The question on how I define my own success has been at the back of my mind for the past few months. I’ve been vocal about me feeling very lost in life, especially in my career, recently. I thought of things like having a steady cash flow, making my family proud, being a good friend, being a kind human being, etc but I couldn’t find an answer that genuinely speaks to my heart.
I didn’t expect I’d find one in a small town in Mindanao. A thousand and more kilometers away from home. A place where water and electricity was unpredictable. A place that’s very far from my comfort zone, literally and figuratively.
One day in July this year, after I parked my car in usual spot at my work place, I cried for half an hour. I didn’t care if I was already an hour late. I told my most junior boss about it and before 10 AM that morning, I was already breaking down in front of her inside our office. It was after weeks of avoiding going to the clinics because I was fed up of seeing sick patients. It was the first time that I felt strongly about NOT wanting to see patients. As an INFP, any act of helping would give me a sense of fulfillment but at that time, the only thing that I was getting was the feeling of doom.
Just thinking of going to the clinic would make my hands sweat and my breathing heavy. It was suffocating. On top of that, it was a tough time of grief for me but that is a story for another blog entry.
That day, I finally admitted to myself that I didn’t want to become a doctor anymore. It was tough hearing myself say it. I’ve been thinking about it since 2020 but it was the first time I’ve said it outside my head. I felt dejected and disappointed.
I told my bosses, my mother, and my closest friends about it.
I tried to write about but shame overpowered me. I didn’t know how to be me without my title of MD. I skipped events where I need to be with my colleagues. I tried to hide and not to be perceived. I wanted people to forget about me.
I tried to look for a job with the help of friends but no one was calling me back. I was frustrated. I was trying so hard to figure myself out and to get a new life before 2023 ends. If I’m not a doctor anymore, who am I then? I wanted to put a label on myself like it was the only thing that matters.
Then it hit me, why am I rushing? Why am I so keen on figuring it all out with a set deadline? I realized that I was chasing after nothing.
I decided to just live and exist in the mean time, and not think of the pressure I put on myself. I had the privilege to just stay at home, overthink, dance, stay in my room, and just be depressed.
Until I ran out of money. HAHA
Goodbye privilege, I can’t be as depressed anymore.
How do I go to therapy and dance classes? How can I watch concerts?
Money really can buy happiness, you know.
So there, I returned to the hospital. With shame in tow.
I had to face people I hid from the past few months.
I felt frustrated that I couldn’t get out of profession and it felt like I was trapped.
I convinced myself that it’s okay, this is just my job. Something that would bring in cash, so i can do things I wanted to do. I didn’t need to enjoy it. I just have to do it properly.
Until an opportunity came knocking unexpectedly. And isn’t that how the best things come to be? Unexpectedly?
A hospital, seven hundred miles away from home, needs a pediatrician for 10 days.
The pay will be good, more than what I can earn in the metro. That was all I was after. The cash. What I didn’t know was, on the second day of that 10-day gig, there will be so much sparks enough to reignite the dying embers of dreams and desires in my heart.
I know, big words. Dying embers talaga? Haha But I also know that this is real because it’s making me so vulnerable that I get to be brave about writing me being broke and being lost.
Next:
Part 2 of this long story - Of Bucket and Bakit? Lists.
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