Impostor

 

I have never been the best at anything, and I am not well versed in any one particular subject, nor am I athletic enough to be considered good in any sports. Do I enjoy the competition? Yes. Since I was seven years old, my mother enrolled me into religious classes which offered a healthy form of competition. To encourage the girls to learn religious scripts from the Quran or memorize Hadith (sayings of the Holy Prophet peace be on him), they would hold competitions based on the age group to provide motivation to learn and make it a fun event. I enjoyed taking part in these competitions even though I have performance anxiety. It helped me learn how to speak in front of an audience and write speeches or speak impromptu on a certain subject in front of a large group of people. There was also a lot of memorization involved, which helped me with my formal public school education. It became easier to learn and memorize things in school because I had trained my mind to gain knowledge and secure it away. But I was rarely the best at something specific. I do not deny that I could hold my own and could excel in a certain subject when I wanted to but I could never be the best. 

    This might not seem like a big deal to many of you, and it would be fair for you to ask why this was so important for me. Being raised in a competitive atmosphere where I was continuously pitted against my friends and other girls in my age group, it really gave me a sense of where I stood in the scheme of things. But most of the pressure came from my mother, which internally transformed into pressure from me. Anything other than first place would be a disappointment in her eyes, despite the long hours I spent memorizing and preparing for an event. The added pressure became overwhelming sometimes when they were announcing awards and my heart would race while the little voice in my head reminded me to prepare for the look of extreme disappointment in my mother's eyes. She would not have to utter a word. Just her stance would change or her eyes would avert from my direction, I would know I had disappointed her. 

It's 2 A.M.

 

I lay awake at night pondering over the idea that maybe this life is not meant to be any one particular thing. What if all this life is to me is what I make of it and nothing else? Life is evolution and progress, but it is also stagnant and ever-present. I am still searching for the meaning of this life. There is however one concept that continues to circle and burrow its way inside my busy mind. No matter what the meaning of life is in the wide scheme of things, I make an impact every day with each decision I make. From the moment I wake up to the second I lose temporary consciousness within a twenty-four-hour period, every single action or non-action played its part. Isn't that fascinating yet shocking?

    This is not something I think about every day because I become wrapped in the small nuances of life and find myself caught up in just focusing on how everything around me affects me instead of considering the other side of the coin. What I do does not just affect the surrounding humans, but I also leave my mark on each piece of earth and living being I touch or interact with. I do not consider myself as significant as the butterfly whose flap of the wings can induce a hurricane a thousand miles away, but there is still some form of impact. Once I think about life this way, that everything is not just about me because I am the self-proclaimed principal character of my story, the narrative changes. We are in this fishbowl together, swimming around and unable to escape, yet. With the advancement of technology, I can now alter the emotions or mood of somebody I have never met who may stumble across my online avatar or webpage and be affected by what I have typed on my monitor either in real-time or during an uninhibited bad decision at two am ten years ago. Somehow my actions are forever ingrained somewhere and their energy continues to flow in forms I do not even register. 

A Distracted Yet Absorbent Sponge

 

I was never the best student in class or the apple of any teacher or parent's eye for my academic prowess. It was that in my childhood best friend trio; I was the one with the lowest test scorers and performance in class, endlessly entangled with them because all of our mothers were highly competitive and determined that their daughter surpass the others. I went to a school filled with migrants and minorities wherein which the white students were actually a minority themselves. This filled our classrooms in colourful ways. 

    Being in a consistently competitive atmosphere brought its challenges for me since it was difficult paying attention in class. It was an arduous educational journey through the grades of one to twelve as I attempted to focus in class and make sure I completed my homework. However, I could not achieve it most of the time. I always waited until the last moment to complete my projects, unless the subject interested me enough to be invested from the beginning. Because of this behaviour, most of my learning occurred while I was in class and I survived through the year with average, yet unacceptable grades. 

    

    Some of you reading this may recognize the signs of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, and you would be correct. In girls, the signs and symptoms manifest a little differently, resulting in a late or missed diagnosis. While boys portray more signs of hyperactivity, girls may display more signs in the attention deficit category where they cannot pay a focus for long periods of time. I shall discuss this more. 

Wildfires

 

My husband and I were driving home in the evening exclaiming how clear and beautiful the twilight sky was with some remnants of the sunset moments ago and the twinkling blinks of some stars, Venus and Jupiter were making their appearance. As we stepped outside the car, I needed to take a moment to stand there and breathe in the fresh air and the gentle warm breeze caressing my hair and skin. The night was momentous in its calm beauty and peaceful silence. We slept with our windows open that night because the valley within which we live embraces the wind through the summers so the night refreshes us from the heat of the day with its natural air conditioning passing over the mountains. 

    This morning we woke up to what I initially thought was a cloudy morning but the breeze was bringing in a nostalgic smell that alerted me to the unique nature of the hazy appearance outside my window. In the afternoon we stepped out for our weekly grocery run and stood outside shocked at the change from last night. Ash floated in the smoke scented air transporting me immediately to the warm dusty smoke-tinged air of a busy city in Pakistan. The atmosphere reminded me of a dust storm blowing in painting everything in a burnt orange shade. 

Thrills and Broken Bones

Some of my most memorable childhood memories interestingly enough are the ones that were not recorded on my parents' camcorder. It’s those memories of playing tag in the building, stairwells running from level to level with my cousins in the evenings, and screaming. The moments when I was in the middle of running from one end of the corridor to the other to reach the opposite staircase. That adrenaline rush of being found out and knowing there was nowhere to hide unless I escaped the corridor quick enough and got lucky to make it to a different level before the person who was “it” caught up to me. At that moment,  I would normally pick going downstairs because I would jump down several steps at a time so quickly I could have potentially broken records for speed racing down several stories. That shaky rush and a thin film of perspiration that would coat my body were the only signs of the intensity I felt in that moment. Since the building was fairly new I the faint smell of fresh paint would be ever-present in my senses as I flew up and down the steps. I was the stairway gazelle. Unfortunately, I was a loud gazelle and would get caught in the hallways by some auntie who would lean out from her apartment door and sternly demand I go back home or she would call my mother. That would be enough to end the game for that evening unless I was feeling rebellious. 

    I also remember a makeshift bike path on the grounds of an abandoned school building that was walking distance from my home that I would ride my bike on because it was a dirt circuit with mounds that felt like hills. I would transform into a professional dirt bike champion and try to catch some air after furiously pedaling up one bump. It was such a thrill at the time that I eventually convinced my friends to come to join me on the circuit for some dangerous races. Luckily, no one got hurt. I felt invincible.

Immigration and Culture Shock

  

There are so many demands set out before us which brings the burden of various responsibilities on our shoulders. Living in North America, especially in the United States, means being constantly entangled in a neverending rat race in order to provide a better future for our children. This is exactly the culture shock that many families go through when they immigrate to the Promise land brimming with hope. Even though some are prepared, there is really no way to experience that feeling of stepping into a brand new country and all your education and experience is diminished so much that you are practically starting all over again. There are very rare circumstances or specific countries where this is not the case but if you are arriving from Pakistan, your past means nothing.  

    When she first arrived in Canada, my mother would have been dressed in traditional attire most likely a "shalwar kameez" with a long "chadar" or throw covering her body and I would have been wearing a dress with pantyhose. Around her, she would observe a sea of varied faces and dressing styles and smells that would have overwhelmed her senses and mind. The new sights and sounds would blur in the midst of the exhaustion of a long flight and travel time so that her mind would become numb from the novelty of everything. But there would be that glimmer of hope amidst the challenge and fear of leaving her whole world behind several thousand miles away. 

Forgiveness

 

I am not who I was ten years ago and I may not even be exactly who I was one week ago. I needed to learn many lessons so that I could upgrade to the person I became. At this point in time, I am not perfect but I am proud of the changes within me despite the scars that came with the battles I have fought. There were two big lessons I needed to learn to achieve the peace I have acquired today: time never stops and I need to forgive myself and accept my past. 

    The past is a messy place with several pockets of darkness within its walls. There are many memories or thoughts that keep me up at night because I spend my time analyzing and revisiting the moments and imagining what I could have done differently and what may have been the result of that. It is an endless cycle of anguish that I am unable to remove myself from and the skeletons continue to haunt me in my present day. How do I peacefully lay down my past so that I can continue to move forward and use my past as lessons that sculpted who I am today instead of wearing them as a burden? 

Mistakes

 

This life really challenged me in several ways and navigating through it really made me traverse difficult terrain. I made countless mistakes. The difficult part for me is remembering every single mistake I have made up to this point and trying to move forward and live with them. These are the kind of memories that keep me up at night for hours as I fall into a spiral of anxiety thinking about how I could have done things differently. My worst mistakes are the ones in which I hurt others intentionally or by accident. Those are the ones that really haunt me. 

    I think back to when I was younger and my sister came into my life. I was not very nice to her for several years because she became my competitor for attention. That is a story for another time but the way I treated her as a child haunts me to this day. I would not want to play with her and would not include her when she wanted to be with my friends. I felt so vicious for always trying to push her aside. As the years went by she distanced herself from me and I fear we have permanently damaged our relationship. Her ideologies are different than mine and that tension continues to exist to this day. It is hard to distinguish what part was my fault and what wasn't from that time. I do understand all of it wasn't my fault and that based in my situation that I cannot be blamed for everything I did because I was a child but in my head, it was all me. I chose to behave that way in that time whatever the reasons behind it might be. It is difficult for me to not accept the responsibility for my actions. This is also not made easier because from an early age one of the ways my parents disciplined me was to tell me that I am old enough to know better and I cannot blame anyone else for my actions. In some ways, they are absolutely right but on the other hand, I have been hearing this since I was five or six years old. I don't think this helped fix the situation. By the time I became cognizant of the damage that had been made in our relationship, it was too late to mend. Although we are cordial with each other there will always remain a canyon over which the bridge is permanently burned. 

Prague Part 2

 

We woke up early around eight am for the start of our tour of Prague for the day. A shuttle picked us up from the hotel and drove us to the entrance of Prague castle. It was a chilly slightly damp morning with a light low fog rolling through the silent city. It was around this time I realized that my jacket would probably not be enough to keep me warm today but it was too late and would hope the body would have enough energy reserve to work a little harder in maintaining some amount of sustained heat. Our tour guide was pointing out points of interest along the way but I was still in the process of waking up so his words jumbled in my head in a sleepy haze. I was excited but it just took my brain a little while to rev up. 

    As we arrived at the entrance of the castle, the sheer size of it brought awe. It was beautifully perched on the top of the hill overlooking the land surrounding it. I imagined with what pomp and circumstance the kings and emperors would have lived during the peak of its splendor and what secrets must be hidden within its walls. Our guide explained to us that this is the largest palace in the world which made the structures even more amazing but also provided a tiny reminder that we would be walking a lot today. 

Happiness

 

Sometimes there is this overwhelming feeling that the world requires me to present myself as a happy and cheerful person in a constant and predictable matter to the point when that isn't happening, it can upset those around me. This demand to be a stable, patient, and ever-smiling human can be an exhausting task because it is just not humanly possible to be presentable at all times. But based on my upbringing, I learned that it was easier to not show any other emotion other than this particular one because it will unsettle them. I am not just talking about strangers or coworkers, this includes everyone, especially family and nosy aunts. 

    Somewhere in my early years, the grooming had begun. Children were meant to be seen as pleasant sweet faces that would be able to recite whatever the parents wished on command to impress the relatives and family friends. They were always meant to look presentable and greet all their elders in a calm and respectful manner never raising their voices or eyes. I was told to not talk too much unless a specific request was made so that I did not embarrass my parents over my antics. I could not voice my hunger, fatigue or any other issue which if by mistake I did would be met with a silent but piercing glare from my mother which would squash any intentions I may have wanted to present. It was a very confusing time actually. Sometimes an adult would give me a gift and I was supposed to politely refuse it but if they kept insisting, my training had taught me to eventually comply and accept whatever the adult was requesting of me. My parents however would not be pleased with this behaviour and it would be termed disrespectful to have listened to the other adult in this particular moment. But I was also taught that it was rude to say no or be upset over being given something. How does one proceed in such a situation? 

Studying Abroad for Medical School

 

Depending on where you go to for medical school, if you plan on returning back to either Canada or the USA, there are some strategies that will help you manage your time better and help you start preparing for your return. I realized that a lot of the American students at the university were well prepared right from their first year. They knew what books to use, what programs would be helpful in studying and preparing for the USMLE, and how to balance their time between studying for local exams while also continuing their preparations for the USMLE board exams. 

    I realize I went into studying abroad without putting much thought into it or preparing myself for what I may need to return back. I was quite lost for a long time and did not know how to ask for help either. Also, at the start of medical school, I was pretty certain I would be returning back to Canada until my husband walked into my life and changed everything. So if you are considering studying abroad and returning to the USA, here are a few ways to be extra ready for the journey ahead of you. It's always a good idea to talk to some of the senior students in your program and acquire some tips and tricks for how to do well at that particular school because each school will present with its own unique challenges and methods. 

Who Am I

 

    Even after surpassing the third decade of my life, I find it very difficult to answer this question without the help of others. I don't know why I don't see anything when I ask myself this question. I could answer any questions regarding who I wish to be or who I am supposed to be according to the way I conform and bend with the relationships and expectations formed around me but I don't know if that person is truly indicative of me. I feel as if there is a continuous conflict deep within me to strive for perfection where there is none and since I will never achieve that, I refuse to even acknowledge the person I am with all my imperfections. 

    Even if I were to ask others about myself they will paint a portrait of me through their eyes based on what they have seen while with me but rarely have they observed me when I am fully exposed and raw. I can count on one hand those special individuals in my life who have walked with me through all the ups and downs in my life and the moments where I wanted to hide who I had become or what I was doing. I have been down many paths and not all of them were cheery straight paths with colourful guiding fairies. 

Let's Talk About Mental Health Part 2

 

One of my relatives was studying abroad for his master's degree and doing well overall until two months before his thesis was due and graduation, his computer crashed and he lost two years' worth of research and work. This loss hit him like a truck and he was in a state of extreme stress and anxiety because his work was unrecoverable and he did not have any backup. Being a naturally cautious person, he could not figure out how he let this happen and devastate him. Everything was out of his hands. He slowly started to withdraw from his friends and family, stopped meeting with people, let go of his activities, and eventually, started hearing voices in his head that told him others were trying to hurt him. With the help of his sister and mother, he did graduate from the university but not the same person he used to be. He visited a psychiatrist who diagnosed him with schizophrenia and started him on antipsychotics but because he was alone, he did not trust the medication prescribed to him by the doctor and refused to take it so his condition continued to worsen. 

    He returned back home to Pakistan after graduation but was unable to work towards the bright future he was supposed to have and instead became a recluse in his room. He soon was unable to complete simple daily tasks and would even refuse food at times when he suspected someone was trying to poison him. His father tried to help him find simpler office jobs in hopes he would be able to become independent but the culture in Pakistan did not tolerate his unusual behaviour and anti-social nature. He had nowhere to go and no programs available to help him rehabilitate into society. The doctors kept prescribing him pills despite the fact that he refused to take him and there was a delay of several years before he was put on an injectable antipsychotic. Unfortunately, this is an ongoing fight for him now in a country that does not tolerate or accept people with mental illness. 

Prague Part 1

 

Prague Castle with view of St. Vitus Cathedral

One of the trips I took during medical school was to Prague, Czechia during Easter break. With a few other friends, we booked a bus roundtrip ticket and stayed at a Marriott a few tram stops from the city center. The bus ride was eight hours long, the longest bus trip I have ever taken. Our bus was full of students headed to different parts of Europe. Looking back, the bus ride was an interesting experience and very cheap compared to flying but the flight would have been only two hours long and on a trip of a short interval, that would have given me more time to explore the city. 

    Nevertheless, we were on our way in a double-decker bus full of colourful people and varied scents lofting through space. There was a washroom on the bus but I have an aversion to using cramped smelly washrooms in spaces where there is a possibility of getting stuck and extremely strong odours. So as you can imagine, I held my bladder tight until we reached our hotel. One of the pros of long drives is watching the scenery change and transform as the landscape and cities change. This constant motion drifts my mind into different mazes of my imagination in which I get lost as I daydream and conjure up thoughts that I feel based on what I observe outside my window. The music I am listening to on long trips is always on random shuffle with the hopes that it helps mould my thoughts and musings to match with the scenery before me. In this way, I traveled through Europe with the melancholy of Bollywood love songs, the mesmerizing sounds of ATB, punctuated with varied rock and pop music. The takeaway from this is that having a window seat is a must. 

The Feminine Divine

 

The feminine being is an alluring and immaculate creation that harbours the nurturing essence because the womb is the nucleus of creation. She provides strength and belonging to those around her and is gifted with the patience and strength of a warrior, the problem-solving of a scientist, and the compassion of a caregiver. Basically, she can be whoever she wants to be. But why is it difficult for most of society to embrace this power and strength of the female nature? 

    The girl and the woman as they continue to grow undergo a lot of pain and suffering that they bear with incredible strength but are meant to be kept hidden from outsiders. The birth of the female child, in some parts of the world still is not celebrated because she is a burden to the family. In fact, in South Asian culture, the birth of a girl in a home could mean bad luck or instead of celebrations welcoming her into the world there is grief and anger. A burden because her sexuality and phenomenal ability to bear children must be carefully controlled by the men around her so that her choice to proliferate and procreate is by the ones who want their genes to be the ones that are passed on. It is the paternal lineage that matters yet the man does not have control over whose child is actually born unless that watchful eye is ever vigilant on what enters his woman's womb. However, it is the woman's body that suffers monthly because of her menstrual cycle and undergoes incredible changes to bring life into the world. The immense pain and permanent changes that she undergoes to procreate a being are not celebrated or appreciated to the extent they should be. 

Let's Talk About Mental Health Part 1

One of my uncles was working abroad when he received the news that his mother passed away. Unfortunately, the announcement reached him pretty late and he was unable to return to Pakistan in time to attend the funeral and say his final goodbyes. This incident affected my uncle greatly to the point he stopped going to work and shut himself in his bedroom refusing to speak to his wife or anyone else. This behaviour was met with shock by the rest of the family and nobody understood what was happening. My uncle was eventually diagnosed with depression but he refused to take medication at first. Family members would come to visit to console my aunt and try to interact with my uncle to try and help him out of his "gloom" because forcing him to sit and talk should help him recover. He refused to meet with anyone. The news spread like wildfire through the family and everybody offered their opinions and advice but nobody truly acknowledged that depression could possibly be so severe. His major depressive episode lasted at least a year before he accepted any form of treatment and slowly started feeling better. His recovery still required a year's worth of therapy before he became a functioning adult again. Even now, discussing what happened is taboo within my family because mental illness is an uncomfortable topic for everyone. 

    In my culture, mental health is swept under the rugs like a dirty secret that cannot be shared because it will ruin the reputation of the entire household. This fear is generally warranted as well because when others in their community find about it, the family might have difficulty finding marriage proposals based purely on the connection. The knowledge punishes everyone. In this toxic environment, finding and receiving help becomes a tricky journey due to the fear of being found out. The suffering is considered a trial of God and it must be done with patience and silence. 

Life Begins Now

 

Walter Mercado

It is ten minutes past midnight and I have just finished watching "Mucho Mucho Amor: The Legend of Walter Mercado" on Netflix with my husband. I absolutely enjoyed this documentary and I feel inspired by Walter Mercado even though I did not grow up watching him. But his words flow with determination and truth. "If you don't adore and value yourself, you can't love anybody else," he said. "Love starts with yourself."

    His message to everyone before he departed from this world was very clear and he lived by his words until the very end. This might seem like a reminder arising from a strange place but there is a very unique energy that even you would embrace if you felt it emanate from someone. In many ways, I have lived by his philosophy too, and will continue until my very last breath. For those of you who might be confused as to what I am talking about, let me explain myself. 

    How many times in your life did you prescribe yourself happiness in the near or distant future? How many of you are always looking into tomorrow to feel fulfilled because when you reach that goal then you will truly know joy? For example, I have heard that "when I graduate from high school and am admitted into my top choice university I will be so happy," or "when I get married then I will be happy." What about you today? Why make happiness a distant dream that you may or may not reach and why do you only deserve it after you have accomplished something? The journey should be just as meaningful and fulfilling as when you finally reach your goals. Finding that balance, however, is one of the mysteries of the universe. 

Eccentricity

Will my wrinkles

in time come to be

from an endless bombardment of paranoia

or wisdom of life?

one or the other

soon shall be seen

mark of a warrior

or the psychotic toxins in me

Although I initially wrote this poem in 2008 as supposed satire when I was still in my twenties, I feel as every year passes, this poem rings truer to my reality. At this point, I am just hoping it is the wisdom creeping up on my face as some fine wrinkles make their grand appearance. I do believe I have learned a lot over the years and made peace with reality in a way that I can help my future children navigate their lives. If I had kids in my twenties I would not have been able to provide the steady hand that I have today because I would still be figuring a lot of things out while also trying to raise them and so in some ways, maybe for me, this later marriage is a blessing in disguise.

Fantasy vs. Reality

The great timeline. In my teenage years, I had my whole life planned out regarding when I would get married, where I would go to school, who I would become, and when I would have kids as well as how many. There would be a happy ever after and I would buy a house with a picket fence and life would be perfect. By the age of 25, I would complete a family medicine residency and get married so that I could have kids by 27 or 28 living in that perfect house with my perfect husband. It was a beautiful fantasy perpetuated by all the older women around me encouraging me to dream this dream into reality. 

    I find this fantasy of mine even more entertaining by the fact that my life up until that point was anything but perfect so why did I so firmly believe that my future would fall into my lap just as I had planned? The optimism of a child is ever abundant. I blame my wild and colourful imagination and reading too many novels to the point of perfected escapism. This was my vacation from reality because everyone seemed to tell me things would be better once I am an adult. All the fun things I wanted to do would be done with a husband without any mention of responsibility. In our culture, there is a very common saying among mothers when they don't particularly agree with a certain activity or want to see their daughters traveling or spending time with friends that "you can do all this after you are married to your husband." In an indirect way, they mean that your antics will not be our problem anymore and once you are married your husband and in-laws can decide whether you are allowed to do these things. However, being young and wild, I interpreted this to mean that once I am married, I will be able to do whatever I want whenever I want. 

Unexpected Discovery

I must admit that I was initially reluctant to marry the man who eventually became my husband. My mother was also hesitant to bring him up with me and procrastinated for a few weeks before deciding to tempt fate and ask me if I would once again consider a "Rishta" (proposal) because of the previous disaster. One month before my mother asked me, this man had already seen my photos and accepted he would talk to me if I was interested after he returned from his boys' Vegas trip.

    I was in Europe in my third year of medical school and was just beginning the second semester when during one of our video calls my mom introduced the subject to me. I am not sure why, but at this point, something inside me nudged at me telling me I should talk to him and see where it goes. I told my mother to not have any expectations regarding this matter because I was going to take my time and approach this very cautiously because by this point in my life I had zero faith in the male sex. Therein me lay a pile of disappointment from boys I had considered and courted in the past along with some of their families as well. Before, I would have tolerated the pain they would dish out in hopes for a better future but I learned, albeit slowly, that people do not change by being kind or patient with them. There was no "killing them kindness" going on in my life. This time if someone hurt me, I would walk away quietly with my head held high because I did not have the time, energy, or emotional capacity to allow that to continue in my life. And so, ever so cautiously, with a few hesitant palpitations, I sent my very first text message.