August 14, 2013 | Of Batch Meetings, Movie Marathons, and the Unfortunate Habit of Time Passing Too Quickly

There should be a law prohibiting people from discussing goodbyes immediately before making plans to have fun. It creates a rather confusing emotional situation. One minute, you are sitting in a meeting, listening to announcements about an upcoming recognition day and realising that the people you have grown accustomed to seeing will eventually go their separate ways. The next, you are arguing with your friends about which movie to watch, discovering that democracy has serious limitations when horror films are involved. Somehow, between the possibility of separation and the prospect of cinematic entertainment, an ordinary Wednesday afternoon becomes something worth remembering. I suppose this is what happens when you surround yourself with people who can make you sentimental and ridiculous within the same hour.

Yesterday, August 13, we had our batch meeting, and the main topic was our upcoming recognition day on September 24. I knew the occasion was approaching, of course, but hearing everyone discuss it made the date seem considerably more real. Recognition day should be something to celebrate. After all, we have spent these past months attending hospital duties, becoming familiar with different departments, learning from experienced nurses, and trying to develop the confidence necessary to practise our profession. There have been early mornings, tiring shifts, unfamiliar responsibilities, and countless opportunities to discover how much nursing school prepared us for the profession and how much we still have to learn. Having an occasion to recognise that experience seems entirely appropriate. Yet as we talked about the arrangements, I found myself feeling unexpectedly reluctant to see the days pass.

It is funny how quickly people can become part of our everyday routine. When we first arrived at the hospital, we were nurses from different parts of the Philippines, brought together by a shared profession and an opportunity to gain experience. We had different backgrounds, personalities, and stories, and most of us still had to learn one another’s names. I remember the excitement of meeting new colleagues during our orientation, wondering who I might become friends with and what the coming months would bring. At the time, everything felt new, including the hospital environment, the duty schedules, and the small adjustments involved in becoming comfortable around unfamiliar people. Now, only a few months later, some of those unfamiliar faces have become people whose company I genuinely enjoy.

There is something lovely about friendships that develop without anybody deliberately arranging them. You begin by exchanging introductions, asking ordinary questions, and making polite conversation. Eventually, somebody says something funny, another person responds with a ridiculous remark, and before long you discover that the same people you once addressed rather formally have become your regular companions. You start recognising one another’s habits, understanding familiar expressions, and developing the kind of jokes that would probably make very little sense to anybody outside the group. Somewhere along the way, the awkward introductions disappear, and you find yourself looking forward to spending time together.

I suppose hospital life gives people plenty of opportunities to become acquainted. We share the experience of adjusting to duty schedules, discovering the expectations of different departments, and occasionally returning home feeling as though our feet have completed an independent marathon. We talk about what we have learned, exchange stories about our rotations while respecting our patients’ privacy, and encourage one another when the responsibilities become challenging. There is comfort in knowing that the people around you understand why an ordinary eight-hour shift can sometimes leave you completely exhausted, or why learning something new during duty can make an otherwise difficult day feel worthwhile.

Perhaps that is why the thought of recognition day approaching made me sad. It represents the successful completion of an important stage, but it also reminds me that our time together in this particular arrangement is temporary. Eventually, we may pursue different opportunities, work in different departments, or return to places far from one another. Some friendships may remain close despite the distance, while others may gradually become memories of a chapter we once shared. I do not know what will happen, and perhaps that uncertainty is part of what makes the approaching occasion feel so bittersweet.

But thankfully, our meeting did not end with everybody going home to contemplate the passage of time like a group of retired philosophers. My friends and I had a considerably more entertaining idea. After the meeting, our little gang decided to hang out at a movie house, because apparently the most sensible response to discussing an approaching farewell is to spend a little more time together while we still can. I was delighted with the suggestion. There is something satisfying about finishing a formal gathering and discovering that the day still has room for something spontaneous. No duty assignments to review, no nursing notes demanding attention, and no alarm clock announcing an unreasonable waking hour. Just friends, a comfortable place, and the very important responsibility of choosing a movie.

Naturally, choosing a movie turned out to be more complicated than expected.

There were six of us, and five wanted to watch a horror film. That seemed like a fairly convincing majority, at least according to my understanding of mathematics. Unfortunately, our sixth companion had absolutely no interest in spending the afternoon watching frightening scenes. She made it clear that horror was not her preferred form of entertainment, and suddenly our carefully imagined cinematic adventure required diplomatic negotiations. I find it amusing how a group of friends can agree on important matters yet become divided over something as ordinary as a movie. We can discuss hospital responsibilities, professional ambitions, and future plans with relative seriousness, but ask us to choose a film and everybody suddenly develops a strong opinion.

Personally, I thought a horror film would have been entertaining. There is something peculiar about deliberately paying to become frightened while sitting comfortably indoors. We know perfectly well that the film is fictional, yet we willingly expose ourselves to suspense, unexpected noises, and scenes designed to make us question why we agreed to watch in the first place. The entertainment apparently lies in becoming alarmed without facing any actual danger. It is a strange arrangement when you think about it, although I suspect most horror enthusiasts would defend it enthusiastically.

Our friend, however, remained unconvinced. And since we had come to spend time together rather than conduct an experiment in majority rule, we eventually agreed to watch something else. The chosen film was Seven Psychopaths, which struck me as a wonderfully ironic compromise. Five people wanted horror, one person objected to horror, and somehow we selected a movie whose title suggested that the characters might not be particularly reassuring company. I could not help appreciating the humour of that decision. Apparently, we had avoided a frightening movie by choosing one named after seven individuals of questionable stability. Excellent teamwork, everybody.

I had heard of the film, but what interested me most about the afternoon was not necessarily the movie itself. It was the place we had chosen to watch it. The movie house was wonderfully comfortable, with sofas, pillows, air-conditioning, a flat-screen television, speakers, and a selection of films from different genres. There was even food available to order, which immediately improved my opinion of the establishment. I have always believed that entertainment becomes considerably more appealing when accompanied by the possibility of eating something. A good film is enjoyable, certainly, but a good film watched from a comfortable sofa while food remains within reasonable reach is a far more persuasive proposition.

The arrangement felt different from an ordinary cinema visit. Instead of sitting in rows of seats surrounded by strangers, we had a cosy place where we could relax together and enjoy the afternoon. The sofas and pillows were particularly appealing after our hospital duties. There is a special kind of appreciation that nurses develop for comfortable seating, especially when much of their working time involves standing, walking, and attending to responsibilities. Give me a soft sofa after a tiring shift, and I may begin reconsidering every ambitious plan I had made for the rest of the day. Fortunately, I was accompanied by friends who were considerably more entertaining than my desire to take a nap.

I also appreciated the air-conditioning, which seems to be developing into a recurring theme in my professional and personal observations. Only recently, I was admiring the air-conditioned nurses’ stations during our hospital orientation. Now I was equally impressed by the cooling system of a movie house. Perhaps living in the Philippines has made me particularly appreciative of any establishment willing to offer temporary relief from the heat. I cannot promise that air-conditioning determines all my opinions, but I must admit that it makes a very favourable first impression. Add pillows and food, and I am practically ready to write a letter of appreciation to the management.

As we settled in to watch Seven Psychopaths, I found myself enjoying the simple pleasure of having nowhere else I needed to be at that moment. During hospital duty, much of our attention is directed towards time. We check schedules, monitor patients, complete responsibilities, and remain conscious of tasks that must be performed at appropriate intervals. Even after work, it can be difficult to stop thinking about the next duty or the things we need to prepare. But inside that comfortable movie house, time seemed to have a different purpose. We were there because we wanted to enjoy one another’s company, and for once, the only schedule that mattered was the running time of the film.

I think friendships are built as much through these ordinary occasions as through important celebrations. We often imagine that memorable experiences require elaborate plans, expensive destinations, or extraordinary events. Yet some of the afternoons I enjoy most involve remarkably simple arrangements: a few friends deciding to go somewhere, a minor disagreement about what to do, and enough laughter to make the hours pass unnoticed. The activities themselves may not be particularly remarkable, but the people involved give them their character. An ordinary movie becomes a shared experience, and a disagreement about film preferences becomes another story we can laugh about later.

I suspect I will remember our little horror-movie disagreement long after I have forgotten some of the details of the film we eventually watched. There is something entertaining about the fact that five people were willing to be frightened and one person successfully redirected the entire group. We could probably have insisted upon our original preference, but that would have meant somebody feeling uncomfortable during an outing intended for everyone to enjoy. Perhaps the decision to compromise was a small demonstration of what makes friendship pleasant. We do not always need to agree, and we certainly do not need to share identical interests, but we can make room for one another’s preferences without turning every difference into a serious dispute.

Of course, I am not going to pretend that choosing a movie involved some extraordinary philosophical achievement. We were six friends trying to decide what to watch, not international delegates negotiating a peace agreement. Still, I rather like the idea that kindness and consideration appear in ordinary decisions. It is easy to speak about friendship using grand declarations of loyalty and affection, but much of what makes people enjoyable companions is revealed through smaller gestures. They listen, compromise, laugh at themselves, and recognise that spending time together matters more than winning every argument.

As I thought about the afternoon, I found myself returning to our earlier batch meeting. Only a few hours before, we had been discussing recognition day and acknowledging that our time together was moving towards an important conclusion. Now we were enjoying ourselves as though September 24 were still comfortably distant. The contrast felt strangely appropriate. Perhaps this is how people manage the approaching end of something meaningful. We recognise that circumstances will eventually change, but we continue making memories rather than allowing the thought of goodbye to occupy every remaining day.

I do not want to spend the next several weeks feeling sad about something that has not yet happened. There is still time to enjoy our duties, learn from our rotations, and appreciate the friendships that have developed during this experience. Recognition day will arrive whether I spend the days worrying about it or not. I would rather reach that occasion with more laughter, photographs, conversations, and ordinary afternoons to remember. If the end is approaching, perhaps the most sensible thing we can do is make good use of the time that remains.

I am grateful that nursing has introduced me to people from different places in the Philippines. Our paths might never have crossed if we had chosen different professions or pursued opportunities elsewhere. Yet here we are, sharing this particular chapter, learning together, and gradually becoming part of one another’s memories. It is strange to think that our friendships began through something as practical as hospital training and duty assignments. We arrived because we wanted to develop our professional experience, but somewhere between the rotations and the meetings, we discovered something beyond clinical knowledge.

We found companions.

Perhaps some of us will remain close for years. Perhaps future responsibilities will take us in different directions, and we will have to make more deliberate efforts to stay connected. I do not know which friendships will remain part of my everyday life and which will become pleasant memories of 2013. It would be wonderful if everybody could remain together, but I understand that professional opportunities and personal ambitions do not always accommodate our preferred arrangements. People must pursue their own futures, even when doing so means leaving familiar company behind.

There is something slightly unfair about that. We spend so much time becoming comfortable around people, learning their personalities, and collecting shared experiences, only to discover that life has other plans for where we should go next. It almost seems as though the moment a group begins functioning comfortably, somebody announces that the arrangement is temporary. But perhaps that is simply part of growing older. We cannot keep every circumstance unchanged, and we would probably limit one another if we insisted that nobody should pursue opportunities beyond the place where we first became friends.

Still, knowing that change is natural does not make every goodbye easy.

I think that is why I want to preserve this particular afternoon. It was not a grand farewell gathering, and nobody delivered an emotional speech about friendship. We simply attended a meeting, discussed an upcoming recognition day, and decided to watch a movie afterwards. There was a disagreement about horror films, a compromise involving Seven Psychopaths, and a wonderfully comfortable room that made the whole outing feel like a little reward after our hospital responsibilities. Nothing about the occasion required elaborate planning, yet it captured something I would like to remember about this group.

We could be serious when necessary, particularly when discussing our duties and professional plans, but we could also be wonderfully silly when given the opportunity. We came from different places and carried different ambitions, yet we had found enough common ground to enjoy one another’s company. And although the end of our shared hospital experience was beginning to appear on the calendar, we were still capable of spending an afternoon debating films and enjoying the simple pleasure of being together.

I suppose that is what I find most comforting about friendship. People do not have to share every interest or agree on every decision to create meaningful memories. Sometimes the differences themselves become part of the entertainment. One friend dislikes horror films, another has an entirely different preference, and somebody eventually suggests a compromise that makes everyone laugh. Years later, it may be precisely those little disagreements that become the stories we remember most fondly.

As I write this today, I am becoming increasingly aware that September 24 is approaching. Recognition day will soon give us an opportunity to acknowledge the time we have spent learning and working together. I expect there will be happiness, photographs, and perhaps a few emotional moments when we realise that our familiar routines will eventually change. I am looking forward to the celebration, but I already know I will miss this batch. I will miss the ordinary conversations, the shared experiences, and the comfort of seeing people who have gradually become part of my days.

For now, however, I am grateful that we still have time.

There may be more meetings to attend, duties to complete, and opportunities to enjoy one another’s company before recognition day arrives. I cannot know exactly what we will remember most when this chapter is over. Perhaps some will recall particular clinical experiences or the people who helped them develop professional confidence. Others may remember the excitement of meeting fellow nurses from different provinces, the friendships they formed, or the satisfaction of completing another stage of their journey.

As for me, I suspect one of my memories will involve six friends sitting comfortably in an air-conditioned movie house, having somehow chosen a film about seven psychopaths because one person did not want to watch horror.

It is not exactly the kind of story one expects to emerge from a hospital batch meeting, which is probably why I like it so much.

Yesterday began with a reminder that our time together was moving towards its conclusion. It ended with another reason to wish the days would slow down. Somewhere between the recognition-day discussion and the movie, I realised that what I will eventually miss may have very little to do with formal occasions. It will be the ordinary company, the sudden plans, the ridiculous negotiations, and the freedom to laugh with people who have become familiar without my noticing exactly when it happened.

September 24 will come, and I hope it will be a wonderful day for all of us. We deserve to celebrate the work we have done and the experiences we have gained. But I am beginning to suspect that when I look back on this period, the memory of our recognition day will sit alongside something equally precious: the unplanned afternoons that made us feel like more than a batch of nurses sharing a hospital rotation.

Perhaps that is why the calendar has started bothering me. It can tell us exactly how many days remain before an important occasion, but it cannot explain why certain ordinary hours feel worth keeping. It can announce an ending, but it cannot measure the friendships that developed before it.

And it certainly cannot explain how five perfectly respectable horror enthusiasts lost a movie vote to one determined friend.

Actually, I think I can explain that last one.

We simply wanted everyone to enjoy the afternoon.

And perhaps, without realising it, that was the best part of the whole day.

For now, September 24 can wait. We still have memories to make, movies to disagree about, and friendships worth enjoying while we are all here.

August 14, 2013 — one batch meeting, six friends, an unexpected movie choice, and the realisation that some of life’s loveliest memories begin with the words, “Where shall we go after this?”

— Just Anj, RN, whose next movie suggestion will probably still be horror.