When life is bombarding you with everything at once that means that God wants to change you, so you'd better sit up and listen.  This May, I graduated college and was still shedding the dream and lifestyle that was Emory University.  In that place, you're pampered so much and grow so much as a person (if you do it right), but that also tempts you to forget why you were there in the first place (if you do it wrong.)  Almost exactly a week after leaving the city that had become a third home, my family received news that my uncle - the one who had just seen me walk across the stage - was in a coma.

(This is a rather long post, just so you know.  It's a big summary of a lot of big things.)



A lot happened in that harried journey back to join my family in Montreal.  In the tumult of grief and helplessness life seemed like such a comedy of errors, and no one ever seemed to learn from their mistakes.  But it was the city where my life had begun its thread of possibility before I was even born.  Somehow the air smelled very familiar.  I went through the paths where my parents would walk and dream.  I learned a lot new tidbits about my uncle, and how much his humble path meant to those around him.  Happiness is joy in the present moment, but joy is knowledge of grace in any circumstance.  That time held so much joy because of the gift that was once life, and the gift that life continues with us all, for a precious time.  Somewhere, I read that if we took the ideas of everyone who had known us at some point and combined them, we could form so many more facets of ourselves.  I like to think that I at least hold a piece of that story for my uncle.

Upon my return home I applied on a whim to a teaching program in Asia, and was soon accepted to Chungdahm Learning, a private company sort of comparable to Kumon.  In fact, I had originally planned to start this blog as an introduction to my year in Korea teaching English.  I've always loved to learn about different cultures, and learn to interact with people I otherwise would not have been able to meet.  My four years of college with all my (mostly Korean) JCA friends seemed to have prepared me for that next step.  Even jokingly, my Korean-sounding last name and my knack for picking up random foreign phrases seemed to point towards that adventure.  I daydreamed of the little kiddos that I would teach, how I would become fluent enough to watch dramas without subtitles which would equal being able to understand real people who don't come with subtitles, and how every day would hold another life lesson in a country I would never be able to access otherwise.  Because I had been rejected in April from teaching in France, this seemed like a redirection of my original idea.

But soon the thrill of being accepted sank in, along with reality.  It wasn't the daunting challenge of being lost, but the daunting thought of one year turning into many years of delay towards my career goals.  Because of coursework and applications cycles, everything would be complicated even further.  Teaching was never a long term goal, whereas I've always known that healthcare was.  The reality is that we don't have a lot of time, as much as we would like to not rush things.  I can't support my own education, and I can't ask my parents to support me for this prolonged search of the world.  After my uncle's death my need to prepare and take care of my family became more solidified.  Also, a lot of things became a lot less important, including the fanciful jet-setting dreams.  So, in short, I turned down the teaching position.

Yet ever since the middle of senior year, my career goals have never been more fuzzy.  My stubbornness to stick to pre-med was not proving as successful as I had envisioned.  When trying to write personal statements, my mind would go completely blank.  Other options such as PA and NP came into focus, neither better nor worse necessarily.  But even now, as I plan on taking the missing prerequisites, I'm taking care of all my bases at once.  That means I still have to choose - if I even have a choice.  After being stuck at the bottom for years, it just feels like I don't have the energy or the goods to compete.  I really don't know where I'm going, because goals have to be made with the hope that they will actually succeed.  I really want to just stick my head in the sand and hope circumstances change, but I would like to think that I have more tenacity than that.  So I'll try... something.

The only thing I've made the right decision on lately seems to be to stay home.  There is a lot I still need to accomplish.  Find a home church and a gospel-centered community.  Learn how to be better to my parents.  Learn what God wants to say in the midst of this uncertainty and seek Him in any environment or period I'm in.  Not succumb to this generation's malaise or cynicism.  Try and not be so isolated.  By "returning," I can't escape anymore, but at least I've come back with a lot of lessons under my belt.

Then again, God likes to work for His glory.  I was reminded of my original-original plan, which had been to volunteer on a medical cruise ship.  However because they required at least two years of hospital experience in a real position, I put it aside.  Then the other day, my parents were watching 60 Minutes when a report on Mercy Ships (the exact organization I had gotten in contact with junior year) popped up on the television.  The large hospital ship travels to ports along Africa for months at a time, giving aid to anyone that needs it.  Hundreds line up for a chance to be healed both spiritually and physically.  The snippet that really got me was that prayer is as much a part of the standard of care as medicine.  So, that is my long term goal - for whatever position, whether it be nurse or doctor - to serve on that ship for a few months at least.  It will be my travel and adventure, and to serve God in the best way I can will be my reason for going through this path.