The Last Sun-Kissed Cloud

Let me be the last sun-kissed cloud
That receives the golden heat of your love
As you are
Pulled away

Let me be the last rain-dewed blade
Of grass
That your essence clings to
Til morning breaks
And you are gone
From me

Let me be your last
Unbroken love
Skin branded by the heat of your touch
Heart chilled by the cool of your gaze, let me be
The last fire in your eyes
The last ice in your words

Let me be
Let me be
Let me be

Hope is the fuel of our souls.

So you missed it:  the party of the century.  The trip of a lifetime.  The chance to meet your idol.

So you didn’t get it:  the acceptance letter.  The leading role.  The guy. The girl.

So you aimed and you missed.

So what?

Nothing is the be all or end all.  Nothing is do or die.  Nothing is your one shot at happiness.

There will be another chance soon.  And another.  And another.  And another.

And one day, one of those chances will land smack in the middle of that bulls’ eye you’re trying to reach.

Perfectly and gloriously in place.

Image Credit: jsinkhorn23

inside the box

How do you label yourself so neatly?
When I try, my colour goes outside the lines.
My cup spilleth over,
An ill-defined tangle of limbs
And wild ideas.

Metaphorical schmetaphorical

Irregular infrequent blog posts irk me. They’re like the last gasping rattles of a dying blog. And yeah, I’ve let my own blog come close to kicking the bucket quite a few times, but all that means is I know the feeling of being trapped inside that dying organism. And it always makes me want to kick-start some life back into it.

Like CPR.

It’s endless cycles of chest compressions and rescue breaths, trying to get the body to do what it’s supposed to be doing instead of just lying there. But sometimes it doesn’t work. And sometimes it only works halfway. You end up with a beating heart and no breaths. Then some luckless medical officer is given the opportunity of physically breathing for you through a bag. This can happen several times, and you still come back with a pulse and no spontaneous breathing.

The you start hearing murmurs about DNRs. Relatives get called in, and the order is issued. The next time, there is no pulse.

That’s what’s not going to happen to this blog.

You know weh Sammy plant im cahn?

Our culture has been relegated to knick-knack status: a decorative memento.

Is it only natural, this shelving of our songs and stories like old photographs? Something to be dusted semi-regularly and forgotten? Handed down until its significance is lost, and all that remains is the chipped enamel shell of our history?

Girl on Bim Day 3: Christmas breeze does blow cold on de rock

Sometimes it’s nice to just to stay at home, where the breeze blows cold and the Bajan rain sounds so different on the rooftops from Jamaican rain but it’s a good different, soothing-like, lulling me into a warm sleep ’cause I’m already wrapped up to my eyelashes in blankets and surrounded on all sides by love.

source: Richard Wilson's blog
apparently this is a real place.

Why am I like this?

I got my yellow highlighter y’all! Now I just need a sketchpad for my mind maps and I’ll be all set!

A sketchpad. I am insane.


I do love my new layout; simple and elegant is much more the style I like to portray.

That being said, does anyone know how to change the favicon in the tab next to the webpage title? Is it even called a favicon? Mine isn’t very fetching because of the extra bulky black border (even though it’s so tiny anyway).

Assistance will be repaid in internet cookies. Or possibly Real Cookies. :)

Updated!: It has changed on its own. Patience has never been my strong suit. >.< (That distinction belongs to my tights/leotard/cape outfit).

full speed… um, which way’s ‘ahead’?

Blogging once a week in medical school is hard. Dancing three times a week in medical school is also hard. Having practical anatomy sessions in medical school is even harder.

I’m reminded of the joke where the blonde goes to the doctor and says ‘Doc, everywhere hurts. When I touch my arm it hurts, when I touch my knee it hurts, when I touch my head it hurts.’ The doctor says ‘I think I know what’s wrong: your finger’s broken’.

I think my medical school is broken.

Little things have a sneaky way of adding up to big things. It is so with organizing time. I do a bunch of little activities, say yes to practically everything because “it doesn’t sound that hard”. At the end of the day, I’m left with a dozen little things where I’m working my butt off everyday, as opposed to one big thing that I could spread out and deal with in bits and pieces.

I know I need to stop saying yes. Everyone tells you that. The problem is I don’t know how to say no. It isn’t in my vocabulary (unless we’re talking about studying, because that gets said no to a lot). My day usually goes like this:

Today I’m not going to pick up any more responsibilities. I will not pick up responsibilities. I will not –
Person #1: Hey Robyn, can you do an extra-curricular, unrelated to medicine and not at all easy job? It’s going to take all semester!
Me: Yeah, sure!

…Wait. Dammit.

I feel obligated to say yes, as if I owe them for asking me a favour.

Thank you for thinking I'm capable of doing this job. I'll just pretend that I am until it all goes to hell in a handbasket.

And when I do say no, I feel so guilty that I end up striking some kind of compromise that gives me the short end of the stick.

My last New Year’s resolution was to stop making promises I couldn’t keep. To make it easier on myself for next year, I’ll put a blanket ban on promises altogether. When someone asks for a favour I’ll say no first and then think about it.

Yeah, and starting tomorrow I’ll be eating an elephant.

Disgruntled pax.

Why bad things happen.

My mother has this theory that everything always happens the way it’s supposed to, and nothing ever happens that wasn’t going to happen anyway. It sounds a lot like Fate, and it probably is, but I don’t think she sees it that way. The problem I’ve always had with pre-deterministic notions (like Fate) is that they take the burden off you to be proactive about your circumstances. I always felt that people thought ‘since it’s going to happen anyway, why bother?’ But that’s not always true.

I guess what I take away from my mother’s reasoning is that our actions don’t always dictate the outcome, and that sometimes there’s nothing we can do to change things. It’s a comforting way of looking at the universe; it shifts responsibility from our shoulders to the vague overseer that is Fate, or the Cosmos, or whatever God you believe in.

And for the most part, I agree. I firmly believe the universe is unfolding as it should. But sometimes I wish the universe would unfold a little more ideally. A little more in keeping with what’s best for me.

I should have had an Anatomy class on Sunday (Sunday classes, wtf) but it was cancelled, and for various reasons I and two other people were the last to find out. And by last to find out, I mean we were already on campus when we got the news.

So maybe that was a bad thing: I had to spend money I didn’t have on transportation and I missed out on a gig with my dance company. And I could have sulked about it, cursed about it and gone home.

But instead we had our own practical session. We had the lab and cadavers to ourselves (not to mention several textbooks), and for nearly two hours we studied and taught each other arteries and ligaments and foramina. It turned out to be a great session.

I guess what I’m trying to say is maybe there are no bad things. Just endings and beginnings and passageways. Stenoses, diverticula and fistulae. If everything happens the way it’s supposed to happen, then maybe it’s all just perspective.

I like the mystery of an uncharted horizon. And boats.