A couple weeks ago, I had the pleasure of attending a Radical Faerie drumming circle with Joe. My roommate's friend wanted to join us, so I invited her too. First I met Joe for sushi, and we finally got to talk about his exciting new job, which involves counseling and support for HIV+ deaf persons. I'm ridiculously thrilled for him. If I end up matching in NYC, we may even end up working in the same hospital! How crazy would that be?

Anyway, the drumming circle. I could hear the pounding of the drums outside the apartment, and I felt a flutter of excitement in my belly as we ascended the stairs. The apartment was enormous, and quite beautiful. The walls of the kitchen were completely covered with collages of magazine and art cut-outs, many of pop culture icons and fashion images--plenty of divas and muscular men. I was introduced to a few radical faeries, including a guy who wore an orange cap with a green stem, who called himself "Pumpkin." We moved to the den, where there were enormous, dramatic, mysterious paintings and a multitude of plants. A circle of men were pounding on their drums, some intensely, some merrily, some ecstatically. Joe started to do a sort of stomping tribal dance, and entreated me to join him, but I was too shy. I'm fond of dancing, but I prefer to do it with darkness and lots of other bodies to obscure me. I walked inside the circle to a basket of different musical objects--bells, rain sticks, maracas, and so on. I picked up a bell and began to hit it with a stick, in time with the music. Eventually I built up the courage to take a drum, and tentatively found a rhythm. After a few minutes, I really got into it, and lost myself. My hands began to hurt, but I didn't care...I needed to make noise, I needed to make my rhythm known, I needed to contribute to this community of sound. In a weird way, I felt connected to my drumming Korean ancestors, and I regretted not being a part of the Korean drum group in college. It was lovely. There were men dancing around us, reminiscent of a pagan ritual--some old, some young, some thin, some fat, and many scantily clad (Pumpkin, for example, was shirtless, and his too-loose pants kept drifting down to reveal the top of his asscrack and a bit of pubic hair). An older man performed acrobatic leaps and twirled around poles, and also grinded against a few of the other guys. The guy drumming next to me said, "It's such an amazing, transporting experience, isn't it? As good as drugs." As someone who's never done drugs, I couldn't say...but I did have a bitchin' time.

When we took a break from drumming, we went around the room and said our names. Some guys had nature-inspired names such as Waterfall, Moonbeam, and so on. I was just Elizabeth. An older gentleman commented that I had "wonderful energy" in my drumming, which was a nice compliment. I wish there were more drumming opportunities out there...I remember going to the huge drumming event which takes place every Sunday in the big park in Montreal. There were lots of competing drumming circles, as well as musicians who brought other instruments--trumpets, flutes, saxophones, and so on. It's so inspiring to see spontaneous communities form for the sole purpose of creating art and music.

Saturday: I met with an old friend whom I hadn't seen in almost a year. Although he has been through a lot, with a breakup and all, he was as crude and exuberant as ever. He has a kind of light about him, which I really enjoy. His friend mistook us for siblings. I'm not sure if it's because we look alike, or because we feed off of each other's energy.

Today: I wore a nametag inadvertently placed a little too low on my breast, and an older woman commented to me, "I like what you did with your tag." She was apparently not being sarcastic. The hell? Was she hitting on me? I am clueless when it comes to this sort of thing.

I have a fear of commitment to medicine, like many people have a fear of commitment in a relationship. I struggled so much with the decision to continue because I believed that all other possibilities, all other dreams, would disappear. If nothing else, my last relationship opened my eyes as to what life as an artist is really like, not how I idealized it to be. As far as I can tell, it involves a lot of compromise, a lot of self-doubt, and most likely, working a shitty day job to pay the bills. After working shitty day jobs, I've realized that I can't do this for much longer, and want to do work that I find meaningful again. After "playing the field" work-wise, I'm finally ready to commit to medicine. I think. Although I still intend to write, to draw, and to express myself creatively whenever I can. I'll go insane if I don't.

As for relationships, I still feel very young, and have no desire to be involved seriously with anyone. I feel like a bit of an anomaly, since so many of my friends are in serious relationships, or are looking to settle down. Eventually I wish to meet someone who satisfies me physically, emotionally, and intellectually...the best I've done so far is 2 of 3. But for now, I just want to figure out what to do with myself, create something meaningful, and be free for adventure.