I thought I would never get to this stage where, should I choose to, I never ever ever have to study for anything again. Like, ever.
I’m glad I pushed and pushed and pushed, even when I thought all was impossible. I’m glad I never gave up even when the light at the end of the tunnel seemed impossible and I’m sure as hell glad my parents never stopped pushing me and motivating me.
Okay. Maybe this isn’t the biggest achievement for many, but I still feel giddy every time I remember the moment I found out I passed the UFE - and it was the best feeling in the world. It most likely will not compare to neurosurgeons performing miracles or, I don’t know, doctors saving lives perhaps. It most definitely does not even live up to the same standards or the level of those professions.
But it was a pretty frickin’ good feeling and I’m not ashamed when I say I am proud of my small achievement.
Now I can finally focus on the things that actually matter.
Today has been one of those days where nothing seems to be going right, yet I can’t exactly pinpoint what is making it go so wrong.
I am now in the thick of my UFE studying and these cases are really starting to frustrate me. Just ONCE, I would like to have a case where I can perfectly plan, outline and type out a reasonable response.
Yesterday was a great case-writing day. I recognized my indicators, I knew how much time to spend on my discussion and I especially knew how in-depth I should write about each indicator. It almost felt like - for a fleeting moment - that I could actually pass this exam come September.
Today was the world of confusing cases, complicated accounting issues and non-existent audit issues that, when you got to marking it, made you wonder WHERE THE HELL WAS THE TRIGGER FOR THIS?
So now I feel like a mess and my inner-self is seriously rocking back and forth in the corner, tearing out my hair and sobbing to myself.
I can’t wait for September to come and at the same time, I am so scared.
P.S. Just for the record, I really am psyched that I’ve made it this far and that I’m actually doing something that will actually get me somewhere in my career. But it’s one of those days.
Dear UFE-stressed future me,
Remember this feeling right now about how good it feels to know you are embarking on something that will be beneficial to your future.
Remember how good it feels to see your name on that list and just how much optimism and determination you have at this moment, right here, right now to finish the job.
Because it will be much too soon before you will be in your bad place, where all seems impossible to achieve and you will feel like giving up.
Don’t give up. Remember how you felt two months ago - it is the same feeling of despair and frustration. Yet you overcame it and pushed yourself far and you can do it again. It will be hard. It will be difficult. It will be scary.
This is all a temporary blip in your life, but one that will mean the prospects of better and greater things and if you can resolve to just put your other fancies on hold for just these 6 weeks, it will all be worth it.
Don’t give up. Don’t ever stop pushing yourself. I believe in myself and I believe that I can do this. If need be I will read this to myself over and over again in the time to come.
It is a fierce battle that is reaching its end. And we are this close to winning.
…It’s not what this post is about.
However, it has come to my attention that sex is the only thing girls like to discuss when there are no members of the male species present (or within hearing distance).
Add in a bottle of wine (and some cake), and sex becomes the main topic towards which we divulge into.
As much as we of the female gender like to complain about double standards in this world, I do believe that women tend to share more about their sex life with each other than men with their ‘boys’. It’s also a chance for everyone to get a feel of what’s acceptable and what’s really not, regardless of what your man tells you in the bedroom.
Also, let’s face it: sex is pretty interesting.
Had to do an inventory count today. My very FIRST inventory count, to be precise.
When they taught us inventory counts in class, they sure didn’t tell you just how ‘taxing’ (hah - do you like how I used this term) it is on your body.
I literally stood for a good 5 hours counting the most minuscule components I’ve ever seen.
I got curious as to how many calories I’ve burned as a result and guess what? Standing (filing, talking, assembling) burns approximately 120 calories per hour.
As a result, I made an executive decision and decided to not hit the gym tonight.
The count resumes tomorrow.
My legs and feet are killing me. Oh, the glamourous life of being a CA student!
Having recently moved into my first place, I’ve come to realize that there are still a lot of small issues I have to take care of.
One of them being the fact that property management still does not have an updated list of residents living in their building.
Today, my boyfriend was dropping by and I decided to tell him to look me up in the directory in case security wasn’t there to let him in.
Me: “BTW - I’m Freddie Long on the directory”
Me: “When you come up…if the security guy isn’t there”
BF: “Y r u Freddie Long”
Me: “Because they didn’t change my name. So I’m Freddie Long.”
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
When my cousin and I were little, my grandfather had these plastic stars sewn onto the sides of his mattress.
To us - that was the forbidden fruit and we were two little Eves tempted.
So, to make a long story short - I got my cousin to pull the stars off the mattress (I didn’t want to get in trouble).
Needless to say, our grandfather freaked. Not just a minor freakout. It was a blowout so big that even to this day, I still remember running to the kitchen to hide, with my knees shaking.
Somehow in a weirdly traumatic manner, this is one of the things we like to fondly reminisce about.
This past summer, I was in China visiting and lo and behold - he had the same damn mattress. For the past 20 years. The forbidden stars were still there, albeit hanging by threads onto the mattress.
So I stole one. Then I shipped it to my cousin, to remind her of the time we almost got slaughtered for ripping off plastic stars from the mattress.
The moral of the story?
Don’t scream at your grandchildren, because they’ll grow up remembering this. And then they’ll come back and steal your shit.
Earlier in the evening, my mother and I noticed that not only did we leave the garage door open all night, we also forgot to lock the front door.
In this day and age, this is an absolutely dangerous and unforgivable oversight on our part. So I did what any normal, rational, intelligent person would do.
I went on a man-hunt to find the intruder who had trespassed upon my territory.
Of course, I was too scared to go about this journey on my own, so I enlisted the help of my mother. She was not very convinced that in the span of 15 minutes when we stepped away from the house with the doors unlocked, a crazy, axe-wielding murder rapist sociopath had snuck into the house undetected and was now lurking in the depths of our house somewhere. She has obviously not been watching enough television.
After much convincing and persuasion on my part, my mother agreed to help me check the basement first. Bravely, she trekked downstairs while I frantically followed behind, trying to look for a weapon. I was hoping to find a hammer or a hand axe (quite ironic if you think about it) but I settled on the next best thing - a paint roller. Good enough, let’s go find the killer.
We checked the basement, my mother simply walking around nonchalantly while I hacked, kicked and poked around in suspicious areas. I was like Buffy on coke.
After deeming the area to be safe and intruder-free, we moved onto checking the upstairs. That’s when I realized that my closet is the access to our attic and of course, that’s exactly where this murdering rapist was going to hide.
I told my mom this ingenious theory of mine and surprisingly she did not find my theory valid.
I was on my own. I decided that I would devise a strategic tactic in catching the intruder. I skillfully placed a barstool in front of my closet door and set various objects on it so that when the burglar decided to come of of his hiding place and open the door, my homemade burglar alarm will catch him.
I will get you, you axe-wielding, serial murderer-rapist.
Of course, when I told my mother of my plan, she did not seem impressed. I believe her exact words were, “or you could just seal the entrance to the attic and we’ll check back in two weeks’ time and he’ll be so weak from starvation, it won’t be dangerous.”
If I had the necessary tools, I would.
In my house, we don’t talk about God.
Through some family pressure, my parents became Catholic when we first moved to Canada.
I went through most of my childhood in Catholic schools. But in my family, we don’t talk about God.
When I was 13, we moved. I was starting school in a new town, far from my friends. It’s tough to be the new kid. It’s even tougher to be the new kid in a small city where everyone has pretty much grown up together. I had a difficult time at first, but I hid my insecurities well away from my parents.
Two months into the new school, my parents gave me a tiny gold Crucifix necklace, for no reason at all. It was an odd gift to give me at the time and we never spoke about it, beyond the “thank you” and “you’re welcome”.
Thinking back on it, my parents must have realized that I was having a difficult time adjusting to my new school and wanted to give me something to keep me strong. Whenever I wear my little gold necklace nowadays, I feel like I am strong and that I have something I can lean on to.
Somehow, though we never discuss God in our household, my parents have decided that a cross would be the best way of telling me to persevere.
In my house, we don’t talk about God.