Sue Li always knew she was going to be a writer.
“I’ve been sort of writing my whole life,” she says. “Ever since I was a kid, I was always writing short stories in my notebook.”
Growing up as an only child who emigrated from China into the United States at the age of four, she often visited the library and could always be found with her head in a book—transporting herself to new worlds almost daily. Her frequent library visits also instilled in her a desire to have her own book on the shelf one day. Read more
It’s a strange sight. Medical students not pounding the keys of their laptops. Not tapping on the screens of their iPhones. Not talking about going to an event or pursuing a research opportunity. In fact, not talking at all. Just dipping brushes into bright acrylic paints and with the focus and childlike joy of their younger selves, creating a landscape from the blank canvas in front of them. Read more
Vision (1-3) alludes to our naive fascination—an exploration of perception, self-awareness, and fantasy.
On Wednesday, March 1, the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai (ISMMS) chapter of the American Medical Women’s Association (AMWA) and SinaiArts co-hosted an event called “Superwomen in White Coats: What Does the Coat Mean to You?” Donning a white coat is an immense privilege. With it comes authority, dignity, and a great sense of responsibility. Read more
Reading for pleasure after a drought feels, I imagine, like a marine animal breaching. Nowadays, an essay stands for indulgence; its serif fonts recall a time when my life was consumed by books (or rather, spent in their consumption). I catch glimpses of a world above, where epic meant poetry, meant story, meant the telling of tales til break of dawn, rather than the late-night perusal of electronic medical records in preparation for morning rounds. A haiku was not written finger-to-phone.
Outside the wind tears
still-green leaves from their branches
pulling them up and off
like a corn shucker
ripping husk from kernels.
In the psychiatric ward
You teach me kanji.
We start with “tree”:
two downward-sloping lines
with branch-like horizontal strokes. Read more