Twenty-Five

Twenty-four was better than twenty three. It was full of downs, but it had its share of ups. I cried for all the right reasons, and for some of the wrong ones as well. It was interesting, tormenting, character building and full.

I've always felt old. Down in my blood and in the makings of my soul I feel old. My twenty-five feels closer to fifty-two twice over. I have felt this way for years, but today is the day I let go of that thought. The number I am at is not old. It is full of youth, it is the prime of my life and if I feel old now, what will become of me when my number agrees? So gifts, then -for my twenty fifth birthday, I first give myself the gift of life. And I mean life at my own age for the first time in twenty five years. I give myself the gift of living my age, and appreciating how young I am.

My second gift is a promise. I promise that twenty-five will be my best year yet. I promise to hold on to hope with my teeth if I must. I promise to find it even when it hides, and I promise to keep hold of it even when reality tries to steal it away. I promise myself a new outlook, and a perspective that believes in reasons that have yet to show.

And finally, for my birthday, I give myself the gift of good advice. Go easy on yourself, on your ambitions and your demands of your life. You planned to be so much more than what you are at this age, but just because you didn't meet your goals doesn't mean you've failed. Perhaps your goal was faulty, the timeline was off and your plans were shortsighted. Think beyond the scope of what you pictured back when. See with the eyes of an adult that knows more of life today than she did even yesterday. Your end goal is so great and farfetched that you can't reach it in any way you think you can. When your dream is unreal, the path you take will surely leave plans and reality behind.

Trust in yourself, in your deepest dream and in Allah. You're driving blindly, but he can see -let him lead the way. And while you're at it, I strongly suggest you enjoy the ride. Life is not the stations we stop at, life is the drive.

Happy Birthday.. 

Stethoscope

When I was a child I got sick a lot. Clinics were as familiar as my own home, and doctors were the miracle workers that made my hurt go away -but more importantly they explained it. They looked into my mouth, listened to my chest and tummy and knew things. Doctors made me feel better, simply by caring, smiling and placing a stethoscope on my skin.

From the very first memories I possess I was in love with a stethoscope -the truest representation of everything good in the world. I knew that I wanted to one day don a steth and spend my time and energy giving people more time and energy. I loved stethoscopes with a silent ferocity that I held at the very center of my heart.

As I grew older my love only grew. I sank my curiously hungry mind into reading all about that world I so desperately wanted to join. But one thing I never so much as approached was anything related to steths. I didn't look for their proper name, what they did or how they were used. I didn't ask my doctor to let me so much as touch his, and I even avoided the toy ones.

I loved them more than to approach them as a silly child with a crush would. I had an adult brain in my nowhere near adult body and I was too deeply in love to squander my first touch. I would not learn what I desperately wanted to learn until I earned it. When I knew enough medicine to truly understand I would seek this knowledge. When my papers said medical student I would touch and try it. I would marry my love when I was officially married to medicine.

After three years of medical school I was asked to buy a steth. I touched it for the first time in a pharmacy, and tested its name on my tongue. Stethoscope. My stethoscope. I finally had one of my own and I finally understood everything about it. I was happy.

My stethoscope now lies hidden on a seldom used shelf in my closet. It's twisted and carries the weight of a hundred nick-knacks. It is not abused, it is hidden for its own good. It is hidden because it hurts too much to see it knowing I had let it down. My stethoscope deserves better than bitter tears from a heavy heart.

So I hide it, pretending that not seeing it makes me love it less, and want it with less force. I hide it and pretend I can't feel both our disappointments at it not being used to save the world.