Against The Odds

“How long does it take for a fake smile to become an actual smile, for it to become the smile you wear faithfully,” he asked, looking at his reflection posing a self-complacent smile, a smile that may perhaps finally adorn his character. His posture was rhetorical, guile decorated, and yet eyes disloyal, emphasized with exhaustion, burdened and depraved.

“Is this the new routine? An alarm, clothes pre-selected, and pure mundanity.” He questioned. “Maybe not disgusting after a while.” “But maybe never.” An insecure sigh which quickly apologizes to realization, “But perhaps disgusting for now…… and always?”

“This is it? No more standing before crossroads debating, should I or should I not. This is it.” He had texted a night before his admission, to his childhood friend. Which had followed an hour-long call where he had wept into bankruptcy, exclaimed his failure, and echoed his unwilling servitude to medicine.

Next day, his crusade had begun, inauguration of a new miserable future. The haunting hour-long commute already posed as problematic, then the dull depressing campus and ultimately the unsettling faces of new people. The only hope that constantly lingered that day was, there may be a familiar face somewhere. “Maybe Aisha, please No!” he thought to himself “Did she not also want to pursue medicine.” It had been several years since their breakup but the thought of reuniting at this place although near inconceivable was an addictive meditation that eased the day's emotional devastation.

His First-day Orientation had nauseatingly included everything, from the journey ahead and of life that would diverge away from what he had imagined as a child, it reinstated the consequence of his decision depressing him entirely, and the thought of having no second option although removed some burden but still left him sickeningly guilty.

Back home, it felt like a parade, His father was proud, mother overwhelmed with joy. All distant and close family overtook by the eventuality of his decision. Their happiness somehow seemed that it was destiny, and a natural progression of life as if admission here was another checklist finally checked. He was forced to feel guilty for ever imagining a deviation from the set out unspoken but overly apparent path. “A path of easy and sure success.” He apologetically whispered to himself.

Next day, was where he had met his new batch, his colleagues, all strangers all aliens. Some were incredibly felicitous to have started this journey and some probably struggling like he was, with the sudden change in environment, and some probably were beaming anxiously to learn. He, however, felt out of place, eager to change yet still deprecatory.

There was this question everyone would ask the batch, “Why are you all here? Is it because you want to pursue this or were you forced to be here?” To every person asking, he would reverberate the same “It was my choice but no, I did not want to pursue dentistry.” Thinking he was being honest with himself, but his answer felt corrupt with confusion. Finally, someone caught him off-guard. It was the girl sitting in Infront of him in the auditorium. As soon as the next person brought up the same question, she ambushed him, “Yes we all know you were forced to be here” Her unconsented stare left him surprised, he felt raided upon. She was Amania. She emphatically imposed herself on him with her unsolicited and seemingly ominous curiosity. Suggesting sitting behind her had caused annoyance throughout the day.

The first few weeks into this new routine already had condemned him to be the quiet one, silently he would remain, separate and away from these strangers acquainting themselves. He would keep to himself, making sure he looked busy and serious.

At least he would try, until Amania eventually would, pull him into her group, asking intolerable questions that he had never wanted to share an opinion on, “Again with this useless curiosity.” He would reply, stopping the conversation to close. She would reflect her instinctive smile and coyly would grin and continue asking. She had started to become fun for him. Their conversations soon had become casual banters and had mechanically brought him nearer to her other friends.

Months went by quickly, and putting on a mask of deception became a habit, a procedure. He would rise from sleep every day fatigued, he would dress up reluctantly and before leaving his house he would regularly stand in front of the mirror, in his room, and smile, analyzing it, holding it, making sure it seemed congenital. There was always a sense of fear lurking, the thought of quitting forever present.

It was as if an internal switch needed to be turned on before entering his class, and meeting up with his colleagues. So, to not exhaust his narrative he buried himself in textbooks, making sure he stood out as a student and yet invisible as a person. He looked serious, maybe grievous sometimes, but always looking inwards keeping his distance. Earphones plugged in listening to fiction, looking for an escape, evading all conversations that were remote from academics. Making sure he was not distracted from the goal set, “Eventually dentistry could become my passion. If I worked hard. maybe pretended to work for it… maybe.” He forcefully believed. “Fake it till you make it? Perhaps.”

He passed year one and became friends with Talha, who was seemingly quiet, soft-spoken, and delicate at first but quickly became dependable for him. Talha’s constant presence allowed an excuse for not being social enough. Talha was kindhearted, brave, and slow to judge him, or maybe his judgment although never vocal felt non-threatening. He brought along Musa to their group studies. Musa was different from them both, he was more outgoing, more social, and an extrovert yet was never sharing his opinions or his past. He too had built up a wall hiding himself behind it. He had a distinct way of speaking or explaining where he could say the least possible words but amazingly would say enough. These three, although discreetly opposite to each other but out of cryptic cosmic luck found themselves relying devoid of competition without any covert demand. They were unconventional friends.

Talha and Musa both somehow had learned to give him his due space. Their relationship was designed to help each other out academically first and then be friends second, Amania had asked Talha once, “Is Saeed your best friend then?” to which Saeed had intervened, “No, Talha and I are good friends.” He continued “We study buddies.” Not realizing how awful that sounded. He smiled and carried on.

For Talha it seemed easy to mix with people, it came naturally to him. He had befriended everyone, people that Saeed had been pushing back. Mingling with them and enjoying their company which meant Saeed had to join all the social gatherings that he would have skipped otherwise. It felt to him an obligation. For Talha planning elaborate events seemed genuinely enjoyable. Talha never asked Saeed to be a part of them but for Saeed, it was understood, they had slowly become one. Saeed thought, “If this is important to Talha then, it has to be important for me as well.” Being friends with Talha made it certain that Saeed needed to perhaps drop a bit of his guard at least with Amania who had become closer to Talha.

Year two was quick. Between needless events and the difficult course Saeed found himself mostly busy, His pretension was a bit more cursory yet had become sufficient and consolatory. His breakdowns, still palpable but far apart. He was starting to find a rhythm, maybe learning to manage them. Not that all his coping strategies were healthy, but treating himself to desert and spending too much on cheap and easy food was a quick distraction away from acknowledging or checking with his emotions, “I know why and what makes me sad, can I truly change that. right now?” he confided once, to one of his childhood friends. “Probably not; when I must wake up every day and do the crap, I hate…. Everyday.” He added “So it’s easier to be fat but focused. No?” Letting out a poetic sigh, apologizing to himself, he continued ignoring his need for self-love for this burdening borrowed mission of being the perfect image. “Fake it…. Till you make it.”

Finals for year two were incredibly testing, the schedule for it was barbaric, four uninterrupted days of theoretical examination, then a day’s break followed by another four days of idiotically calendared clinical examinations. It was far more exhausting and debilitating than expected. This schedule and preparation for the exams had depleted him, Talha proved to be his support during this time, Musa couldn’t handle these days of sleep deprivation and had quietly removed himself from obligation, he would join them when needed.

They would eat as little as possible, and live off coffee and soda, Saeed’s nicotine addiction had escalated, and taking smoke breaks became his only minutes of comfort, his time alone in solitude. Where once Saeed had debated himself and contested all his values and morals. Posed life-altering questions or delegated tremendous decisions, Now, it had become difficult to even hear himself. He found that the ever-present and persistently degrading inner voice that he had been conditioned to since childhood was losing volume. A sense of loss prevailed.

Obsessively, He would pace the room, trying to resuscitate that inner monologue. That He fenced, argued with, and learned from all his life. That voice in him was in many ways meditative. Losing it brought an implosion of self-loathing. He felt diseased. He felt incompetent and devoid of life.

The exhaustion, the lack of time and the false imperativeness to maintain his fictitious hard work pulled him back although apprehensively but with certainty. He soon would lose that inner voice in its entirety. Hoping he had paused it, he forgave himself, minimizing its need.

He passed year two despite the internal chaos. Pushing through. “One day at a time. Be Present.” He claimed, to remind himself of the vow he had pledged the night before he sentenced himself, in favor of what he was made to believe, “A path of easy and sure success.”

Year three would have been easier, less theoretical, and much more clinical. Smaller curriculum and more skill development. Necessitating his communication skills to be polished. It had meant Saeed would have to pivot away from what he had become slightly more comfortable with. Reading the same topic from three different textbooks, and allowing three different authors to repeat the same concept had become his own way of learning, relearning, and understanding although incredibly time-consuming, it was becoming his formula. His means of fulfilling the task without allowing distraction or demotivation. In fact, a cathartic muse.

Amania had become as important to him as Talha and Musa. An anchor keeping him afloat. She was an inspiration to him. her geniusness became a magnetic pull, her passion for dentistry slowly penetrating making way into his densely prisoned self. Clinical practice and observing skilled clinicians became their way of bonding, their superficial banter blossomed into moments of honest and tender conversations. Saeed felt regretful for not sharing his fears and his honest unadulterated self with her from the very first day. His need to now start again, start anew echoed loudly, letting Amania in all the way through, became an uncanny desire. A selfishly hopeful correction, that covid caused to push towards oblivion.

Covid had vindictively ruined everything, more globally than for Saeed yet equally agonizing. An epidemic of loneliness ensued, and suddenly his unglamorous routine ended. He no longer had to wake to an alarm or dress up formally. No masks of deceit or fake smiles to decorate, no one to act for. A crippling death for mundanity.

Inapposite to the unforgivable demise endured by the natural course of usualness, Covid had caused a wave of change, the world had stopped. And had found time to bring about internal peace which quickly became a universal endeavor, a social truce. Solitude brought about mature serenity. But as soon as Covid’s impact Faded, all were the same.

Year four slowly lingered close, a year of conclusion. It meant juggling an impossible curriculum, perfecting clinical skills, and hauling a cargo of responsibility to faithfully enact the Hippocratic oath. All of it with the lingering silence that covid had left. Amania was different, less cheery than before, Talha was demoralized and seemed busy building emotional distance, but Musa appeared rejuvenated. “Do not think, just be” he would tell Saeed intending to inspire his optimism into Saeed’s derisive and malcontent character.

Saeed overwhelmed with duty had drowned himself in patients and then afterward, back at home, in his textbooks, he demanded from himself an acute and inexcusable redemption, realizing how he has failed to convince himself of the passion he intended to produce. Talha and Musa, are always there, in the background participating too in his madness, knowing well Saeed’s pattern but never daring to intervene. They at first thought that maybe this odd and insane drive was indeed healthy, if not pathological.

Saeed, unable to balance his curriculum with his clinal practice, had scored poorly in his midterms which instead of demoralizing him had remarkably propelled him further in his maddening campaign. He had become more focused and unconvincingly more devoted. Musa annoyed, was trying to pace him down, “Saeed, let’s take a break.” He would say. “Let’s go out for dinner tonight. maybe” he would suggest. “It’s been a while; we should maybe plan some, small road trip.” He was ignored. Feeling dismissed, he tried to team up with Talha to somehow convince Saeed of a road trip or something, anything. But found no luck. He was impenetrable. Saeed had become concrete, delusionally fixed to some unknown cause. The space between them grew. They tried to excuse him at first and even tried to bully him into submission but never parting his side. Sense of their worry had matured, Saeed to them had become unhinged and humorless.

Saeed was committed fully to his ostensibly tenured sentence. fractionally reverting back to where he had begun. Obsessed again with the idea of being perfect. forlorn guilt embossed and depraved with the feeling of being a disgrace. No matter how much he worked, Saeed never felt appreciated or rewarded.

“I do everything in life up to 90% and then quit, just when am at the finish line.” he had complained. “Saeed, maybe for once, recognize how hard we have worked. And then try to be kind to yourself.” Talha had consoled. “I am quitter, all my life… a quitter.” Saeed had interjected. “Just why can’t I be rewarded for the work, I put in?” he asked. “Are you blind?” Talha continues, “You know more than anyone. You know enough. You have no reason to compete with postgraduates.” Talha pursing his lips imposed in his analytical away, “But you do! and so, are doomed.” “You are ungrateful and toxic to yourself. That’s all.” He loudly prosecuted. “Work smartly. Everyone else is.” Looking towards Musa he ends. “Don’t think…... Just be” Musa contributed. “That all is enough. I believe”

Exams for the final year before long had consumed them all, Amania always a text away, always available and the three relied on her throughout and collaboratively, Amania had depended on them. From all-nighters to early mornings, it truly felt like an incredible feat to be finally able to conquer it. However impossible it had first seemed. Exam days felt like mutually earned victories, some were decisive and some solitarily affording.

“On towards, the next chapter then.” Amania asserted.

“Yes, on towards, making a better future, with happier memories.” Musa wished.

 “Like the much-awaited road trip.” Saeed announced. Holding Talha joyously by his shoulders. Musa smiling beside him.

“On towards, the next chapter. Indeed” Saeed whispered back to himself, relieved and somewhat unburdened.