Borrowed Coat

I've been wearing this long blazer for almost 4 months now with my Dad's name on it.

Actually, I've been wearing this consultant's coat more than I could ever remember. I always bring it during who-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up days in school, during times I want to play doctor in school plays even if I wasn't tall enough. Unaware of the years it will take to make myself worthy of wearing one. I just wear it cause I thought I'd look handsome, I know it looks pretty good on me.

Every time I bring that coat I felt like its fibers are trying to whisper me something. But I was too distracted back then to hear them. Of course. I was too young, I was too busy pretending for the other things I wanted to be. Of course I didn't bring the coat everyday, there were far too many other clothes to wear, too many other roles I want to try, too many jerseys to play with, uniforms here and there, too many friends to meet, too many wanders to lust about, and eventually many, many, many years of chasing many dreams that lead me to only one.

...

Now, I've been wearing that same coat every day. For four months now. Actually, for as long as I could ever remember.

Now I'm tall enough. Have traveled enough years to wear some letters attached to it. I know I look overconfidently good on it.

I feel like it grants me power to walk through these walls like a ninja-in-white. After all, these are the very walls he trained as well. Where he fought his battles, slept on some, learned a lot, and made mistakes. I could feel like every pocket has a story of difficult intubations, every running cloth has an interesting case to learn from. I felt like there's a blanket of aura that tells me where the trachea is, where the clear flowing CSF will be. This is, after all, his holy ground, his battlefield, and this, I'm wearing, was his armor. His badge of honor.

...

Next month, I will get my very own long coat. White and handsome. One with my name on it, and a clean white canvass to paint with my own stories. Embroidered there would be name who also went through all these blood and sweat and tears and the setbacks - I know I am pretty damn worthy. And now, It's time I fill these pockets of my own victories. Of my own mistakes. Of glorious duties. Of boljack endorsements. Of reasearch protocols. Of shared late dinners. Of 4am conversations.

I know I'm not made yet.

I'm still quite far from where my Dad's coat gas gotten... but I'm getting by. One day at a time. Wearing my eyes, always with awe, and hands spread out to catch everything that I could, well aware that these hands will never be big enough to absorb everything that I want. I'll walk these walls well aware of how vulnerable I could also ever be, and all the more I'll be thankful for being imperfect. For being flawed. For being human. For being a resident.

...

I've been wearing this coat for all that I could ever remember. 

Come to think of it, I'm already here, but not exactly. 

I'm living my dream, but there's still more to life. 

I'm tall enough 

and I'm old enough to tell my own story, 

to wear my own coat. 

And like what my Dad always told me... 

like what every fiber of his old coat has been trying to whisper to me:

"Son, be better than me.
Make me proud."