Much Ado About Small Towns

Small town prejudices amuse me sometimes. From the irrational fear of the big bad city to the xenophobic generalization of all those others, we could all probably go on and on about the many little prejudices exhibited.

For me working in a small town hospital, the oft-repeated preconception that irks me would be this erroneous yet prevalent idea that only the most awfully shoddy professionals remain - since they would assume the exceptional ones would have brushed off the crummy dirt of the small town for the gleaming burnish of the nearby metropolis.

Many a time I've heard of many who travel far - more often than not a quick hop, skip and jump over the Big Puddle - for a medical procedure they could have done at a fraction of the price and with far less hassle back home. From something as simple as a herniotomy which requires little more than a snip and cut that most general surgeons would find elementary.

Paul : So you travelled miles to do something you could have done here on the cheap? 
Friend : Can they do it here? 
Paul : It's so simple, even I could do it. 
Friend : I don't really trust them though.
Paul : Oh? Why?
Friend : Well they are from < insert small town here >
Paul : Isn't this your hometown?

And when queried on why... they always assume the quality is better elsewhere. Have they ever thought that it's their very own hometown they are talking about? Talking smack about their own? Come on. Does that mean they are of bad quality themselves?

Oh man, are they from a small town? 

Odd.

And something I simply cannot brain.

Yes, I am from the small town of Malacca - but I doubt any of my friends and classmates have ever seen themselves as despicable second-rate hicks. Perhaps it's the long history behind our older city or the more cosmopolitan air here but we've always taken pride in hailing from our lil town!

Insecurities

Insecurities.

We all have them. Not only the hideous trolls around but yeah, even the cutest, smartest, most popular prince charming out there in high school. Though some insecurities might not be as apparent or as loud as others, they are always there. Whether it's the low-key anxiety over the lack of looks, talent or brains - or far more embarassingly, foolishly freaking out over the insignificant pimple on that otherwise flawless sculpted ass.

Or perhaps even that friend of mine inexplicably worrying over how the back of his head looks.

Like anyone would fall heads over heels over the back of anyone's head.

But I digress. Only with age do you look back and realize how foolish it is worrying over such inconsequential nonsense - especially when faced with far bigger issues such as the inevitable death and taxes. Millennials might whine that their personal problems can't be compared in severity with others - but really, that gap between your teeth that could hurt your visual appeal is nothing compared to a cancerous tumour that might kill you.

Which amused me today at the gym when I saw this young collegiate hunk checking himself out in the ubiquitous gym mirrors by the showers. Shirtless of course. He's one of those smoothly rosy-cheeked, effortlessly good looking fellows who wouldn't look out of place as an instagram hottie - so it surprised me to see him keep patting his evident six pack in search of nonexistent love handles.

With body image issues so prevalent these days, even he's insecure.

Don't think there's an ounce of fat there.
Maybe the back of the head? 

Since he was putting on a show, I obviously had to give him an audience. Though I would have liked to tell him that he looked fine. Actually, more than fine.

And if he wanted to look for hidden fat, I could run my hands over his taut physique to find them. Helping hands and all that. 

The Old and the New

Yes, it's been a while since I've written.

Not that I've entirely abandoned writing - never that - but these days I've been otherwise preoccupied. You see, I've rediscovered an old love of mine; and that has led me to stray just a little.

Hence the time away. Fear not though, worry warts. Charming Calvin and I are doing perfectly fine - in fact we just came back from a romantic evening walk checking out the budding new cafes in town.

My old and rediscovered love is for the humble lil pencil.

Years back as a child, I was the ultimate doodler. Once I could reasonably pick up that trusty old pencil, I scratched bold graphite on every possible surface I could find. Even now, a quick investigation of my old bedroom would probably uncover some hastily scribbled doodle on the wall in whatever medium I was using back then, from kiddie crayons to pencils. Never too far from some wildly ambitious artistic project!

Always time for a sketch!

Much later when my father was in and out of the hospital, the pencil helped me while away the time as I drew little sketches on the edges of my notebooks. Certainly drove away the incessant boredom at some of my more boring classes. Even more so during the interminably dull lectures in university where the didactic professors would drone on and on about human physiology. So to the pencil I found refuge, doodling caricatures of my crusty old tutors for a laugh.

But as I started the grueling years of my housemanship, I somehow left the pencil behind. Rushing for ward rounds with the prosaic pen in my white coat pocket, there seemed little time and opportunity to sketch. All regrettably sacrificed on the preeminent altar of medicine.

Can certainly afford the most gorgeous pencils these days. Even the best material money could buy. But I somehow lacked the drive.

Till Inktober came along.

For the sadly uninitiated, Inktober is basically an art challenge that prompts daily sketches every day for a month. Nudged along by some of my artsy friends in the art market, it wasn't long before I was spending almost every day doodling according to the prompt of the day. Don't think I've ever been that happy whiling away the hours. Though I might spend ages on just a tiny lil sketch, I found myself far more satisfied with the time used!

Since then I've filled several sketchbooks - albeit really small A5 ones - since I do my best sketches at work. Hanging around waiting for the next crisis to happen seems to be the best time for me to center and calm myself down with a quick doodle.

Makes me wonder sometimes why I left this love behind.