mahiwaga

I don’t remember the last time I wept tears of joy. Tonight—even though I have 16 days left—I felt that, at the last, it was truly, finally, over.

I gave up a long time ago on the likelihood that I would ever be recognized for anything. I have acquiesced to the fact that I will toil the rest of my life in anonymity. Whatever I accomplish throughout the rest of my life, I will be the sole witness to them. At best, they will be small victories. Minor triumphs.

But it hit me, in a wave of forlornness, that, no matter what else happens, no matter how insignificant I am in the scheme of things, I have been a part of this. I have been a part of this awesome group of extraordinary people who, by dint of who they are, are destined to change the world. You may never hear their names in the news. Their deeds may never be recorded in the history books. But know for a fact that your life is better simply because these people exist, because these people have dedicated their lives to the service of humanity. However peripheral I have been to their lives, I have been a part of this.

I will miss it terribly. I will miss all these wonderful people I have met. This is the last transition of my formal education. From here on out, the real world is gonna be coming at me at the speed of light, raw and unfiltered.

It occurred to me that no matter what, to be a part of her life, however minor and ephemeral that part may be, is already a lot. Her friendship is a great gift. For that, I am grateful. That I have shared a small slice of her glory, and of the adversity she has overcome, that she has shared a part of her life with me, is more than I probably deserve. I know that I will treasure it until my dying day, whatever else might happen.

And, as I have finally—after struggling all these years through nights of anguish, sorrow, and suffering—as I have finally come to understand, there is no next. There is only now. And I’ve got to live my life accordingly.

Carpe diem. And don’t let go until you’ve squeezed out everything you can.

I just watched a sweet, low-key film called “Infinity” that stars Matthew Broderick as the renown physicist Richard Feynman and Patricia Arquette as his first wife Arline Greenbaum. Despite the fact that it covers the period of time when Feynman worked on the Manhattan Project, it is mostly really a love story.

It still trips me out that, despite the fact we (as in, Western civilization) had pretty much figured out modern physics (quantum mechanics and general relativity have not really been improved upon since), and had at last learned how to blow up the world, we still didn’t have penicillin in 1945, much less isoniazid.

The big reason why Feynman takes the position is so that he can keep his fiancé and later his wife Arline nearby. Arline happens to be dying of tuberculosis, which is supposed to better than dying of Hodgkin’s disease according to the movie, which I can’t really say, since I’ve never seen anyone dying of TB, but I’ve seen people dying of Hodgkin’s.

It also struck me that, while we can pretty much treat, or at least control, most cases of tuberculosis (the XDR cases the most obvious, most horrible of exceptions), our treatments for Hodgkin’s Disease aren’t quite as good. Although it’s way better than just waiting to die.

I think about a patient with relapsed Hodgkin disease who is three years younger than I am, who has a daughter, and who is pretty much dying.

But the quote that sort of caught my attention, in reference to the Bomb, (but which I don’t think Feynman ever really said) was this:

It brought to mind how terrible this thing was, that treated humans as matter.

Unsettling news that helps you to distance yourself from a destructive relationship. Painfully honest communication that needs to take place. Not letting yourself be dragged by your emotions into a negative situation. A trust or confidence betrayed in an attempt to help someone in need. The revelation of a painful truth.

And how many times do I need to face this truth, I wonder? I guess my heart will just have to re-learn how to be silent and still.