Toubib Or Not To Be

Cursed is the neck that carries the silver medal. Before one is to proclaim that, well, the silver medalist is indeed a winner, one must pause…ponder. One must walk upon a metaphorical red carpet, wait behind the bronze medalist to climb that metaphorical podium, and waste away as every member of this accursed metaphorical arena announces you the first loser. I am not an athlete, nor am I ever inclined to be one. My physical prowess is limited to running after buses and away from the rain; however, I can proudly admit that I have been a silver medalist on many occasions in my life. As a matter of fact, so has every person I have ever met. In truth, we have all carried that mantle. So allow me to paint you a picture. You are ten when you are diagnosed: gifted. That’s what they call you, that’s what they are going to continuously whisper behind your back before you inevitably plummet, an Icarus who burned out too close to the overachieving sun. But I digress, you are gifted, and whether ...

Society craves isolation; it requires it. Man is not proficient enough if man is always aching for another. Companies preach all they want about team building, yet they pluck out each one of us and plant us in cubicles dusted in ashy gray, tasting of regret and longing, and hope that by 5 PM sharp, one fades away into that wall. They commend individualism when one is creating a project, not when one’s project is themselves. Governments hold their breath for the fiftieth person to walk into a room before they smack a request for a permit on your front and tell you to disperse. Yes, man wants to be a social animal. No, man may not be one. Late-stage capitalism decrees as much. Truth is, loneliness sells. You get an employee, you breed into them fear of authority and respect for the soul-stripping madness that is a 9-to-5, you teach them work culture, you make sure that work haunts their breaks, haunts their commutes back home, haunts their holidays, haunts their PTO. Thus, they do your...