The diary of a 5th year medical student

part 2

We’re told that eighteen is the age we become adults, old enough to make decisions for ourselves. But are we really?

Think about yourself at eighteen. If you’re older now, pause and go back there for a second. You were probably planning to go to college or figuring out some other path. You were expected to choose that one thing you would do for the rest of your life, unless you were one of the lucky ones who had known their calling for years. But for the rest of us, the ones choosing based on instinct or vibes, did we really think it through? Maybe you did. I know not everyone does.

Our prefrontal cortex is not even fully developed at eighteen. Thats the part of the brain responsible for decision-making. So how are we expected to make some of the most defining choices of our lives at that age?

Eighteen feels like premature adulthood. Maybe you were one of those kids everyone called "mature for your age." I was. But that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re ready to commit to a lifelong path. Sure they say there’s no rush. "Take your time." The problem is the world doesn’t wait. We’re expected to compete, keep up, and stay in the grind. We set big expectations for ourselves without really understanding the hardships, not until we’re in it. I guess that’s how we grow, through the unexpected. But sometimes I wonder if we should raise the bar a little higher than eighteen when deciding who is "old enough."

Going into my third year of medical school, I felt like I was getting the hang of it. The grind. My grades were solid, I found a good rhythm & balance between classes and social life. But over february break, I traveled to Korea for my cousin’s art show. A few days in, the massive Hatay earthquake hit Turkey. It was horrifying. I was really sick & in emotional pain. It felt wrong to be sightseeing while people back home were in ruins. We stayed a week but most nights we were glued to twitter, trying to help from afar, wishing we could be there physically.

As I write this in April 2025, Istanbul has also been having earthquakes in the past week. It’s made it hard to sleep. My dreams are so vivid im starting to wonder if it’s more than just stress. I keep a whistle around my neck just in case. My emergency earthquake bag is packed to the brim. I keep eyeing the route from my apartment window and how i’d jump. Theres definitely some anxiety in me now, and it’s not just about exams this time.

My college years have felt like a whirlwind. Burnout feels inevitable when you’ve spent your entire early twenties juggling a pandemic, natural disasters, and an extremely heavy curriculum. Despite everything, I can’t wait to be there for people in their rough moments. I want to show up for them even when the ground feels like its shifting beneath their feet, because now I know what that feels like.

Maybe that’s what adulthood really is. Not a switch that flips at eighteen but a slow-burning becoming, shaped by earthquakes, grief, long nights, and the choice to keep showing up anyway..