Something's definitely wrong here. It's been about 6 months since my last honest post, and probably about 8 since my last good one. I've had multiple requests from several different people to just post again so I could finish this damn thing and end the so-developed "book" that I seem to have written. Looking back, it's been over 50 posts (half of which were written while the constant amoebic and parasitic load on my intestines was spilling out into my creative mind and giving me some of the worst verbal diarrhea I'd ever experienced). In any case, it's been a lot of writing without a conclusion. Sorry.
I'd like to say that the real reason I never finished was because "closing the book" on this one would be emotionally equivalent to giving up on the prospect of ever leading a life as exciting and unexpected as I had. I can't believe I actually lured myself into believing that load of poetic bullshit. I mean really, Andrew, you have the chance to become an international doctor, cure cancer, or even more likely, finally prove to the scientific world the existence of supernatural forces. Your life isn't over just yet.
So why didn't I finish the book? Because it took me this long to finally come up with a legitimate post's worth of information. The past 6 months have been one long adventure. Except that I mean that in the worst way possible. ONE long adventure. About equivalent to 2 or 3 days traveling between villages on a thousand year old dirt path. It's a problem that seems to be common among travel writers, Jack Kerauac being no exception. Most of the stories in "On The Road" take place over a total of only a few months of traveling, while living in steady locations for years at a time might only merit a sentence or two. That's what happened here, and if I didn't know better I might let it happen again.
6 months ago I started med school. I learned a lot. A LOT. I'm not going to explain to you how much I learned because it would probably take 6 months (and $42k/year) to explain it. Also, 6 months ago I got a girlfriend. I also learned a lot. Except this time most of what I learned was what it would be like to be married with 1.2 cats in the yard, 2.3 kids, and an old Indian motorcycle rusting away behind the house... Jesus, I had no idea until just now how stupidly poetic that last part is (I'll "symbolically foreshadow" and say the bike's now up and running). Basically, I'd been living in my own 1-bedroom place, spending most of my time either with her or with my books, and using the spare nights of the week paying for overpriced dinners and overpriced drinks at overpriced "chic" and "in" (meaning culturally devoid) clubs. Before I knew it, I found myself caring about the clothes I wear, the way I act, and being sure to be seen spending the money I do. A "good night" became going to bed early after a nice dinner. Dishes were clean, floors were mopped, toilet seats were down. I was staring this future in the face, with random bouts of anxiety and loathing bubble to the surface during drunken arguments and Santa blackouts, when she out of nowhere dumped me about three weeks ago.
But at some point during the customary week of being down, I woke up. It was a bit like snapping out of a daydream and realizing you've been floating down a river for an hour and a half and now the scenery's completely different and you totally missed the change. Now, suddenly, I just woke up in the middle of med school, with a whole lot of facts in my head and a few memories of the past 6 months, but with no coherent chronology of it all. Basically, I just had one of those self-reflective "HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHERE THE HELL AM I AND HOW DID I GET HERE THIS IS AWESOME" response that I used to enjoy at least twice a week in Asia. This would be the time that I'd go find an internet cafe and write down everything I'd been experiencing for the past few days, but since my life got boring, it's taken me about 6 months to get to this point.
I also just tried re-reading my old blog for a few minutes, and I came across a post I made while I was trying to put the thoughts together in my head that it was time for me to stop traveling. I think the title had something to do with Hunter S. Thompson, but basically at the end I go through some of the lasting points behind Robert Persig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: namely, that the "dynamic quality" was the most wonderful force in the universe and that everything static is relatively dead. My goal for traveling, in these terms, was to experience dynamism as directly as I could. At the time of that post, I was coming to terms with the fact that all this new-ness and unpredictability around me was getting static itself, and that the only truly dynamic thing for me to do would be to settle down and sit still for a change. So here I have it, 6 months later in chronological terms, only about two pages later in "book" terms. It's been just about as strange and novel of a trip as I'd ever had between posts, but only insofar as to say that it's been the most dull.
I guess to fully process the lessons I learned during my time traveling, I'd have to actually reread all the posts and spend a significant time thinking about and writing all my reflections on it. But I think that's called an Epilogue. There'll be a place for that when there's a time (and desire) for it.
So that's the end of the book. The end. Kaput.


But it's not the end of my story. I won't be that tacky to say it's just the beginning, but I might say it's the end of the beginning. Or I won't say anything at all. Aw, nevermind. I'm still doing stuff, that's what I want to say.
A week ago I decided to move in with my med school buddy into the heart of Silverlake (one of the hippest areas of LA which, I know, doesn't say much but it's a start), and we're set to turn the yard into a tiki bar and the living room into the local afterparty spot for the coffee shop crowds and bar scenes. In the meantime, I'm trying to decide whether to spend my summer leading a group of 4 local researchers (3 high school students and a botanist) through the Massai villages of Northern Tanzania to unearth the local ancient traditional medicines for fighting off malaria, or to work as a liason between American doctors and Burmese village healers along the Thai-Myanmar border to study the interaction between Eastern and Western medicine. Also, I'm working to get my med-student ass to Nicaragua during Spring Break to ride around in a doctor mobile and give as much free healthcare as we can to some of the poorest people in the world. What I'm trying to say is that this blog is not going to be over any time soon, even if the posts might get scarce between events. So stay tuned, check back every few weeks, and I might just be able to change your attention for about 10 minutes at a time.
Until then, let me leave you with these words:
NOBODY WON THE DISEASE POOL, I DON'T HAVE AIDS, AND BRIAN GOLDMAN IS AN ASSHOLE.

-andrew