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I hate Neil Gaiman.

He has a certain effect on me.

He makes me want to write. He makes me want to think. He makes me want to reverberate the circulating thoughts in my brain until they form coherent thought enough to write it down before I go crazy.

I’ve been reading his works for the greater part of my life now.

He wrote one of the best comic books ever written and continues to write different media. Short stories, movie scripts, novels and even children’s lit.

I think I’ve read some of them that have come my way. Most I haven’t had access to.

Even fell in line to see him and have his autograph in a mall. Twice.

I guess you could even say I started blogging when I read his new collection of short stories. A bit more on that later.

I’ve just noticed. I start most of my paragraphs with “I.”

I’m so self-centered.

Ha.

Sue me. It’s my blog

>:p

It’s kinda ironic. I pictured out my life before enjoying the arts. Lets see now. When I was 20 years old, I thought that when I’d be 28, I’d probably be living in my own flat, have a mountain of CDs (the rare collectible ones that you’d have to kill to get) and a dozen or so walls of books. The flat would be impeccably minimalistic in design, with flat screen TVs and 3D surround sound. The garage would have one car, a gray classic handed down through generations but jazzed up to survive another 50 years. And bucket loads of chicks.

Ha.

See? I told you he made me write.

Reality check.

My own flat? Hmm. Not exactly. I get my own room in a dorm. Its small, but at least its free.

CDs? Nobody uses CDs now. Wow. Technology is making things obsolete. I wonder how long my external hard drive will last before the next form of storage media comes along.

Books? Have. Most of them orthopedic ones. But I’m still happy with them. Weee.

Impeccably designed interiors? I had an overhaul last year. Painted one wall red. Changed the ceiling lights to cove lights. Had the ceiling painted blue to imitate the night sky. Then I ran out of money. Hahaha. I have a blue ceiling. It makes me smile sometimes. Someday I’ll have enough money to have that star washed ceiling. Till then, the last thing I see before I close my eyes is my blue colored ceiling with the cove lights spilling over cool white light.

No TV though. Might buy one for Christmas and mount it on the ceiling. But I like my JBL Speakers which I bought last Christmas. Just hope they don’t drive the neighbors crazy. I think I should put a sign out my door that reads “IF YOU CAN HEAR THE MUSIC BLAST OUT FROM MY ROOM, PLEASE DRAW A “Xp” ON MY DOOR.” I think my door will be full of “Xp” ‘s the very next day.

The car… hmm. I have a model Gundam. I’m sorry, its all I have. At least it transforms.

Bucket loads of chicks? Turns out, I’m not the type that has them in buckets are attracts them to begin with. Uhm. Although we do have dogs. A lot of them. We had one last year, who got pregnant and gave birth to 10 puppies who all grew into dogs and are now having puppies of their own. They live on hospital food left overs. They’re replicating like rabbits. They’re unstoppable. Until they get run over by the cars that zoom outside the dorm.

Oh well. Life has a funny way of turning out.

I wonder what I’ll be in the next ten years?

I should wish for something like an IRON MAN costume. Maybe they’ll have it on sale by then. I hope it flies.

I have no idea how I came to write the post above. I was planning to write about past hurts, nightmares and fears. It just turned out this way when I was typing.

Weird.

Somebody stop me.

Haven’t even had me coffee yet.

Oh, ever been to one of those wedding expos? Also known as bridal fairs. Its loaded with tons of displays that would help you out on your big day. Me and Mon went there when I was in Manila a few weeks ago. Advise to guys.

1. 1.) Water bottle – just bring one. You might need one when the lavatory is full.
2. 2.) Your favorite sneakers – you need comfy footwear when you’ll spend hours standing. And you need the added padding when you do a drop kick on obnoxious expo people.
3. 3.) A needle – to prick yourself. Girls would say its overwhelming. Maybe it is to them. To you it might just actually, er, forgive me, but it just might actually be quite boring. I have a very short attention span. I fell asleep 3 times on three different stations. Mon had the unfortunate experience of me waking up in the middle of a conversation and I’d start rambling about something totally out of topic. I never thought planning a wedding was so toxic. Yeah it actually is.
4. 4.) A bag – yup. A simple bag. To put all the stuff that the expo people are gonna shove right at you. If you bring a pink bag they actually shy away from you. That helps a lot
5. 5.) Money – you just might pick out a deal. There are quite a few good deals too. Expo prices are as low as you can go.

Hm. Have to do something. Anything. Brain’s on hyperdrive.

mr. personality.

I admit it.

I'm not a nice guy.

I heard a story once that I got a lot of people so pissed off about me that they congregated and threatened that if I continued pissing them off, they'd beat the living crap out of me.

I wonder. Why'd they have to congregate in a group?

Its 4:15 and I'm wide awake. Just came from the ER to check on a patient. Truth be told, I didn't have to.

In the weird heirarchy of residency ( I don't know who came up with it, but its been like that for eons and it seems to be universal in nature) its the junior who gets to go to the ER. Like I said, don't ask me, its been like that.

But our junior has been quite tired, and I didn't have the heart to wake him up, so I went to the ER myself. No biggie.

I find it screamingly ironic. Years ago when I was a junior myself, I really hated doing almost everything. The fact that you had to run back and forth to the ER at the deepest hours of the night, while your seniors were just sleeping or watching TV. I hated it. But it seems to be an endocrinated culture. But i must admit, the distribution of man power and skills are too much if you send 2 or 3 men to do the job of one person. So I pretty much accepted that. I was a junior. It was my job.

So why am I finding it hard to do the same?

Like I said, I'm not a nice guy. In fact I'd probably be the un-nicest person there might be at a given time in the ER. Maybe some people have this glorified picture of a doctor, kind, smiling, flashing his pearly whites to greet patients, extending out his hands in efforts of a loving embrace to hold and comfort when patients are in pain and in need. And in the background, you might actually hear angels singing and the gates of heaven open to salve the pain and suffering of those in need.

Well. That doctor is not me.

Welcome to my personal little... Ok I'll stop before I do some damage.

Trauma patients at this time of the day are usually not accomodating themselves. They're complain a lot, are usually drunk, usually came from fights, or just had too much of a good time until their diapers hit the fan. Ironically they're my favorite type of patients.

I think I've developed a certain type of effeciency. I get the job done. But sometimes, I get to step on some toes. Its made me quite unpopular, but I've been toning down on the temper problem recently especially after the feedback of congregating mobs reach me.

Well like I said, I get the job done. How I get the job done is one thing. But I can't seem to answer the question, why I get the job done. I seemed to have accepted the fact that this is my job. But, there most be something more to this than being a job or getting paid a monetized monthly value to do such things.

It takes more than money or compensation to motivate me to do something. Especially if involves washing blood extremities and dealing with aggitated drunkards who take a whack at you every chance that they have.

Deep down inside. Really deep down inside, maybe I actually do care. Despite the tough man mountain exterior, there actually might be something soft and fluffy on the inside just willing to offer a helping hand to those in need.

Yeah right.

Its just me, I have a funny way of showing I care.

As I go back to the office, I notice that one of the nurses have a button stuck to her ID reading "I LOVE MY JOB."

Yeah I must admit, despite being tired, overworked, underappreciated, occassionaly non-motivated and eternally fighting procrastination, I do love my job.

Ironically bloody crazy though.

Feels like a 25...And the return of an old...er...well, just read...

“Excuse me doc, but I think you have to stop,” he said from the cover of his shed.

“Why?” I asked in between breaths.

“Can’t risk the lightning. Sorry. Rules.”

I shake my head and assess the situation. He does have a point. Although I’m tempted enough to find out what happens when lightning strikes a pool.

I’ve always wondered what it was like to die. Working very close to death makes you feel numb. Then again, we all will find out what it feels like. All but once in a life time.

I think better of myself. Not that I have a deathwish, not now anyway, so I pull myself from the pool.

The rain pelts everything hard. Horribly hard. I would usually swim even when it rained this hard. But the thunder and lightning has the staff scared. The wind doesn’t help either. Against a strong spot light I can see it swirl and dance. A million falling droplets moving like a living creature. Swallowing, crawling, punching the air and other droplets unfortunate enough to get caught in the cyclone of wind and light.

“Feels like a 25,” I read out loud from the white board hanging by the pool. It reads the high and low temperatures of the day, the time of sunrise and sunset. Information that means nothing to me. Soaked and covered by a towel, the shed provides little cover from the elements. It doesn’t feel like a 25. It feels much colder. And wetter. Lets not forget the mini typhoon that blew my night away.

Oh well. Might as well call it a night.

What ever happened to me and why I seem to stick to routines? I think to myself and try to examine the plausible reasons.

1. I’m hyper-active. I think I should document myself as a grown up case of a missed diagnosed ADHD ( Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) I seem to be running on liquid plutonium or something. True when I sleep, I wake harder than a rock underneath tremendous geothermal pressure, but when I move about, I just can’t stop moving. Inertia personified.

2. I need to occupy my time. What’s a 28 year old single male adult to do when he goes home to an empty room at night?

^_^ …. 0_0 … o_0 … -_-*

I can think of a lot of things. But I think a lot of them could get me in trouble and most of them are actually illegal. No TV, no internet, no family, no friends who don’t have their own families, so… might as well hit the tracks and the pool.

3. I have trouble sleeping. So might as well drain my batteries before midnight or I’ll probably be sleeping by 3 AM again.

So there. Coming home to alone, tired and just ready for bed makes it all better for me. Why else would I be doing this?

Yeah Gi’ keep telling yourself that.

Who said that?

Boy, wouldn’t you know? You brought me all the way here just to wrap me in plastic.

This is not happening. You are just a figment of my imagination.

Imagination schemagination. Now get me out of here! Or I’m really gonna get out of here and totally kick your ass!

Of all the anthromorphic personifications of a rejected alter ego, it just had to be you huh?

Of all the real people who just might have a few screws lose, it just had to be you too huh?

Good point.

Touche.

I guess it means you’re back.

I guess it means you’re crazy.

Residency is going to be a lot more complicated than I thought now that you’re back.

Whoah, you’re a resident now?

Yeah, on my second year.

Why the hell did you NOT tell me?

But you don’t exist.

Duh, I’m you! Only hotter, cuter, smarter and downright funnier than you. Plus the chicks dig me.

Ehem. You’re point being?

Face it Gio, it’s a lot more fun with me around.

But I buried you, I mean, I outgrew you. You were just a gimmick, a mascot, a non existent entity I created just so that I could get away with what I wanted to say by pinning it on a funny looking hyper proportioned stuffed toy!

Who are you calling funny looking and hyperproportioned Gigantor? Look who’s talking?

This is insane, people will think I’m crazy!

People already think you’re crazy, so what gives?

Argh. I’m screwed.

Ah. That’s one thing for sure that I can’t help you with.

People will laugh at me…

Think of it this way. People will laugh with you. Sometimes, people won’t have the guts to say what’s truly in their hearts. They keep it inside and all the bottled up emotions and thoughts are just gonna fester and go to waste. Sometime they just need outlets. And people are people, they’re afraid to use their own faces. They have identities to protect and lives to live. The last thing they want is to be branded as some weirdo who walks around with a cape and wears his underwear outside his pants.

I don’t walk around with a cape or wear my underwear outside my pants.

You’re missing the point here idiot, now listen up and listen good. People wear masks to protect themselves. They all have insecurities and vulnerabilities that they don’t want to be exploited just because they trust other people too much to reveal themselves.

And where’s the point there?

The point is, oh creator and not so bright alter ego, I’m your mask. I’m you, but not exactly you.

You lost me.

Should I send you back to superhero philosophy 101?

I think I missed out on that one. Where do I sign up?

Sheesh. There are things you want to say, but are afraid of saying. There are things that you want to expound or articulate but it refutes common sense and basic rational knowledge. You don’t have the guts to say that. I do.

Is this like a MPD ( Multiple Personality Disorder)?

Nope. Not quite. But I think you’re almost getting there.

Hey. Change topic

What?

I think I now know what a single 28 year old young male like me should do after work?

Go looking for chicks?

No.

Knock some drinks and then go looking for chicks?

No.

Hit a bar, knock some drinks and then go looking for chicks?

No.

Meet up with some friends, hit a bar, knock some drinks and then go looking for chicks?

Stop. I thought about going back to blogging.

Dork.

At least I’m giving you guest appearances and a chance to stay outside.

Or else what?

Or else I’ll stuff you back in the closet.

You don’t have the guts.

Try me.

Oh yeah?

Yeah.

And what if I drop you now and then, before you can do such a thing?

Then I’ll have two words for you. Spin. Cycle.

Whoah. Don’t go there. I give up. Anything but that! Do you know what it feels like to be tumble washed with dirty underwear? And the fabric softener tastes horrible. Blech.

Oh well. Just don’t get in the way of my work ok? Promise?

Promise.

I hope I made the right decision on this one…

starting points

For the past few years, I've realized that in the art of being a doctor, we just have to shut up. I have always been somebody who had something to say about anything, but never gave much thought to what I've been saying or the implications of what I've said.

Most of my previous writings were not much so of the cerebral content but of the tangible release that comes with the catharsis of venting out a whole universe of emotions.

I've been trying to control my emotions so far, and somehow I've been quite successful.

Ranting is no longer an option. I can and probably will ( mind the language) bitch, cuss and curse everynow and then, but I try to moderate myself on this and respect the current role that I now play.

Things are just so different now...