Endless

In approximately two weeks or so, I will be commencing my training to be a respiratory specialist. This also means that I’ll be a general medical registrar, which has both good and bad connotations to it.

The medical registrar can be viewed in one of two ways – the person who runs the show or the person who’s everyone’s bitch. Which one I’ll end up being remains to be seen. Trepidations aside though, it is a significant step up the ladder that is my career, and I am rather looking forward to the challenges that I will face from both clinical and organisational point of views.

As I embark on the next chapter of my story, it is perhaps without much surprise that I have decided to revisit an old chapter from the past. Having spent a small fortune on purchasing the Absolute collection of The Sandman series, I have spent the last few days going through (in wonderfully, glorious detail) the 75-issue arc that makes up the series.

As with all great works of literature, each reading brings about a different level of appreciation, and you end up empathising and being emotionally attached to the characters.

Having last read the series when I was in high school, it was interesting to note the similar and dissimilar ways in which I reacted to the story, both intellectually and emotionally – from smiling as Delirium spews forth a description of the world that is scarily similar to mine to appreciating the interwoven plots of Norse and Greek mythology to feeling the leaden weight of despair as you follow Dream’s slow and inexorable downward spiral.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that The Sandman played an influential role in my teenage years, helping mould the manner of my thinking and allowing me to further indulge my fascination with all things ethereal. It has been a fun and nostalgic trip down memory lane and I am sure that when I take it off the shelves in a few years, I’ll appreciate it even more.