I’m not the voice of my generation. I’m not even the voice of my class. Most days I’m barely even a voice of my own. I don’t know the inside jokes. I miss out on the popular trends. But we’re all connected, somehow, whether we notice it or not.
Five years is a lifetime. Five years can change everything.
Five years ago we tumbled together into the Faculty, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Our hopes were high, our motives pure, our determination to succeed unparalleled. Five years ago this year was a pipe dream. Five years ago, graduation was our guiding star: ever-present but untouchable.
2K15 (2KMillion) has led us through blistering deserts of miscommunication, frigid mountaintops of uninspiring lecturers and desperate ocean depths of pre-exam panic. It has led us through overflowing buses and less than savoury accommodations, unsympathetic administrators and unsatisfactory grades.
It has led us this far. We’re within sight of our finish line and our guiding star is so bright it’s blinding.
The End draws near, and the day of our final judgement approaches with all the unstoppability of an arctic glacier. Inevitable, like the tide. And we poor scuttling creatures on the ocean floor wittering worriedly about life on shore will be flung awake, gasping, like a patient in the throes of left ventricular failure, left to crawl or swim or die.
This part of our lives will soon be over. It is unsettling to realize – monumental as this era seemed – that much like everything else in this ephemeral universe, med school too shall pass.