Why do you want to be a doctor?
What are your strengths and weaknesses?
How has your childhood shaped you?
Why should I admit you?
How are you unique?
Why you?
Why?
You?
What are your strengths and weaknesses?
How has your childhood shaped you?
Why should I admit you?
How are you unique?
Why you?
Why?
You?
This is only one hundredth of the lengthy list of questions they could ask me. And I would be asked again and again, until my palms sweat, my hands shaky, and my eyes no longer confident enough to return their glaring gaze. If my brain will still function at the end of this stress test, and if I will remember what I was talking about, then I have showed that I am psychologically mature enough to study medicine. Nobody can give you those answers, so there is no use comparing to others.
That's not even the scary part. What is worst? After long periods of introspection during which I dug deeper and deeper, picking my brain and soul apart for answers, I was petrified to find that I do not have those answers. Aren't those questions about me? Shouldn't I know that much about myself? Why are questions about myself the hardest to answer? Am I a stranger to myself? Introspection is a strange thing, it pulls you out of your skin, lifts you up until you can see yourself sitting there, hunched over the sheet of paper, scratching head, and pulling hair out. I wish they make injectable dosages of "peace of mind".
Nothing could placate the turbulence in my head, until I saw this quote:
"Be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the question themselves."
On a lighter note, when stressed out, there is always food. Today's calorie intake (in addition to the regular three meals) = poppy seed muffin, clam chowder, gummy bears, oreo ice cream. I was gluttonously craving all of those at the same time, crazy. First bite of that muffin I know that four-mile jog was gone, all down hills from there. Eat up, life is too damn short.
That's not even the scary part. What is worst? After long periods of introspection during which I dug deeper and deeper, picking my brain and soul apart for answers, I was petrified to find that I do not have those answers. Aren't those questions about me? Shouldn't I know that much about myself? Why are questions about myself the hardest to answer? Am I a stranger to myself? Introspection is a strange thing, it pulls you out of your skin, lifts you up until you can see yourself sitting there, hunched over the sheet of paper, scratching head, and pulling hair out. I wish they make injectable dosages of "peace of mind".
Nothing could placate the turbulence in my head, until I saw this quote:
"Be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the question themselves."
On a lighter note, when stressed out, there is always food. Today's calorie intake (in addition to the regular three meals) = poppy seed muffin, clam chowder, gummy bears, oreo ice cream. I was gluttonously craving all of those at the same time, crazy. First bite of that muffin I know that four-mile jog was gone, all down hills from there. Eat up, life is too damn short.
