with it’ for the fear of what it means to let go. What it means to scrap it all and start with a clean slate, pushing forward only driven by passion.
Academics. But I do want to do well. I want that satisfaction and acknowledgement of the hard work I’d put into studying an exam, designing a poster, or even writing up my notes.
Career path. I do want to be a doctor. To be torn between the rewarding feeling of success and the pain of losing to an ‘un-personifiable’ disease. I want to be able to say that I, at the very least, had a chance to change someone’s life.
Faith. I do want to chase after God. I want the security of knowing that there is something beyond this life, that there is some purpose in what I’m doing, what I’m living for. Or rather, that there is something to live for, beyond my own selfish desires.
Relationships. I chose my friends. I chose to enter into past relationships. I chose to maintain hurtful friendships. And I chose to let go of others. Some were good and some were bad, but am I allowed to blame some on others, on circumstances?
I won’t know for sure. I feel like I’ll never know for sure. What it all means to make choices, free will, God’s sovereign plan, it’s contradictory, yet something I’ve accepted through faith alone, without questioning the incomprehensible higher power which governs the spinning of the earth around the sun. I’ll take responsibility for my choices. Or at least struggle to find someone to take blame before accepting the truth that I am the only one to blame.
But is happiness really a choice?
If it is. I’d like to choose it. As simply as pressing a subscribe button on YouTube. As easily as pressing submit for a takeaway order online. As straightforward as bringing your steps towards one past as opposed to another at a crossroad.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m at a crossroad. And I want to move towards one. But I’m still. Immovable. And I don’t know why.