A Not-So-Ordinary Wednesday

By Ellen Effy Su on August 1, 2025

I took the train to see my doctor on an ordinary Wednesday. I slept for around 6 hours the night before my appointment.

At the train station, I met a girl my age who is also studying digital marketing. She is an intern, like me, and is currently working in a digital marketing role, which is similar to mine. She grew up in an immigrant family from Morocco, while I grew up in a family predominantly from China.

My family is dispersed across Singapore, Malaysia, China, and Hong Kong in East Asia. That morning, I lamented to myself how I wished I had seen my great-aunt once before she passed away a year ago. The only time we ever spent together was 4 hours when I was two years young. I sometimes treat the ones I love like jewelry, forgetting about them until it is too late. I hadn’t thought about my great-aunt in years before I heard of her death. I loved her from afar, an elaborate method to detach and dissociate from constrictive familial piety. Our family portraits were beautiful to glance at, suffocating to subsist in.

We chatted for a short while before she got up for her stop. I was secretly in a rush to get to my doctor’s appointment, but I calmed my worries of being late with my Cheshire cat’s smile. A smile I have rehearsed a million times in the Porcelanosa mirror I insisted my father install in my stone-tiled bathroom, my small slice of hygienic heaven. I learned that the singer of the hit heartbreak song Bala Ma Nhess is from Lebanon. The singer’s name is Abeer Nehme.

We discussed Grace Kelly, Princess of Monaco, and I pointed out that Grace was born in Philadelphia, specifically Hahnemann Hospital, which I left out to avoid coming off as a pretentious stalker of the rich and famous. I do hold a torch near my heart for the deceased Hollywood stars I grew up seeing on television.

My new friend’s dream is to visit Monaco and Dubai to see the marvelous playgrounds of the one percent elite and experience the magnetic surroundings some are fortunate enough to be born into. I often dream about living lavishly, but I remember Ralph Lauren said, “If you have a family to feed, you must work.” If Ralph Lauren has the drive to continue working in his passion, so do I. Dreams are for the living, not the ones who have given up hope.

Someone wise once said, “I’d rather set my own hours than work for someone else and ask for breaks from another person.” My parents are realigning their beliefs to understand my vastly different goals and ambitions.

“A wild dreamer dilettante, unaware of how the world works,” “a fantastical novel approach to grasp,” “disdainful silence shielded by covert narcissism,” “strangely altruistic to strangers,” “exceptional at pulling heartstrings,” “emotional trainwreck,” “charming people-pleaser,” “at my wit’s end,” “meticulous curator of everything,” “plots each stage of life like it’s a novel,” and “ruthlessly unforgiving to those who have sparred her,” are some of the phrases circulating my name.

I walked two streets to my doctor’s clinic, mused to myself about the horrid heat melting my winged eyeliner and my olive skin. Despite my year-round tan, I detest the July heat without an iced drink in my hand and my feet in the chilled ocean. This is, after all, my first summer not leisurely traveling. Spoilt! Yes! And perhaps a bit psychologically traumatized.

The receptionist barely looked up to greet me, “Hi, just sign in here. The doctor will be with you shortly. You can sit in the waiting room.”

The drop in small talk was expected. It was my second time here, but it remained noticeable. I hurriedly took a break in the ladies’ room to clean up my eyeliner. In my haste, I did not utilize the UV protector umbrella I had dangling on my left wrist. I did not use my Muji umbrella despite the strong sun ripening my delicate skin.

The clock ticked past 9:30, my scheduled appointment time. I was not peeved at all. The younger me may have been offended easily, but the current me takes everything in stride. Gina called my name as I smiled and said, “Hi, I’m here.” Gina cut my bandage off my right wrist. She used the phrase, “Let me know if it’s hurting you.” I liked her precision and adept knowledge. I happen to be a former insufferable brainiac; I do hope the little gremlins forgive my misgivings. I appreciated her politeness.

Dr. One, whose name I struggle to remember, came into the patient room to check on my wrist. He asked me to do several movements and pressed backward on my right thumb to ask if I felt pain. “No pain,” I answered, a stark difference from my answer 2 weeks ago. I recall the first time I met Dr. One. I stared at his name tag before his face, likely in a questioningly way. His name was not Dr. Wilson, and he quickly explained that “the big boss” would be coming in later. Dr. One tried to be funny, referring to Dr. Wilson as “the big boss,” which could be an inside joke he plays up to add cheer.

Dr. One told me, “You can get it wet, but you cannot submerge it because there is a risk of infection. I’ll ask the big boss, but you seriously cannot swim. The skin will grow back in two weeks. It shouldn’t scar.”

“It’s summer,” I replied.

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Yeah, it is.”

“The consequences of my actions,” I flatly answered myself. Then the X-ray technician giggled.

I am almost certain Dr. One asked Dr. Wilson to emphasize that I was not to be in any body of water. No lakes, pools, oceans, or baths. No submerging of the right wrist because infection would damage my healing body.

Dr. Wilson followed up after Dr. One went inside to his office or to see another patient, I am not sure. Dr. Wilson cracked a joke, “Your bruising matches your jacket; there’s a smile!” I realized I robbed them of my charming smile, accompanied by my perfectly aligned, coconut flesh-colored teeth, nurtured by Dr. Jen Huynh when he tried to lighten the mood.

Dr. Wilson’s optimistic personality shines through in each interaction. I asked if a fellowship comes after medical school, to which he responded, “Fellowship comes after residency, which comes after medical school, which comes after college, which comes after high school…” I intercepted his line, ‘I got that,” and nodded in understanding.

The 32-year-old male fellow standing in the background attempted to conceal his laugh. He said, “I did the math, and fellowship is 22nd Grade.”

Interesting! I love nerds. The accumulation of vast knowledge intrigues me with ferocity.

“So, it’s getting hot out there, huh?” Dr. Wilson steered the subject to the weather as he clicked on the keyboard and looked between his display screen and my face.

“Like hell,” I quipped without much thought for the effect. Dr. Wilson laughed out of exasperation, a twinge of shock, and acceptance at my bluntness.

“Yeah, it’s getting up there,” he chuckled. The male fellow stifled his laugh. I am certain they think I am an unforgettable character; perhaps it’s my covert narcissism that I disguise as altruism. The delusion I live in protects my feelings.

I saw my photo ID on the monitor, next to my name. Sleek how the device displays each patient’s profile photo and stores our confidential information in neat rows. I do not appreciate technology enough. I look young in the photograph on my ID, too young for eighteen.

I may have let it slip to Dr. Wilson, “My cousin is a doctor, and he said my personality is not suited for it. He said Ellen, being a doctor is about more than just memorizing facts. It’s about having compassion all the time, and not some of the time.”

The male fellow giggled for the third or fourth time. I wonder if he lacks entertainment in his life. I need to socialize more, according to some. Honestly, I would rather reread All The Light We Cannot See than go on a first date or whatever the kids my age do these days. I feel like I am sixty in a twenty-year-old body.

“What is he saying about you?” Dr. Wilson widened his eyes as he replied.

“I was a bit bratty when I was younger,” I admitted.

“Is that so?” Dr. Wilson reads people well. I read people well today because I screwed it up back in the day. I had my naive ego dissolved by life’s natural adversities.

“Yes, but I grew up,” I gently countered.

My voice is different; my smile is genuine; my joy is as real as the singular necklace I wear; my happiness steadies itself; my health is stable; and my anxiousness has given way to a new, calm, unfazed demeanor, discreetly overstepping any disturbance. Remorse, anger, and grief go hand in hand. Somewhere along the unconscious journey, I let it go.

Dr. Wilson said they want me to come back in four weeks to check on the wrist. He walked me through to the physical therapy section of the floor, where Jesse taught me five wrist exercises to practice daily. He mentioned my inability to drink alcohol for the entire duration of August. What a bust for my 21st summer.

On a positive note, I am lucky to be working on a fashion internship this August! I get excited to work, learn, and Bendel’s (my bichon) permanent grin brightens my dim mood. I habitually busy myself to forget my unfavorable memories. I am deeply passionate about fashion. Just ask the Karl Lagerfeld print on my bedroom wall. Karl the enchanting, ever-evolving industry legend is the first figure I see as I awake from slumber. May he rest in peace.

I will not be going on any waterslides for two weeks. I had previously planned to surf this summer—off the charts, too. My Six Flags season pass silently sobs in the drawer of my desk, settling for no scans at the entrance of Hurricane Harbor. However, roller coasters are safe and exempt.

Back to the story, I recognized myself as the youngest patient in the physical therapy room. Worrisome, am I getting feeble, weak, and lax?

I dislike being injured. I thought the worst part would be surgery, but surgery was surprisingly painless. I adore the action of being sedated. I highly recommend it to anyone who has never gone under. As someone who has stayed on the straight and narrow, I have not smoked a cigarette, vaped, or abused substances.

Growing up in a conservative family will force certain ideals to live by. My conservative parents transformed into progressives due to their rebellious, sometimes tactless, wholesome teenage daughter. I once viewed myself as a force to be reckoned with, but we all bend for the ones we love.

I was hypocritical. I wanted Miami without heat, New York without rats, Philadelphia without poverty, Shanghai without cigarettes, Paris without the houseless, and to be worshipped without proving loyalty. I suppose there is a logical reason why boys fled from me.

I survived alone. I became a phoenix capable of rising from her ashes. We all burn, yearn, toil, muse, struggle, and begrudgingly accept our lives for what reality is.

I ate a quick brunch before getting on the train home. As I stepped off the train, I peered to find my father’s car. Finally, my dad was on time! I excitedly raced toward our cerulean vehicle. I vaguely remember the female staff saying, “Have a good day,” or “Goodbye,” but I was already gone. I hope she does not take it personally. I bid farewell 90 percent of the time.

I painted my nails various shades of blue, representative of me, stitched together, and nearly whole. My Internet friend, Markas, says my nails are “very me.” I love the chaotic syntheses I exude. Burden me with fashion, for I do not wish to partake in serious matters. It hurts my heart and my brain to see people in pain. I am “a bit much.” I have come a long way to like myself. My odd quirks of useful information across sectors expand my world to be limitless.

I cannot wait to meet Victor in nine decades, up in the seafoam sky of regrets. Let a girl dream about meeting her literary hero.

I had a lovely Wednesday, made a friend, attended my appointment, ate my favorite food, and completed my tasks. What a productive day! The minuscule components of mundane days are comical in time, overly sensitive at the time, and are ridiculed by those who do not care about your well-being.

Nobody else except you can fill the gap of feeling unlovable, lost, or desperate. Semper fidelis. Be loyal to yourself. Maintain your ideal self. Be faithful to yourself first. These are the life lessons I learned. Wisdom is for the changeable, not the close-minded. Gosh, I am a butterfly, metamorphosed from a caterpillar.

Regardless of what anyone says, you are what you do. Be proud of yourself for choosing to live. Some of us tried to take an easy way out by ending it all, but that would erase all of the good we have done.

It does not do to dwell on the past. Forgiveness relinquishes its power over you. I am free from constraint.

What a beautiful, not-so-ordinary day.