Some people think my life becomes harder because of someone. Beer apparently only has 7 calories.
Something my lecturer said today piqued an interest in me. As a dental student, what with all the practical sessions and endless lectures, it’s hard to actually find inspiration to write (thus, the reason of my absence). Even if I do come across a thought or a story that arouses my senses and urge to write about it, it never made it through. The hectic schedule usually gets the best of everything. I have come to embrace the fact that time is truly precious (as is sleep) and i should never take advantage of any free time that rarely comes my way.
Just last Saturday, our faculty held the very first interview session for the next intake. Before this, we never had to go through interviews as a requirement unlike some universities. Normally, we were all handpicked by our Dean based on our academic and extracurricular achievements (and a little bit of luck, I might add). So naturally, the interview session was the talk of the faculty. Everyone (lecturers and staffs) were talking about it and giving personal opinions. My lecturer today was one of them.
He commented how most of the interviewee were not prepared at all. He said that most of them did not even bother to research the course they are planning to pursue. A few even actually thought that all we do in dentistry were tooth extractions! However, I personally feel that we can’t blame them for lacking the knowledge of what they’re about to go through if they pursue the course. There aren’t enough blogs or sites out there that outlines the whole course and give useful advises for anyone that wants to make it in this field. Some people weren’t born with doctors or dentists around them that might let them in on a thing or two about dentistry. I know the struggle because dentistry is a course limited to only a certain amount of students per university. With the fast-paced schedule, it’s not a surprise that not many ever wrote about the life in dentistry.
Today’s technology makes the creation of a photograph a trivial thing. With the rapid improvement of cameras within mobile devices in the last decade, we are rarely without the ability to take photographs of the minutiae of our daily lives. We can share images with others with the tap of a button, and the feedback in the form of likes and comments is addictive. With the trivialization of photography in an age of selfies, latte art, sunsets, and vintage color filters (all of which I love, if I’m being honest), some of the heart and art of the craft seems to be getting lost. As a photographer, do you take the time to identify and understand what really excites you when you find it in front of your lens? If not, do you wish to start?
“You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.” —…
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Writers don’t like being told what to do. That’s part of what makes us writers. We like to write about what we want to write about, and if somebody tells us what to write about, a lot of us will struggle.
Just like most people, I don’t like being told what to do, but I also don’t like telling others what to do. This puts me in a bad position. If I don’t like being told what to do and I don’t like telling others what to do, then I’m in a social no-man’s land. Maybe that’s why I like being a writer; I have complete control without really having to make decisions for anybody else.
I don’t like being told what to read either. As a reader, I constantly see…
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Carrie spoke through narrow lips that looked like they were sewn on too tightly. She had the gravelly voice of a lifetime smoker, but her trembly tone and hesitant nature made her barely audible. She seldom talked to people during the support group, and if she did she never peered directly into anyone’s eyes. She usually sat near a corner of the room, always making sure to face the only door leading in or out.
Carrie was petite and jittery. The pale foundation she slathered on her cheeks and the thick black lines she drew under her eyes did not conceal her frailty. Her dry, bleached-blonde hair tapered sharply just below her shoulders. It hung in solid-looking clumps that, like the rest of her, seemed as brittle as icicles.
Carrie usually dressed in snug, almost colorless acid-washed jeans and plain, baggy, crew neck sweatshirts in creamy tones of pastel pink or yellow. In all those faint colors, she sometimes appeared as…
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Hitting 20 in a couple of months. The beginning of “The Asshole Years”