This summer I took a strange class. So strange, that when I started to type what the class was about, I couldn’t think of how to phrase it. Essentially it was a course about happiness and relaxation, yet oddly it made me more stressed. But I’ll save that story for another day.

Today I spent the entire day studying again, and so I have to be lazy about writing. Instead, I wanted to share a story that a friend from that strange class sent to me that I found very inspiring and thought provoking. I could not find an author from my brief online search, but if anyone has more information, please send it my way.

————
$20 Bill

A well known speaker started off his seminar by holding up
a $20 bill. In the room of 200, he asked:

“Who would like this $20 bill?”

Hands started going up. He said:

“I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first,
let me do this.”

He proceeded to crumple the dollar bill up.

He then asked:

“Who still wants it?”

Still the hands were up in the air.

“Well,” he replied, “what if I do this?”

And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into
the floor with his shoe. He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty.

“Now who still wants it?” Still the hands went into the air.

“My friends, you have all learned a very valuable lesson.
No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because
it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20.

Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground
into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that
come our way. We feel as though we are worthless.

But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you
will never lose your value. To those who love you, you are
priceless.

The worth of our lives come not in what we do or who we know
but by who we are!

—————

This story touched me because I certainly never thought about my self-worth as anything other than how I perceived myself. I didn’t take into consideration that I might be worth something to other people.

You mean so much to me. Yes, you. Because you are my friend, because you care enough to read my ramblings, and because you are someone who makes my life and the world better.

Mood: 5 getting more accustomed to this med school schedule (which is study study study no free time)/ Tiredness: 4 getting time to sleep but not as exhausted from the proceedings of the day as I was yesterday/ Spiritual tiredness: 4 still not getting into the rhythm of my new life. But there’s always the weekend!

They weren’t kidding when they said that medical school is like trying to drink from a fire hydrant.

We’ve only had three days of class, and already I am falling behind.

On the second day, we had a lab session based on material from the first day’s lecture. I had always seen medical students constantly studying, reviewing material the same night, or even right after lecture during lunch. Despite this, I still held on to the fantasy that I could get through class the same way I got through undergrad – slacking and gliding through. Of course, I was one of the only ones who didn’t review the lecture notes, and I looked like a fool in lab. There’s no better motivator to get my act together than to be the weakest link in a group effort.

Since I didn’t review the first day, I was already behind. And catching up is difficult. Even with working every waking minute I have, at the end of today, I have two lectures to review, and three that I haven’t even watched yet. I’ve spent more time trying to set up my computer to watch lectures at 2x speed than the time that I would have saved doing so. Then tomorrow we have class from 8am to 5pm, which means that in addition to the five lectures I just mentioned, I will have five more to review tomorrow night. I can’t even imagine how anyone would have time to pre-read the lecture slides. It just never ends!

And yet the biggest piece of advice that my fourth year tour guides had for me was that they wished they had studied less. I’m going to have to ask them again about how to do that in detail.

Please let the weekend come and never go away!

Mood: 3/Tiredness: 3/ Spiritual Tiredness: 3

Growing up, I cannot recall a single day when less than ten people milled about my house. There was Dad, Mom, Grandfather, and my three dogs I mean younger brothers, of course. But then there were also the visiting relatives, friends, enemies, traveling circus, hobos, and what have you passing through. In fact, our front door is never even locked. It would probably take a week before any one of my family to notice a drifter in our presence. And then my Mom would just set up a permanent bedroom for the guy. That’s the thing about chaotic households – they teach you to welcome friends and strangers alike with open arms. On a typical day I’d cook meals with Grandfather, discuss politics with Dad, gossip with Mom, and war with my brothers. Add a few extra bodies into the equation and I don’t even know how I found time to practice on my violin or do homework!

To top all that off, our house quickly became the popular hangout spot of my friends due to its kickback atmosphere. Look up the “No Rules House”, and you might find our house on a list of hottest places to visit in the area. Because I enjoy creating tacky opportunities for my groups of friends to meet each other, I have become (in)famous for my themed parties. We celebrated 2009 with “99 Red Balloons”, in which guests were forced to maneuver through rooms filled with – you guessed it – red balloons. My 21st birthday, “Murder Mystery Bash”, featured the murder of the mafia princess Cristal in crime-ruled New York in a role-playing story written entirely by yours truly. And for my boyfriend’s December birthday, I managed to lure 100 of his friends into my gingerbread house (luckily, they were able to escape as real boys and girls). Now my friends have become lazy about seeing each other, saying “We’ll just get together at Crystal’s party like every other year”. If I flunk out of med school, I think I will probably make a living as a professional party planner.

Not every moment in the No Rules House was fun and exciting, and the utter lack of privacy can be frustrating. Now that I’m living in a shared house with other medical students, I understand that it is not exactly the same as living with your family. Now that I’m all grown up, I understand personal boundaries and that you shouldn’t randomly punch the other people in your house just because it’s funny (although tasteful practical jokes in moderation are ok). But at the end of the day, I wouldn’t have it any other way. If there is one thing I’ve learned from living in a large household, it’s that every member contributes in a unique way to building a social, intimate environment. A warm, welcoming, and busy house brings out the best of everyone – including me.

For my first day of class, I woke up at 6:30 AM; sat through four and a half hours of lecture, straight, with one professor mumbling his way through and the other all but shouting at us; was constantly struggling with a) staying awake, b) paying attention, or c) holding my bladder; realized how much science I had forgotten, and how much I just plain didn’t know; skipped lunch to complete bureaucratic paperwork; and felt like the stupidest one in my class because I couldn’t do the homework problems.

Yet despite all these grumblings, what bothers me the most? The notes!

Last Friday I checked my school mailbox to find over 1000 pages of printed lecture slides. Bear-hugging them was the only way I could manage to carry them all, and I walked like this all the way across campus and home with every undergraduate, law, and business student I passed wondering what kind of nerd I must be for printing out all my notes before class even started. My housemates, third year medical students, ran into me and half poking fun at me, half reminiscing, asked their friends, “Remember those notes from first year, remember when we actually used them?”

The immediate next step was to buy binders ($12 for a 3 inch binder is ridiculous – when did binders get so expensive!), but even separating them doesn’t make them any more manageable. With them stuffed in a backpack this morning, I managed to bruise both my shoulders. To add insult to injury, there were 500 more pages waiting for me in my mailbox this morning –  they couldn’t fit in my mailbox on Friday because of all the other notes.

If only there were student compensation for illness or injury sustained in the course of studying, like workers’ compensation for illness or injury on the job. I wouldn’t mind a shoulder/back massage right about now.

Med School: Just buy us iPads! Save printing money, the environment, and our backs!*

Mood: 7 pretty low stress first days of school/ Tiredness: 8 long day and ready to go to sleep/ Spiritual Tiredness: 7 funny how starting a new part of life re-energizes you

*I am actually very grateful to my medical school, because with the financial aid they provided me, I can buy as many iPads as I want.

It is 12:26 pm on August 14th, which means there are  exactly 1370 days, 4 hours, and 34 minutes until I become a real doctor.

Welcome to The Trouble With Crystal 2.0.

If you haven’t already guessed, my name is Crystal, and I am troubled.

Remember that song from West Side Story, when the Jets are poking fun of Officer Krupke?

The trouble is he’s crazy. 
The trouble is he drinks. 
The trouble is he’s lazy. 
The trouble is he stinks. 
The trouble is he’s growing. 
The trouble is he’s grown. 

Gee, Officer Krupke, 
Krup you! 

Well, what exactly is the trouble with Crystal?

I started blogging in 2009 as a way to find happiness again after my grandmother’s death. I took a break from blogging in 2010 once medical school applications started, and I found that I was doing more than enough introspection and writing with those essays. And, although I hate to admit it, it was also because I was afraid of what admissions officers might think if they found my blog. You might be wondering, what happened once medical school applications were over? In a word, laziness.

Now that I am starting a new school, a new academic path, and a new life, I am reviving my blog so that I can record all of my experiences and thoughts, and keep myself sane! Maybe someone out there will read something I write, and it will resonate with her, make her think in a different way, or make her laugh. Maybe someone out there will find my opinions not only objectionable but disgusting. If you are that person you can close your browser now.

I’m only kidding.

Maybe someone out there will disagree with me, leave a comment, and initiate a discussion that changes the way I think. But then again, maybe no one will read it except I, and even then these pages will serve their function as a place to organize my thoughts, respond to the good and the bad I find in the world, and freeze my feelings at a particular point in time so I can look back and ask myself, “what the hell was I thinking?” In bringing peace to my inner self, I can become a better person and do good in the world. It’s like meditating on paper.

——

Two days ago, I donned my short white coat – the symbol of a med student (as we progress in our training, our coats also become progressively longer) – and received my stethoscope. I am now officially a part of the medical profession, a doctor in training.

Classes start tomorrow, 8 am. I am predicting that I will be the first in the class to stop attending lecture and watch them all online. Orientation has firmly ingrained in my head that not only will I be slaving away for the next four years of medical school and three+ years of residency and fellowship, but also that I will be working 30+ years on my own before I will pay off my student debt. And meanwhile, my boyfriend makes the same as the median physician salary right out of college. Did I not say already that I was troubled?

I look forward to the start of my new life and also to many more posts on TTWC 2.0!

I’m in the fifth floor of the library furiously cramming for a microeconomics exam next week (I haven’t been to a single lecture for six weeks). It’s brilliantly lit and I’m surrounded by studious peers and sage books. Yet I can’t concentrate at all because I’m still furious about this bike incident…

Before leaving for Oxford last year, I happened to receive an email from the police department that they had recovered my lost (read: stolen) bike. I took a look at it, and against advice to scrap it, I decided to buy the parts to fix it up. Three hours and fifteen dollars later, I had myself a pretty workable bike.

Seeing that my bike would have no use for anyone in storage during the spring semester, I sent an email out to my dorm list offering to lend it out until I returned in the fall. One unnamed person took me up on the offer, and, after cautioning him to use his own lock (since I didn’t have one), I left the bike in his care.

When I arrived back on campus after the summer, I sent the unnamed person an email inquiring about the whereabouts of my bike. He tersely informed me that it had gotten stolen two weeks into the semester. I was furious. Why didn’t you use a lock like I had told you. and WHY AREN’T YOU OFFERING TO PAY FOR IT? I had to send him an email offering my sympathies (and veiling my anger), and coyly suggesting that he reimburse me for the bike. He offered me $40 – a fair value given the shape it was in.

That was the last I heard from him. After multiple emails asking for the payment, he never responded to a single one. Too bad I don’t know him personally (we never met face to face, just arranged everything over email) or I would go over and demand the payment. It’s not really the $40, it’s a pretty miniscule sum. It’s more the fact that this guy is a jerk for losing my bike, then refusing to pay after already offering to pay.

It’s been a whole year already. C’mon. We’re graduating in two weeks. Do people seriously act like this past middle school?

Lessons learned: Never EVER lend something out of kindness to someone you don’t know. And never skip six weeks of microeconomics and expect to learn it all in the last week.

Do you have a similar story? Share your comments!

Read Valentines Day Part II

I’d never heard of Black Day until a friend told me last night he was preparing his noodles. According to its Wikipedia stub, Black Day (4/14) is an informal South Korean Tradition for single people who did not receive chocolates for Valentine’s Day (2/14) or White Day (3/14) to celebrate their singlehood through eating noodles. Well, perhaps last year I would’ve been eating noodles today (wow, has a year really passed so quickly?) – but this time around I am happy to report on the final saga of my Valentine’s Day with my wonderful boyfriend who is currently at work until midnight because he was late this morning taking care of me.

Cooking dinner for someone may be romantic, but helping someone cook dinner without knowing what you’re making is even more so. Taking in the smells and feeling the knife hit the cutting board while hazarding guesses as to the final product is like a living mystery short story! Well, I suppose it was fairly obvious to guess what seaweed, avocado, and unagi would create…

Mmm… lamb chops, my favorite!

He dressed up and had me enter from outside, ringing the doorbell, taking my coat for me, and the whole nine yards.

We started with some champagne…

First course: Apple Salad and Brie

Appetizer: Unagi Sushi (failed attempt to roll in heart shape)

Main Course: Lamb Chops with Red Win Sauce (in the shape of a heart)

Applying the sauce for me.

Our elegant dining environment

Dessert: Homemade brownies with vanilla ice cream and strawberries

After dinner, we put on my Colbie Callait pandora station and he asked me to dance in the living room.

This was definitely the most romantic Valentine’s Day I’ve ever experienced and could ever ask for.

It’s funny how the weeks leading up to it, I was stressing out about what to do to make it super special (we were talking about going to Napa or the Beach). I realized that you don’t really need to go all out. Just to spend some nice time in each other’s company is more than enough.

This post probably belongs on thisiswhyimfat.com

Read Valentines Day Part I

I realize that today is Pi Day, 3.14, which means it’s been exactly one month since Valentine’s day, 2-14. Nevertheless, perhaps the long wait for the next installment has made it all the more exciting. Like when I read one chapter of Detective Conan Manga and can’t find out the solution until next week (>.<) but the wait makes the actual experience all the more pleasurable. Or maybe not, but I’ll update you all the same. Mostly because I just finished studying for my biochem final tomorrow, and I need a study break before embarking on a 14-page book review of How Doctor’s Think by Jerome Groopman.

If I could have nine lives, one of those would be as a competitive figure skater. Watching the Olympics this past month, I yearned to actually be really good at something. One thing. I’ve even taken three months of classes in high school. But instead, I’ll just content myself with being moderately more intelligent than average and a moderately better skater than the average person who sort of stumbles onto the ice and figures things out.

My first time ice skating was on Christmas Day in Washington D.C. with my family when I was 14 years old. It was nighttime; other than yellow Christmas lights strung on the trees, you couldn’t see much else outside of the ice. So despite the bustling city surrounding us, the illuminated ice rink and seemed like a haven in a dark ocean. The soundtrack to this memory is slow, jazzy Christmas music. There were only a few others on the ice. One boy about my age, or maybe a little older, was really cute and just skated around and around the circumference. He seemed to be thinking very deeply about something, hiding his face in his large green jacket and scarf. I tried to skate as well as I could, to impress him. I don’t think he was even distracted.

“What? You’ve never been ice skating before?” I was shocked.

“Nope, I prefer to snowboard.”

“We’ll have to go sometime.”

But almost the entire winter passed and we never went. We were both busy, and ice skating didn’t really seem like something you just did when you wanted to hang out. It was one of those things you said you would do sometime, but never expect to getting around to do it.

That’s why I really was surprised when he told me, “We have to finish brunch, because I have a surprise for you. I’m taking you ice skating!”

Hieu trying to ice skate for the first time

The trouble with Crystal is that she never learns from her mistakes.

Well, I can think of plenty of examples, ranging from the more serious (life/death) to the mundane (losing my keys). Tonight though, I’m plagued by my stubborn denial of the hole you’ve left in my life.

We’ve had a pretty rocky relationship throughout my life. I first met you in the fourth grade field trip to La Madeleine for French class. The teachers were wary and suspicious of allowing us to meet; I was too young, they said. Yet, after a first encounter I could never forget the experience. It was love at first sight.

I could immerse myself in you, fill myself up with you. When we were together, I was a better person. More focused, more energized. How many late nights did we stay up together? Whether chatting or studying, you were always there for me.

Then a few months ago, something changed. I couldn’t stand you anymore. Even the smallest bit would aggravate me. And no matter how much I told myself that this was just temporary, the problem wouldn’t go away. I tried to deny it. I gave into my temptation and came to  you – just for a little bit, I told myself. Sometimes, I came to you knowing that I couldn’t have you, yet I had somehow deluded myself into thinking that this time would be different. It never was. It stayed this way – everytime. Why can’t I ever learn from my mistakes?

When I can’t be with you, I feel incomplete, suboptimal, a wimp. When I do have you, I can’t think. My heart beats so fast it’s like it’s raced up to my throat. You keep me up all night, even from just one bite of chocolate. Why do you continue to plague my life. Why can’t we just be together, happy and perfect together, like it always was?

Oh Caffeine, why must you torment me so?

4:44 Am Sunday morning. Final Exam week. Happy Pi Day!

Random Fact: I can recite 22 digits of pi, but only in Chinese.

Brunch: Chocolate-chip pancakes with strawberries, bananas, and whipped cream

We started the day off lying in bed, me not wanting to wake up after my horrible migraine the night before and the caffeinated excedrin kept me up all night, and him impatient to start making preparations but wanting to keep me company at the same time. While I was awake in the middle of the night, I had planned to stay up until Safeway opened to purchase supplies and surprise him with breakfast in bed. That plan failed, as I fell asleep half an hour too early and woke up to his prodding.

Despite my failed breakfast-in-bed idea, shopping together at Safeway while trying to hide our ingredients from each other was surprisingly fun. It seemed that he had much more planned, and while I waited for him to finish picking out groceries, I perused the beauty aisle – so many choices! I also coincidentally ran into my English professor’s husband at the check-out. Jerry? Hey, how are ya, kid.

“I’m going to drop you off at home, I still have one more stop.”

“Are you going to the Chinese store?”

“Close.”

“The Japanese store?”

“Yup.”

“You’re making sushi, aren’t you.” We had been talking about making sushi at home, ever since we realized that we go out almost every weekend for sushi – sometimes even twice in one weekend.

“You’re just ruining this for yourself.”

He left me alone for forty minutes and I got to work. Two eggs, two cups of  batter, and a handful of semi-sweet chocolate chips later, I had prepared a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes adorned with sliced strawberries and bananas, topped with whip cream. I put my hands over his eyes and sat him down. When I removed my hands, his face lit up like a little boy.

“Ooh! Pancakes!”

“Oh wait! I forgot to take a picture!” Luckily he had only eaten half of the pancake.

“Can I borrow your music selection for dinner? It’s very appropriate.”

“Sure, it’s just my Colbie Callait Pandora station.”

Unfortunately, we had to consume our breakfast expediently because the next activity was fast approaching.