It is my second week at work. I am gradually finding my way into the hearts and spaces of more persons.
Before now, his name is only a name I hear around; I am yet to put a name to the face or have a conversation with him.
We are sitting in the same consulting room now. I am studying to pass time. He is clicking away at his computer.
This is when we have our first conversation.
“Are you preparing for an exam?”
“Not exactly. Studying to keep busy,” I reply dryly.
“I can’t remember the last time I picked up a text, let alone study to keep busy,” he reveals.
I ask him if he has specialized. With an embarrassment that is hard to conceal, he says he hasn’t.
No surprise here. I might have rightly guessed so.
I probe further.
“Where would you have loved to specialize if you did?”
“Well, I only wrote Primaries once,” he adds a bit too rushed.
I take note of his attempt at evading the question.
He tells me his job (working in a private hospital) sparingly gives him time and explains how so. I can understand. I have been around a while and listened in on conversations. But beyond empathy, I must help him see a way out of the gloom that is snuffing the life out of his dreams – and self, insidiously.