Life’s curveball

How disappointing.

I was really looking forward to leaving my hometown, and staying in a new city. Learning a new language, meeting new people, learning new things. I closed shop, said my goodbyes to my practice and my clients, bid my friends and family farewell, packed my bags and moved, believing the words of the people who I thought knew what they were doing.

One incident later, everything changed.

Where is the line between a nightmare and a learning experience? I wonder. Where do you begin to demarcate between an eye-opening experience, and an unbelievable shit-show?

I was assured by people more powerful than I am, that they’d take care of things. My parents believed them. I don’t believe in people that easily, unfortunately. Or, more specifically, I don’t believe in words, not until I’ve seen actions, or results, that back those words. My worst suspicions were confirmed when they sheepishly, almost apologetically, told me that there was nothing they could do about it. Not only that, but they couldn’t take responsibility if things went wrong with their suggestion: an alternative, unofficial arrangement.

“I’ll take responsibility for my student.” Such lofty words from a person in a position of power. When they said that to my parent, I choked up, having been at my wits’ end towards what I thought was the last phase of a tiring day, ready to hold onto any line tossed my way.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

So now, with their shameful excuses and pitiful consolations, they’ve pushed me to the edge of a precipice. Walk away, and go home. Or, take a leap of faith and stay, with no guarantee, with no one taking responsibility if things go wrong. I’m passionate, but my passion doesn’t make me a fool enough to jump off a ledge, knowing that if I can’t fly through the unknown, no one will be there at the bottom to catch me when I fall.

This needn’t have happened, if it wasn’t for the fool who set the forest on fire while trying to burn his house down.

I might have wanted to rekindle a friendship with him, at some point years ago. However, after my last interaction with him, I didn’t want to be friendly towards this arrogant, conceited, entitled prick, who believed that the sun shone out of his ass. And when he was denied what had previously been offered to him, he tried to set fire to the hand which tried to help him. Unfortunately, he didn’t understand that the hand that offers help is much more stronger than his hand that receives it.

He not only destroyed his own chances, but threw everyone else into the crossfire of his consequences.

One of these days, he’s going to set himself on fire. And when that happens, I’m not going to have any pity for his burning hide.

Lots of fire analogies, I know. Right now, I’m quite pissed. A bit disappointed. And slightly embarrassed.

I was looking forward to being here, to learning, to growing as a person, as a veterinarian. That’s probably going to have to be on hold for a while, at least in this city. I thought I wouldn’t see my hometown for another six months or another year. Looks like I might be going home a lot sooner than I’d expected.

I could wish for miracles, but I’m not naive enough to believe that miracles of the nature that I’d want can happen. Miracles do happen, but I wouldn’t think it’s possible under such unreasonable circumstances. Plus, this bloody pandemic makes it hard to believe in miracles.

It could be a lot worse, though. I could be alone, without my parent, trying to navigate through a tough situation like this by myself. A couple of years ago, when I first came to this city, I was all alone, uncontrollably ill, with no one to ask for help. So yeah, I know how much worse it can get, and how, right now, it’s not as bad as it could be.

Where, then, is the line between a nightmare and a learning experience? Where do you begin to demarcate between an eye-opening incident, and an unbelievable shit-show?

I wish I knew.

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