ARE WE GETTING IT

Laura:

That fiction must allow space for representation of every aspect of the human experience is unarguable. To effectively prohibit writers to tap their own interests in the application of their unique narrative skill would be a incredible misstep – as well as a misunderstanding of what true representation requires. However, it is our job as readers to ask questions about the kind of representation that we are promoting through our purchases and our words. To take, for example, Mark Haddon’s work as a sign that the literary portrayals of mental illness are where they should be is to miss the publishing world’s failure to centralise authors with a first-hand experience of psychological disorders. Yet, there remains a pervasive and very obvious fear of the deviance from social norms that mental illness represents. Where we have become more comfortable discussing the behind-closed-doors symptoms of depression or anxiety (particularly where that anxiety looks like stress, in its most socially-acceptable form), illnesses such as bipolar and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) – as well as symptoms that include self harm, mania etc – receive little attention. In many respects, our willingness to look at the more ‘acceptable’ forms of mental illness simply serves to reinforce the taboos elsewhere. We can pat ourselves on the back for a job well done, engaging in some self-congratulation for our ability to face the confusing world of someone with depression. In the same way, fictional portrayals of mental illness – told by those on the outside – allow us to comfortably assume that society is heading in the right direction, that representation is where it should be. The fact is that hearing about mental illness from someone who has suffered it remains a terrifying prospect to many of us. Populating fiction with voices that speak to the despair that drives suicide attempts or the details of psychosis is to entertain the limits of the mind’s capacity to cope with the experience of being human. It is horrifying. Yet, for many of us, it is also very real.

1 Peter 4:1–11

[1] Since therefore Christ suffered in the flesh, arm yourselves with the same way of thinking, for whoever has suffered in the flesh has ceased from sin, [2] so as to live for the rest of the time in the flesh no longer for human passions but for the will of God. [3] For the time that is past suffices for doing what the Gentiles want to do, living in sensuality, passions, drunkenness, orgies, drinking parties, and lawless idolatry. [4] With respect to this they are surprised when you do not join them in the same flood of debauchery, and they malign you; [5] but they will give account to him who is ready to judge the living and the dead. [6] For this is why the gospel was preached even to those who are dead, that though judged in the flesh the way people are, they might live in the spirit the way God does.

[7] The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. [8] Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. [9] Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. [10] As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace: [11] whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. (ESV)

A Million Interests?

Over the past few years I have tried my hand at so many things. I have had interest in so many things. Though some, I did out of necessity. I am a great advocate for saying no to the things I consider inessential. But sometimes I take so much onto my plate.

I now have a blog. And I have also been a bit of a syndicate. I have posted on LinkedIn, on Instagram, and on Facebook. I post some of my articles on Substack though I haven’t been so consistent there. I hope to change that going forward. There’s a great deal of lessons I am learning from Alan Jacobs who by sheer serendipity I met through his book The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction. I loved the book for what it untaught me about some of my reading habits; the unhealthy habit of only reading (or wanting to read?) masterpieces. Here’s what he has to say:

While I agree with Harold Bloom about many things and am thankful for his long advocacy for the greatest of stories and poems, in these matters I am firmly on the side of Lewis and Chesterton. Read what gives you delight—at least most of the time—and do so without shame. And even if you are that rare sort of person who is delighted chiefly by what some people call Great Books, don’t make them your steady intellectual diet, any more than you would eat at the most elegant of restaurants every day. It would be too much. Great books are great in part because of what they ask of their readers: they are not readily encountered, easily assessed. The poet W. H. Auden once wrote, “When one thinks of the attention that a great poem demands, there is something frivolous about the notion of spending every day with one. Masterpieces should be kept for High Holidays of the Spirit”—for our own personal Christmases and Easters, not for any old Wednesday.

My love for reading is what made me want to be the Chairman of AMSUN Book Club, a job I have turned out to be pretty nasty at; we are yet to have a successful book discussion, and I am quite optimistic. This year, I have been honored, it’s an honor the way I see it, to be selected as the Literature Lead for AMSUN Arts, one of the foremost committees in medical school. I can only hope it goes well. Reading is a passion I would love to share with everyone of my acquaintances, although not always overtly. That’s why I write, so that although I am much the better for it, I may at least draw my readers from their tyrannizing social feeds, even though I am not always successful.

When I became a scriptwriter for Medmic.ke, it was in the hope that I would put my writing to more practical use. I hope to say more on that in another blog post. Later on, I accepted a position in Mastermind Medics Solutions to head the Catering department but I silently bailed out without ever doing a single thing. I am certain, however, that if this was a department the CEO, Emmanuel Wandera, had special interest in its success, I may have to answer a phone call soon; I suspect he is currently busy with other more successful and promising subsidiaries. Maybe it is not so wise to commit an entrepreneurial venture to someone who seems to love reading much more, even if his culinary skills are commendable. During one of our bible study sessions I was a little swift-tongued and said that even though cooking was something I did well, by so many people’s standards, it wasn’t something I enjoyed doing. My roommate later that night warned me against making such kind of comments if I ever wanted to land myself a cooking gig. Maybe I should have said that it wasn’t that I loved cooking less, I just loved reading more. But that would never have been entirely sincere. But with the consciousness that Jacobs has wrought in me about writing being a disappointing endeavor when it comes to financial freedom, may be I am better of doing catering even if I slight it. I alluded to such sentiments, that money can make you endure anything, on my post on suicide.

At some point I tried my hand at online writing, but a few hours into it, no; several hours into it, I noticed I was struggling and I had to bail out, again. I don’t think my client was disappointed in me as much as I was disappointed in myself. It was a great strike to my ego. After all, I was among those who believed that anyone could do anything if they just put there mind to it. I still believe that because while I researched and wrote the assignment, I thought of the hours I wasn’t reading medicine. It’s a wonder why I am never beguiled by such kind of worries when I’m binging a show. After making the phone call and apologizing for the let-down, for days I went on questioning my abilities at being persistent and committed to anything. Thank the Lord third-year got me busy and I got over the failure.

I am currently serving as the Inreach Missions and Evangelism Coordinator for Medical School Christian Union. This has turned out to be a great opportunity to serve the Lord, and humanity as well. But I am grateful for the thrust the post has given me into matters leadership. Yet I still happen to have a dozen responsibilities and things I need to get done before the end of the spiritual year. Am I late? Again?

But when you have a million things to do, can you ever do any of them right? And they are not even a million in my case, are they? I probably just need to learn how to organize myself. Getting to know myself, I have realized, ambitious as I am, my ambitions aren’t like everyone else’s. For example I am yet to understand the big deal my friends seem to have with cars. Now that sounds like some kind of affected modesty, so I will give up that thought. But during our holiday break while I awaited my end of year results, once again by what I believe to be sheer serendipity I happened to stumble upon Dr. Paul Edward Farmer’s story in Mountains Beyond Mountains by Kidder Tracy, and something clicked inside of me as I turned the pages and saw a man do what I had never imagined doing; serving an undeserved Haiti community because of pure goodwill. Here's an excerpt:

At Zanmi Lasante, too, patients were supposed to pay user fees, the equivalent of about eighty American cents for a visit. Haitian colleagues of Farmer’s had insisted on this. Farmer was the medical director, but he hadn’t argued. Instead—this was often his way, I would learn—he had simply subverted the policy. Every patient had to pay the eighty cents, except for women and children, the destitute, and anyone who was seriously ill. Everyone had to pay, that is, except for almost everyone. And no one—Farmer’s rule—could be turned away.

Yes, because of the Kenyan mission to Haiti, Farmer’s story stood out. I asked myself, ‘Are you sure you just want to be a neurosurgeon?’ You will do that for yourself, and probably be happy. But is there a kind of different happiness that comes with making other less fortunate and really destitute people happy? I think there is. Putting a smile on their faces as Farmer did? And since then I have been having ideas.

It’s clear life is not without its sacrifices, but making the right kind of sacrifices is the hard thing. Thirty years down the line, will I be glad I pursued the line of work I did? Or will I regret some of the choices I would have made? Does anyone ever go wrong on not living for himself? Scripture clearly answers that. In the end I probably don’t have to put a smile on everyone’s face after all. But who matters? What matters?