"Congratulations on choosing to study at the University of Quokka. The Univerisity is pleased to offer you a place in the programme Bachelors of Veterinary Science.""I am pleased to offer you admission as an international student to the Bachelor of Science (Animal Science) Pre-Veterinary program at the University of Apple.""Dear Lik Khian,
Please note the forwarded email from Mummy University. Kindly send me the required documents and I will send it to Mummy University immediately."
Three letters, three universities, three chances for me to fufil my lifetime dream. How ironic then, that I was not smiling. How ironic that instead of elation, there was despair. How ironic that with each letter, my heart sank lower and lower.
The cause of this stark reversal? Ironically enough, it wasn't even a letter. minimal effort had been spent on it. I wasn't even worth mentioning by name, the source of this heartfelt desire, this outpouring of hope known to them simply as 'applicants'. Just a simple email, printed with the following words.
"We have carefully evaluated your abilities and accomplishments in school, and have considered all aspects of your application. We regret to inform you that after reviewing your application thoroughly, we are not able to offer you a QRD Scholarship. Nevertheless, we have referred your application to the relevant Motherfathers according to your career preferences/choices, for the Motherfathers’ consideration. The Motherfathers will retain your application and will contact you in future if there are suitable opportunities that may arise."
That was it, signed off not with a name but simply 'SECRETARIAT'. Could I be anymore snobbed?
So I thought that was it, that my dreams having finally been undoubtedly and completely crushed, I could go on and eke out an existence. Studying hard, studying to get a good job. One that could hopefully earn me lots of money. Enough money to bury the hole where my destiny used to be.
But of course, surrender is never docile. Something that is so close to my heart is never given up without a fight. Even in the face of hopelessness, I continued to try to gather the documents required of me from that last letter. I wanted to gain some experience, find out what it's like to be a vet. Say that at least I have been there and done that. And so I volunteered at the ARC. Once a week in the midst of starting school and moving into hall, where there was never a day when I could wake up anytime I wanted. Where never ending work meets never ending lectures. But I had to know, I just had to know what it would be like.
The hours are long. Reaching at 9am, sometimes leaving only after 10pm. Never much rest in between surgeries and consultations. The work is unglamorous, getting projectile-diarrhoeaed by dogs, getting scratched all over, unrolling and counting bloody gauzes still warm from their stint inside a dogs spine. The atmosphere is hectic, rushing to meet demands, tense surgical scenes and searching high and low for medicines whose names you can barely pronounce.
I shouldn't have liked it, it shouldn't have been fun. But it was!
When I worked as a waiter, even in the busiest lunch hour, time seem to take forever to pass. I would keep looking at the clock wishing that it could just hurry and get the day over with. I hated the job. being in a veterinary hospital however, I wasn't annoyed that I spent 13hours inside there, wiping down tables, scrubbing instruments and the like. Time seemed to jump pass. And mind you, I was not even obliged to stay and help out, but I wanted to. I loved every second of it. And that's all because of the animals, it seems to be just impossible to feel down around them. Even when his diarrhoea was in my scrub pocket, soaking my notebook. I would rather that then to be working anywhere else in the world. I love animals, I love being around them. It has been my dream since I was nine and it still is as an undergraduate student. I would love to be there, doing my best to make each animal I see feel better. To see the crippled walk and the itchy stop scratching. And even if there was nothing I could do, I could handle it.
To see the doctor work was inspiration. To hear him speak was wisdom. And to see him operate, was experience.
But the $300,000 barrier between me and him looms larger than ever. Isn't it ironic that you need money to express love?
Just one obstacle, one thin, thin obstacle. The thickness of a piece of paper in fact, but impenetrable like swimming from here to Australia.
And as if I wasn't getting rusty enough, here's a little more irony to top it off. The love of my life, the dream of my life. Both lurking on the same continent. So near each other, so far from me.
Oh fudge.
