THE WEIGHT OF THE WHITE COAT

Heavy laden with a surge of purpose,
Armed with dreams of healing hands
And the weight of expectations.



Initially, We memorized the names of bones,
Origin and insertion points, drugs and doses,
Knowledge poured in like an endless flood,
And we learned to drink without drowning.

Yet, We hold on to the small moments:
The days we smiled, that jolt of laughter we caught,
The senior who believed in us, when we didn’t believe in ourselves.
The pleasure of the season of pressure, and the glory therein.

Indeed, We hold on to each other,
This strange tribe of the warriors.
Who understands without speaking, the demands of this journey.
Who bears the scars of this battle, the weight of the white coat.



So, we keep going.
Through the pressure and the doubt,
Through the horror of incourses and the dread of MB exams.
Because we are not just surviving in medical school. We are becoming doctors.

And that is worth the weight.
That transformation, that becoming.
It echoes through the chambers of our hearts,
Reverberating in the lives we will touch some day.

In the suffering we will ease, the hope we will kindle.
This is not merely survival; this is growth.
We are being forged in the fire of purpose,
Shaped into healers, into witnesses of the human condition.

Into bearers of the weight that comes with wisdom.
And thus we hold on to each other, this unlikely fellowship,
This strange tribe of warriors who understand without speaking,
Who see the invisible scars and honor them.



Who know that the cost is great, but the calling is greater.
We keep going, not because it is easy,
But because it is necessary, this is destiny
Because we are becoming something extraordinary.

And that, above all else, is worth the weight.

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