Worth its weight

While I was going through my safety deposit box, I looked through all the gold I have. It's not much (please don't rob me): a few coins, some jewelry. It's all 24 karat. The reason why is because all my gold comes from my parents. Now, a lot of Asians are obsessed with 24k gold, but my parents are war survivors.

For those of you without Asian parents, gold comes in a variety of purities. 24k gold is the most pure gold available. My parents have never bought anything 14k, with the explanation that it is worthless, fake. And to understand why, you should understand that my parents lived through war. My friends talk about their parents growing up in post-war America, in suburbs or on farms. My parents grew up in a war zone. My parents' stories of their youth involve starving and refugee camps and bombs and explosions.

And so my parents have an acute awareness of the value of things. Paper money is only paper. Credit cards are just plastic. Banks are only buildings. But a can of spam can feed a family for a week, and gold is always valuable. No matter where you are in the world, no matter what the circumstances, someone always is willing to trade for gold.

And it seems strange to me that other people don't grow up with this kind of wisdom. Sometimes, I wonder how much of what I do is influenced by tidbits of knowledge like this.

Safety deposit box

Vault I by chesh2000pro

Now that I have a J-O-B, and I am officially an adult, I decided to get a safety deposit box to store all those invaluables, like some jewelry and papers.

I went to the bank and signed up for a box. The bank teller and I went into the vault, and we both put our keys into the locks, and I pulled out the box. The teller escorted me to a private room, and I played with the contents, putting this in and taking this out.

And driving away from the bank, I thought it was so funny how much trouble it was: the vault, the locks, the security, the private room. We spend so much time and trouble to guard and protect things. Everything in my safety deposit box, it can't be worth more than a few thousand dollars.

Yet we are so utterly careless with our emotions. We hurt each other so recklessly without a passing thought. We guard things that can be replaced, but we don't protect the things that really matter.

And sometimes, I can see why, because if we could lock our hearts in little steel boxes, then how could we ever give our hearts to each other, share our joys and sorrows? I'm learning, slowly, that I have long locked away my heart, and I have kept it safe, but how can I share my heart if it's hidden away?

Worth a bag of moon sapphires

So, unless you were living under a rock, you know about LiveEarth, which for you under-rock dwellers is a concert to help promote the cause of preventing climate change. There were a few things offered as simple things you can do to reduce your carbon footprint. These suggestions were (1) changing to fluorescent lightbulbs, (2) using energy efficient appliances, (3) turning off lights and unplugging things when not in use, (4) carpooling or using public transport. Gosh, that looks familiar, doesn't it?

I have to admit, I like Al Gore now. I wasn't a big fan of him when he was running for president, but he's managed to pull a Jimmy Carter, and make a bigger name for himself after politics than he ever did in Washington. I'm pretty impressed, and seeing as we're on the same page about a lot of this environment stuff, he's okay in my book. He has ridden the mighty moon worm, after all.

You're probably wondering what's up with me. Graduated residency. Got a job. Moved. Still in the Midwest. That's pretty much it for personal details.

At arm's length

In medical school, I remember quite distinctly the day we talked about personality disorders. We discussed schizoid personality disorder. These are the folks who prefer solitude. They are lighthouse keepers or wander the desert. This is in stark contrast to social anxiety disorder, where a person is unable to interact with people, and this inability causes great distress.

I remember this because it was when I realized that I have made some terrible decisions in my life, choices that I am not proud of, in order to wake up in the morning and not shoot myself.

I was recently forced to do a lot of introspection. This is something that I am relatively comfortable with. I keep this blog, I write in a journal, I feel like I am pretty in touch. But surprisingly, putting a voice to my inner monologue was quite horrifying.

In my life, I've had my fair share of romantic disappointments and failures. Couple this with other issues with intimacy and relationships growing up, and somewhere along the line, I decided that I could not take it anymore. I made the quite conscious decision to hold the world at arm's length, to distance myself emotionally from all this turbulence. And without that horror, I've thrived. I've done well in medical school and residency, and I feel like I've managed to accomplish quite a bit in my life.

But it comes at a steep price. Sure enough, I have not had my heart broken in a long time, and I haven't felt that pain again, but the problem is that the pain and joy come from the same place. I have cut myself off from a world of happiness, because the risk of pain was unacceptable.

And I've watched life pass me by from my little castle, with all interlopers thwarted by the high walls and deep moat. And actually, if I am really honest about it, women have tried, some trying pretty hard, to get inside. And rather than welcome them in, I have put up more walls, and closed myself off.

This distance has its pluses. I can unflinchingly deal with most patient interactions. I've had people cry, people yell at me, the whole gamut of emotions, and I have been able to be empathic, and none of it hurts me, because I don't let them get close. They have to work on my schedule. I can deal with patients in convenient 15-20 minute chunks. They open their doors to me, but it isn't reciprocal.

It's too bad that joy and sorrow come from the same place, and that it is our greatest loves who can hurt us the most. I just don't know if I can risk it. I don't know if my heart can take it. I so desperately want to be loved, but the thought of me loving another person is absolutely petrifying.

I portray to the rest of the world a man of confidence, an outgoing and gregarious guy, but at heart, I am none of those things. They are adaptations so that I can operate in this extroverted world. And I think of how wonderful it would be to meet a girl who could cut through all of this façade and get to know the real me, and not this face that I portray to the world. She would tell me, "Hey, it's okay. This is safe, you and me," and I could finally, finally let my guard down.

No touching

Kilmer Middle School bans handshakes, high fives, hugs.

So, I happened to flip past CNN and Paula Zahn was having a talking head bit about Kilmer Middle School and their policy of no handshakes, no high fives, no hugs, no touching essentially. People are arguing back and forth, and there are all sorts of positions one way or the other.

Rationally, I can understand both arguments. However, in my gut, I found this rule to be outrageous. I went to a private school, and we were reprimanded for NOT shaking hands. Hugs I can understand, but the handshake? The handshake is the most basic unit of human, adult interaction. You might as well ban smiling or saying hello.

These days, the only human interaction I have is shaking hands. If I didn't have that, I might as well be a hermit.