No-Face Ramen with Naruto Swirls

Pork tonkotsu ramen from Ippudo.

As I passed through the noren into Ginza's Ippudo shop, the rich fragrance of all the different broths brewing permeated my lungs. I listened to the energetic slurping frenzy around me with anticipation and tried to appease my appetite with assorted pickled delights and cucumber bites. When my spicy tonkotsu ramen order arrived, I admired the delicately arranged charcoal seaweed, fresh green onions, glittering soft-boiled egg, tender Chashu pork slices, and narutomaki flake on top before diving in and stretching out the chewy egg noodles.

Free spicy seaweed, peppered soybeans, ginger strips and garlic in little boxes on the table.

Mmm, yup, there is nothing quite like a hot bowl of ramen! I prefer thick broths, but honestly, there are so many types of ramen... this article details various ramen styles quite well. The Ippudo in New York is pretty good. But the atmosphere in Japan lends ramen a completely unique taste. For instance, slurping is a must! The noodles are cooked to perfection and need to be eaten instantly before they get all soggy.

Chibi Naruto steals a narutomaki!

My favorite element from childhood has always been the narutomaki/naruto, the star-shaped fish-cake swirls named after the naruto whirlpools in the Naruto Strait. Often sparse, the floating or drowning pink swirls are fun to find in a large bowl. I consider them to be like the cherry on top, a small touch that brings great joy to the ramen experience. In fact, one of the most popular characters in all of manga history is named after the tasty treat that he loves. Masashi Kishimoto's vibrant and hilarious character has probably even eclipsed narutomaki in renown nowadays!

Vending machine ramen at Ichiran train station shop! Don't be fooled by all the buttons, the ONLY option is tonkotsu ramen.

However, I also experienced a bizarre, fun, and somewhat eerie experience on a rainy day at the Tokyo Ueno train station that I dramatically refer to as "No-Face Ramen." Ichiran is a ramen shop that seeks to minimize the tired commuter or traveler's interaction with other humans as much as possible. Customers first order via a vending ticket machine. Always order Kaedama, a refill of noodles, because ramen shops generally do not provide an abundant noodle serving to start. As explained earlier, they encourage eating noodles fast and fresh (and they make more money).

This layout is not the most conducive environment for an engaging conversation. Luckily you can collapse the booth walls, and so I ended up being able to talk to Yuka after all!

Next, customers wait in front of a huge blinking sign that displays the shop's very narrow counter seating arrangement. Taken seats are marked as such until a customer leaves, upon which the seat on the screen flashes "empty" and dings "KONG!" So my bewildered party of 5 stood there for at least 15 minutes, listening to a bunch of KONG KONG KONG KONG KONG's when 5 seats serendipitously opened in a row.

When I slid open the cup holder door on the upper left to catch a peek of my server's face, a hand immediately slammed it shut and scared the bejeebies out of me...

Each person gets a personal booth closed off on both sides, a water dispenser and cup, a checklist to indicate whether you want: firm, medium, or soft noodles; spicy or non-spicy; thick or light broth; etc., and a small window that only hints at your server's bottom half and the mysterious, bustling kitchen background. The server then severs any connection with a bamboo shutter. Only a call button can reconnect you with obscurity.

Well, I guess the servers did have faces after all...?

What struck me the most was how a person could enter, sit, eat, and leave without having to look at a single face. Even the exit route is separate from the entrance. The servers do not show their faces. Your neighbors could hide their faces. You would not have to show your face. Everyone could have no face.

This incident reminded me of a powerful scene in the most acclaimed Ghibli film directed by animation master Hayao Miyazaki: Spirited Away (2001). Insightful, mature, and absolutely gorgeous, this movie is not just a poignant coming-of-age tale, but also an allegory of Japan's post-modern struggles and search for cultural identity. An important character called No-Face wears a noh mask and is neither good nor evil, though he feeds on the corrupting greed and superficial values percolating throughout the traditional bathhouse where the protagonist Chihiro works.

 

Have you ever realized, you were in a train full of people you didn't know, faces you would never remember, and conversations never uttered?

Chihiro silently brings him on a train that glides across the ocean. The audience listens to waves, white noise, and haunting piano notes. Other passengers are quiet and preoccupied shadowy globs. This beautiful scene creates a sense of isolation reminiscent of real-life. In Ichiran, I felt like Chihiro, emotionally disconnected with the world. The ramen just didn't taste as good without seeing faces of people I loved. Yet No-Face and Chihiro, finally away from the crazy bathhouse life, feel at peace. I guess that's what Ichiran provides, a brief reprieve from a society of appearances.

Not a fast-paced plot-driven thriller at all. Read Villain for that. But this slice-of-life book is absolutely chilling.

I would like to conclude this post with a Japanese book recommendation that has nothing to do with ramen, but everything to do with a No-Face world. It also became a pretty good movie, so you could watch that instead. Despite Parade being Yoshida's novel debut in 2002, it presents his mastery of perspective and psyche. Although he and Haruki Murakami (whose work I have never found appealing) touch upon similar themes of alienation, I find Yoshida's writing to be more accessible.

There are 5 Parades because the novel is told from the vantage of 5 different characters who live in one apartment. Strangers, each puts on a mask. Tokyo's overcrowded structure and social conventions prevent them from sharing their true, broken selves. Like No-Face, they are neither good nor evil, but their frustrating and unforgiving environs lead them to harbor self-destructive tendencies.

From a seemingly mundane world emerges something incredibly dark and inexplicable. The end will make you breathless with confusion and grapple for psychological re-analysis of each character.

First-person narratives can be tricky because many authors use the SAME VOICE for female/male characters. Parade's voices, however, have such distinct quirks and palpable desires, I feel like they are actual relatable people. Having lived in chat rooms as an angsty middle schooler who felt isolated from my peers, I can understand how the realm of anonymity is freeing yet restrictive. Maybe what these twenty-somethings need are some relaxing train rides, sincere discussions, and fulfilling ramen.

"Living here I feel like I'm in an Internet chat room. The basic right everyone has in a chat room is to be anonymous. Most people think that anonymity allows us to reveal our true natures, but I doubt it. Instead, I'd play the imposter, exaggerating one thing after another. Nowadays being yourself is seen as a virtue. The only image I get though of people who are being themselves is of someone who is negligent and sloppy. The only way to live here is to play the role of the perfect self that fits into this place. It's actually a fully occupied space, yet there's no one here. Yet even though none of us are really here, it's still fully occupied." - Shuichi Yoshida, Parade

Fishy Lines and Dreams of Sushi

Let's get down to fishy business, and eat some sushi...

Wide awake at 4 am thanks to jet-lag, I immediately set off for Tsukiji Fish Market, the largest wholesale fish and seafood market in the world. I zigzagged through the outside market's maze of tiny restaurants and stands, only a few of which were already open for the early birds. The inner market, on the other hand, is restricted to wholesalers, to prevent tourists from clogging up business transactions. I was after one of the free tickets limited to 120 visitors per day (except Sundays) to watch the exciting tuna auction inside. What could possibly be so exciting about a tuna auction in a warehouse full of mammoth dead fish lying on the ground and weary workers?

Fog shrouds Tsukiji, which begins bustling before the sun rises.

I caught a glimpse of the lively and fun auction on TV when ABC's "I Survived a Japanese Game Show" contestants were given tickets. The auctioneers chant loudly (and sometimes "dance" along passionately), while expert buyers bid with cryptic hand signals to keep precious tuna prices a secret from new buyers. Websites I read online said people could start lining up at 4 am to enter the 5-6am auction. Maybe that was the case several years ago, but now tickets are off the shelf by 3 am! It will be difficult to find another chance to see the tuna auction again, because the famous fish market is moving to Toyosu, a man-made island, in 2016.

Refreshing clam soup for the dejected traveler...

Downcast that I had missed one of the most anticipated sights of my trip (and life ever since I watched that game show), I wandered aimlessly. After being nearly run over by dozens of carts loaded with fish, I stumbled upon a long line for a closed restaurant around the corner. Mob mentality suggested that I wait in this line, and many others behind me followed suit. I eavesdropped on conversations to figure out more, but all I learned was that a lot of Chinese and American tourists were waiting in line hoping for something good, not really knowing what was so good. I smelled that either to-die-for sushi, or a marketing ploy was responsible.

Turned out, this fishy line was for Sushi Dai, one of the best sushi bars in Japan.

2 hours later, the line moved 2 feet. I gave up, humiliated from missing out twice now. I immediately bought some sakura onigiri at a stand. It tasted delicious but also salty like tears, the best antidote for a starved, sleep-deprived human. Later, I read online that people found 2-4 hour waits for Sushi Dai's reasonably priced and arguably freshest sushi totally worth it. People start lining up as early as 2-3 am! Throwing in the white towel, I ate at Tsukiji's Sushizanmai with my family instead.

No lines needed for the sushi at this chain-restaurant that Hide from the Munro lab recommended to me! Still satisfying and reasonably priced!

One taste in particular that amazed me in Japan was uni. In China or America, I tend to avoid sea urchin. It usually looks and tastes repulsive to me. But at Sushizanmai, the sea urchin tasted like butter and melted in my mouth. I expected fatty tuna to taste divine, but that uni's sweetness is surprisingly the winning sushi experience I remember to this day.

Osaka signs! Even though it's the traditional way of eating sushi, I cannot stand eating with my bare hands in general.

Conveyor belt + freshly made sushi

Other fishy tales: the bluefin tuna I ate when visiting John in Kyoto was really good too! (= The fun and cheap conveyor belt sushi in Osaka reminded me of the Japanese manga/drama Nodame Cantabile! Crazy but talented pianist Nodame somehow charms the prickly, privileged Chiaki-sempai, another talented pianist who becomes a famous conductor and her future boyfriend. My favorite scene is when she tries to cheer him up by treating him to sushi. The color of the plates indicates the quality/type and the price of the sushi, so at the end, you pay by the number of plates you stacked up. Instead of taking cheap 100Y plates, he takes gold 400Y plates, eats only the fish, and offers poor Nodame "ginger sushi"! Too funny!

Now that I'm back in America, I just want to watch the movie Jiro Dreams of Sushi to ogle at 3-star Michelin sushi-making. This documentary is more about the art and precision involved in professional craft, and crushing expectations of 85-year old Jiro Ono (still alive with rice grains on his fingertips), considered to be the world's greatest sushi chef.

Dreams inspire me to work harder, and eat more sushi.

How else did Jiro Ono achieve such acclaim and respect except through his diligent work ethic. Those around him, like the shrimp dealer, feel a need to match, even if remotely, Jiro's industriousness: "These days the first thing people want is an easy job. Then, they want lots of free time. And then, they want lots of money. But they aren't thinking of building their skills. When you work at a place like Jiro's, you are committing to a trade for life."

Raw squid, raw shrimp, raw fish. I cannot recall the name of that fish...

Jiro's eldest son will likely succeed him, but his father's heavy shadow looms over him: "Always look ahead and above yourself. Always try to improve on yourself. Always strive to elevate your craft. That's what he taught me." When you are raised like this, but feel unable to elevate yourself to your father's level, how do you keep the power to stay motivated every day?

I don't actually know what I ate here, besides the edamame and snail.

When I think of this movie, I don't find sushi-making and doctoring to be that dissimilar. Relatives in China who heard that I will become a doctor slapped me in the back, "Congrats, you're going to make tons of money!" Yes, doctors are well-paid (depending on the specialty), but the work hours and years of training required don't equate the time I could spend on luxury. My grandma looked at me disapprovingly, "As a girl, you shouldn't suffer like that, just marry early and well." In the future, I may see friends working in other fields starting families earlier or having more free time to explore life after work and on weekends. I may face many problematic expectations of women in the working world, or a patient's hope that I can fix everything when I am only human.

But once I saw my mother's father in hospice care, paralyzed on the bed because of a broken spine and having delusions about having a grandson who will carry on his last name (my uncles only have daughters), I clung harder to my decision to work at the bedside. Devote my life to those in pain, improve my faulty self who weeps over tuna (or lack thereof), and sharpen my skills... until I am the one that lays on that bed.

When I saw this store, I thought of sushi socks from Cooking with Dog...

"Once you decide on your occupation... you must immerse yourself in your work. You have to fall in love with your work. Never complain about your job. You must dedicate your life to mastering your skill. That's the secret of success... and is the key to being regarded honorably." - Jiro Ono, Jiro Dreams of Sushi (2011)

Kuitan: A Gluttonous Traveler

Bento box goodies and sashimi lunch eaten on high school field-like trips near the Nara Deer Park.

Beautiful, graceful, and pleasing to all five senses, Japanese cuisine beguiled me from a young age. During lunch in first grade, my best friend would untie the salmon pink furoshiki enfolding her Hello Kitty bento box and reveal a treasure trove of cute petite delights. I loved going to her apartment, where her mother fed me dorayaki, Doraemon’s favorite chestnut and red-bean filled pastries, and takoyaki, fried dough balls with octopus tentacles inside. As I watched my favorite anime mascot Kero-chan, a flying teddy bear from Osaka in Card Captor Sakura, giddily gobble up the treats, my stomach grumbled jealously.

Takoyaki and okonomiyaki (a fried pancake) covered with a glazed sauce and frizzling bonito flakes.
These soul foods originated in Osaka.

What I look like when I stuff my face with takoyaki.

My appetite deepened once I became obsessed with a Japanese drama adapted from the manga Kuitan, which translates into “gluttonous detective.” Intelligent, empathetic, artistic, athletic, kind, but always hungry, Kuitan will solve any mystery, murder, and crime linked to food. Higashiyama Noriyuki fit the role perfectly. Despite constantly eating on set, especially during retakes, he exercised religiously and maintained his excellent form. Kuitan’s character was everything I wanted to be, and I hoped to become closer to his world by eating everything he ate.

According to Kuitan, justice is best served with a pair of golden chopsticks!

By the end of middle school, I was begging my parents for not just takoyaki, but other Japanese street food like okonomiyaki and dango. This was before a Japanese supermarket Mitsuwa opened near our house, so my parents struggled to meet my tastes. To celebrate my high school graduation, I jumped on the opportunity to finally travel to Japan. Rather than quenching my thirst for all foods Japanese, the trip instead opened my eyes to an unprecedented heavenly quality. 

Takoyaki stands using these special grills abound in Osaka's famous Dontonburi street.

Sticky rice balls (dango), sticky rice cakes, and meat cubes (yakitori) on sticks.

So it was a no-brainer that I would choose to return to Japan before entering an 8-year medical/graduate school program. This time, I ventured beyond Tokyo to Kyoto for its esteemed traditional sweets, Osaka for its fried street food, and Kobe for its wholesome beef. I have attempted to fill this blog post with the food porn that I captured and consumed on this recent trip. If you still aren’t salivating by the end, you can torture yourself with more photos on my flickr account.

I'll start with a meat-lover's fantasy: Kobe beef.

This picture speaks for itself. (Excluding vegetarians/vegans.)

Spider-man at Chinatown in Kobe, "where you can find the best Kobe beef for the best prices!"

These slices of marbled meat literally melted in my mouth. How is this authentic delicacy procured? A specific Wagyu cattle strain grown in Hyogo Prefecture is fed beer, massaged with sake, and played classical music. These happy cows then swell with unsaturated fat that has a lower melting point than that of any average cow. This also results in some pretty happy humans. In America, "Kobe-style" Wagyu cattle are also raised and sold, but real Kobe beef is THE Kobe beef.

I could go on, but China's firewall is quite an impediment, so I'll save my ramen and fishy adventures for another day that hopefully can match-a up with this post. (;

Convenience stores on the Shinkansen platform selling on-the-go bento boxes. Still as kawaii to me as ever.

"梅はその日の難逃れ. Ume-wa soon hi-no nan nogare. One Japanese plum a day is an escape from that one day struggle." - a Kotowaza proverb. 

Ume/dried plum is a popular rice accessory in bentos and resembles the Japanese flag/rising sun. It is a blessing that in my life one bite of happiness can ease a whole day's worth of pain.

"At it's best, Japanese cooking is inextricably meshed with aesthetics, with religion, with tradition and history. It is evocative of seasonal changes, or of one's childhood, or of a storm at sea." - M.F.K Fisher

Midnight in Paris vs. Paris in the Twentieth Century

Juxtaposing Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris with Jules Verne’s newly discovered work, The Lost Novel: Paris in the Twentieth Century

Rosy-tinged, nostalgic 1998 vs. Stressful modern times 2014

Given the opportunity, would you rather live in a historical golden age or a future dystopia?

The question arose after Kenneth and I visited the National Art Gallery in D.C. I complained that the curator of the museum had arranged some fine pieces of Renaissance, Dutch, Impressionist, and Abstract art in a senseless hodgepodge manner. The museum felt like a dizzying maze of glass and marble corridors that jerked us back and forth in time, almost like time travel.

The jolting art viewing experience reminded me of Owen Wilson in Midnight in Paris being transported into the Jazz age, and how the private detective chasing Wilson ends up in 18^th century Versailles’s Hall of Mirrors.

According to Prof Feldt, there was no sense of public cleanliness in the 1700's, and people often pooped in the Hall of Mirrors without batting an eyelash...

In case you have not watched Woody Allen’s fantastic Midnight in Paris, I recommend that you spend an evening doing so before reading my spoilers. Wilson, a writer and a romantic, roams the streets of Paris and settles on the front steps of the church St. Etienne du Mont. Once the bells strike twelve, a vintage Peugeot passes and grumpy-pants Hemingway invites Wilson for a drink. Because Wilson apparently isn’t drunk enough to believe he just got whisked back into the roaring 20’s, his favorite time period.

Every evening, Wilson returns to the past to dine with a concentrated cluster of intellectuals and artists from the “Lost Generation,” ranging from the crazy Fitzgeralds to Picasso to Dali. Everything in this era is as perfect as Wilson imagined, so much better than the insufferable superficiality of current times. However, Wilson’s love interest, Marion Cotillard, disagrees. She longs for the Belle Epoch.

And no, time travel via St. Etienne du Mont at midnight does not work in real life. Trust me, my sister and I've tried it.

When I asked Kenneth (not my love interest lol) about which age he would choose to live in, he similarly chose La Belle Epoch. A political science buff, he finds politics to be at its most fascinating then because the world powers naively believed they were at the peak of civilization, despite being at the brink of the first World War that would prove them oh-so utterly wrong.

Yet upon meeting Degas and Toulouse-Lautrec from the Belle Epoch, Wilson learns that they idealize the Renaissance as the Golden Age. No need to keep on time skipping, Wilson soon realizes that nostalgia never ends and that he should appreciate the present before it slips away.

Kenneth turned the question on me. Even though I would love to jump back into my childhood shoes and relive such carefree days, I would never want to live in a previous time period. Maia once explained to me that she would choose which time period to live in depending on whether she could control her ethnicity, status, geography, or gender. For instance, life has historically sucked for females in general. As unequal as it still is, gender equality is much better now than ever before.

Instead, since I was young, I have always wanted to peek into the future and discover all the cool new gadgets and inventions we’ll have. Maybe research will have cured cancer, maybe we will all have teleportation telephone boxes, or maybe we will be living underwater. A true sci-fi lover, I am always fantasizing about what the future holds.

That’s why I was so excited to find that one of my favorite writers, Jules Verne, accurately depicted the twentieth-century as early as 1863 in his lost novel, Paris in the Twentieth Century. I call it “lost” because it was never published until 1994. Verne’s publisher read, scorned, and turned away the manuscript for being so “unbelievable.” 

Do elevators, skyscrapers, radios, cars, 24-hour convenience stores, subway systems, the electric chair, airplanes, fax machines, and a rise in robots replacing people sound unbelievable to you? Verne particularly worried about the death of art and literature in a world overrun by capitalism and obsessed with progress. The protagonist, also a writer like Wilson in Midnight in Paris, notes: “Everyone can read, but no one reads books.”

The actual book is not a great read, but the fact that such prescience exists amazes me, along with books like George Orwell’s 1984 and Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. Still, as you might notice, books that anticipate the future often have a bleak backdrop. Do technological advances necessarily come with drawbacks? (iPhone, I’m looking at you…)

We’d have to look back in history to answer that question. Though we can’t always predict what consequences our decisions and creations will have. At the end of the day, I concluded with Kenneth, Maia, and Woody Allen that the most exciting time to live is the current one. Especially as an aspiring physician-scientist, I don’t see the value in cheating by leaping into the future and just seeing the results anymore. There’s no real fun or reward in that. I want to be the one discovering something new and directly shaping how the future will look like through the present. Even if that is yet another idealistic view...

"That's what the present is. It's a little unsatisfying because life is unsatisfying." — Midnight in Paris, Woody Allen

Otter Keep Your iPhone Away From Me!

OtterBox iPhone cases aren't otter-proof, so it turns out...

Round 1: Angry real otter vs. an otter-wannabe box (1-0)

With a blog name like mine, it seems that I otter attempt to cover all things like this: A zoo-goer with clumsy fingers, quite like myself, tried to snap photos of some feisty river otters at the Red River Zoo in Fargo, ND. Instead, the iPhone, which was wrapped in an OtterBox phone case, took a dive and joined the otters for a refreshing afternoon swim.

"Will this affect our marketing strategy?"

A certain otter took issue with the imposter. It promptly tore up the plastic case to pieces, flung the iPhone into the water, dipped back in to pick it up, and then repeated the iPhone bashing process. Seems like OtterBox gave a false impression of being on friendly terms with real otters...

Dropping your phone in the river or at a zoo is never a good idea, since it can actually be a choking hazard to marine mammals... But I think this otter was right to be furious at iPhones and smart phones for another reason.

iPhones often suck the life out of people. I have recently been reflecting on my life as one example... I check Facebook religiously, walk with my iPhone shoved in my face such that I accidentally run into walls, doors, elevators, and people without making eye contact, and even experience "phantom vibration syndrome" (which is where people constantly think or feel like their phone is vibrating/ringing). When I'm trying to talk to someone, but their eyes are glued to their phone, I feel as though I am uninteresting. So then I get on my phone, looking for something to create a real conversation. I forget to turn my iPhone on silent before bed, so right when I've finally slipped into sleep, a flurry of texts from the West Coast at 3 am my time brings me right back to square one in my struggle to fall asleep...

Truthfully, I love how connected I can feel to friends and family from across the world with my smart phone's ability to show me anything anytime anywhere. I could never imagine my life without an iPhone anymore. But I think that's sometimes a problem. There are times when I just need to unplug myself from the interconnectedness of the world, go out for a quiet and undisturbed walk to admire some otters with my naked eye rather than through the filtered lens of my iPhone...

Now, let me sum up this thought with this article about how smartphones are ruining our lives that I saw posted on Facebook...

Do You See L.A. Brewing in My Tea Leaves?

Yes, I am capable of worse puns...like: have you ever seen a bear bruin tea?

From Newspaper to Med School buddies!

My usual morning. Snoozed my PTX song alarm a few too many times. Forgot the important letter I needed to send today on the kitchen counter, dashed back to get it, but then missed the 9:20am Metro train. Of course, Metro trains start taking their leisurely time after 9:30am, so I tried to sneak into lab from the backdoor. Got caught by the post-doc sitting next to me anyways.

Who, by the way, asked me something that I am itching to tell him to never say to his daughter during her teenage years in the future. Though he honestly meant well. He was just trying to point out how tired I looked.

True, the past few weeks, months, and probably entire year, have been a strenuous ride. That will go without saying for anyone applying to medical school. The whole process is like the college Common App on steroids. You need a lot more grit and some lofty numbers to hold your ground. In the primary application, you hack away at a personal statement and then pick the schools you want to apply to, no problemo. When each school sends its secondary application, which includes an outstretched palm often asking for >$100 and a flood of mini-essays (especially for MD/PhD programs), you might feel like you're drowning. Once I am brave enough to reread them, I actually do want to drown myself in the Potomac river that I renamed the "Pontomac," and for issuing a new government program called "Medicard."

Then there's dreaded silence. I often couldn't focus on my work because of the fear that I would hear silence forever. One by one, precious interview emails start trickling in like rain in a desert.

First interview. I have to dress like I'm going to a funeral but smile until my cheeks hurt. Walk from office to office until my flats or heels drag like sodden clogs, and fervently nod my head because of how fascinating a professor's research sounds, when really it's putting me to sleep. My body is sore and stiff from constantly feeling evaluated by eyes I can or cannot see. Repeat several times over the span of 4-5 months.

The silence returns. I have nightmares about the MCAT. I wonder if silence is better than rejection. I wonder if silence is rejection. And for several schools, it is. They just don't get back to you... or maybe I just forgot to submit my secondary properly?

With so many outstanding applicants, medical schools are bound to reject students who were plenty qualified. But it still hurts. And is really confounding sometimes. I'm frustrated by the number of crosses on my list of applied/interviewed schools. No circles yet, and I'm already down to 3 schools out of a dozen...

Rejections from dream schools, safety schools, random schools... they make me question my worth, my intelligence, my conversation skills. I begin to doubt the amount of sweat, tears, and mouse blood I have shed for the sake of my passion to slave away at medicine and research for 15+ years.

While reflecting, I realized that the uncertainty I felt was something new to me as a premed, who has followed a clear curriculum and specific goals for 5 years, but was familiar to my peers looking for a post-grad job. I had been looking at medical school as an end-goal, as if once I got in everything in my life would be set. When really, this process was preparing me for the sort of challenges I would experience after graduating from graduate school in another 8 years from now.

The moment I stopped looking at my life as a check-list, something wonderful fell into my lap. Two acceptances to two schools where I felt most at home, and wait-listed at my dream medical school. I felt a burden being lifted from my shoulders, it was amazing.

And that's when a new dilemma arose. By April 30th, I could only have one of those beautiful, glittering schools on my plate, but I sincerely wished I could go to all three. Two schools invited me to return. They wined and dined me from daybreak to twilight. I have never felt so important in my life. I have never met so many inspiring professors and fun and intelligent peers as I have in the past two weeks.

I passed up Stanford, my dream medical school, for the security of the MD/PhD program, but now I was left with the very same two schools I had battled between for undergraduate school: The University of Chicago (the school I fell in love with at first sight and continue to love dearly) and UCLA (which is over an hour away from where my family lives). I knew I would be happy and sharpen a successful career at either. Agonized, I tore up my hair (literally) while trying to choose one.

The letter I forgot, dashed back for, and finally mailed out this morning, was sent to UChicago. It was the more difficult letter to send. In the afternoon, I quickly wrote a much more joyful letter to UCLA. Of course, I managed to spill chamomile tea all over it as I rushed to the mailbox right before the mailman arrived... All I can say is, I have decided where I will be the happiest and that decision better not change for another 8 years!

"Folks are usually about as happy as they make their minds up to be." — Abraham Lincoln