Because I am thoroughly enamoured with the
inimitable Stephen Fry, I find it not unreasonable to mirror his actions and
write this letter to my younger self too.
Dear D,
Your
boxes are packed – Dad has begrudgingly pasted your name and new address on it
- and your plane tickets are sitting in a folder with your acceptance letter to
university. You have never left home before, you’ve barely finished high
school, your new life is about to begin and you are not sure if there is time
to turn back; if this is something you will regret someday.
Your home will change. The public housing flat you grew up in will be no more -
it was sold so that you could afford your tuition fees. In fact, the definition
of Home will differ – from tiny hostel rooms to city apartments to suburban
houses to country hospital units – Home you will soon realise is not just a
geographical space, but a reflection of the happiness that it harbours. And you
will be thankful for your beloved families because when you lie homesick in
your bed one night, you will find comfort in the knowledge that there are
hearts beating in Adelaide, Perth and Singapore for you too.
You will change. Your accent a curiosity; people will wonder about your
heritage. You will learn independence and you will discover the qualities that
make you different from others. Insecurities will lessen as acceptance
deepens; beneath all that pubescent awkwardness there lies worth to be proud
of. You will grow to enjoy giving because for most of your life you have
received. And you will find in your travels that despite differences in colour,
religion and culture, we are all cohesive in our search for emotional
connection, to define a purpose in our lives.
You will find Love that poets speak of – atop a hill, overlooking sunny patches
of bare land – you will trace an imprint of his beautiful face onto your heart
as your hand holds his. Gray-skied walks by early summer blooms, philosophical
debates over lunchtime picnics, those evenings when a polite insistent stare
from the waiter hints at closing time (and we must leave my dear) – you will
live in the moment, you can taste its aching sweetness still. And then the
bitterness of life’s cruelty will come, when Love was taken away so suddenly
from you. But you will emerge through it, through all those tears and painful
longing - you must believe me. Believe that growing up means that the love you
want now is different too.
Your career will test you. It will break you, push you to your limits and
release you in defeat. You will spend your initial years walking through many
cold corridors, a harrowed gaze fixed on the floor, wondering if you had done
the right thing. You will see suffering, but you will soon provide dignified
painless deaths. Learn to accept that mistakes must happen – without them, you
will not grow as a clinician. But never forget that your patients are people,
who mean something to someone else. And in the powerless world lived in a
hospital bed, your patient’s voice must sometimes come from you.
Trust me, it will work out. Your fears will
soon be infected with excitement, happiness, sadness and despair – Life is not
straight forward, it was never meant to be. But have faith in the knowledge
that it will all be alright and that when you look back someday, you would
never have wanted it any other way.
Yours truly
D.
