In Silence
Like many medical students, my mental health takes a heavy blow every exam season (which is really most of the time). I get irritable, burdened with worry about my competence in topics that would be assessed both clinically and in theory. The days leading up to exams are as intensive as they are draining. It really cannot be fully explained unless experienced. Some days, I blame Hippocrates. On others, I blame the proverbial devil, or God, for allowing diseases exist. Then, I blame myself for choosing this career path. It gets overwhelming and more than anything, I sit.
In silence.
Sometimes, it feels like my examiners have quickly forgotten what it means to be in our shoes. Sometimes, the whole ordeal feels like an endurance exercise. Like the college is trying to gauge just how much students can take before they implode. Or explode. And then, I sit.
In silence.
When I’m in the midst of my friends, we laugh and make jokes about the situation in camaraderie. Each subtly leaning on the other, looking for some form of succour. Sometimes, you just want to be sure you’re not the only one who’s cooked.
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In the midst of all these, I see the weary lines on my mother’s face whenever I go home. I realize how much of her life has been spent holding mine together. The exhaustion she carries, which she never speaks about, is the price of every opportunity I’ve had. The quiet proof that survival in our world often comes at the expense of softness. And sometimes, when I catch my reflection, I wonder how much of that weariness I now wear too.
I know brain fag. I live it everyday. There are days when I feel I have more potential as a psychiatric patient than as the physician thereof.
Being a medical student is unsurprisingly a risk factor for everything from gastritis and peptic ulcer disease to cardiovascular strain and mental illness. Many days, I’m grateful for the DND function. I shut out the world, stare blankly at the ceiling with unseeing eyes — savouring the silence.
Then music breaks that silence.
I bury my head in soul. I put my heart in grime. My playlists keep my sanity intact. Even if for the duration of an album, I’m removed from the slow burn of trying, failing, and trying again in a country that seems to take pride in breaking its youth.
I miss that puerile joy of believing the world would unfold kindly for those who work hard and mean well. But somewhere along the line, life became more about endurance than wonder. I feel like I’ve spent most of adulthood chasing the ghost of a simpler joy. And of course, sitting.
In silence.
PS: Originally written July 2025, revised November 2025. I have just completed my time in medical school, and just like every other point of transition in my life, I’ve been consumed by self-reflection.
