seen from Bangladesh
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from China
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seen from United States
Doctors can mistake the feelings of love that arise in a therapeutic relationship as being the same as love that arises elsewhere; it is not. ‘Love in the supermarket', as opposed to ‘love transference', is based more in reality and not propelled to an artificial intensity by an unequal power structure.
- Sexualization of the doctor–patient relationship: is it ever ethically permissible?
((Assume it's written in universe and not in New Zealand.))
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5.5
19:32 CST -The recording focuses in on Areliatus, who is apparently sitting at a desk covered in careful, precise stacks of flimsi except for one corner, where three tiny, fuzzy bodies are nuzzled into each other on a nest of an old shirt. He smiles, fingers tracing the line of a short spine as one of the kittens uncurls.
Scy has taken to them better than even I could've hoped, Atrus especially. It's been a great pleasure to watch him reach out and soothe them through the Force, to watch his own happiness of their simple delight in him caring for them. After so many awful things the lad's seen Force users do, I thought it would be best to have him use his gift constructively in such a way that the results would be morally uncomplicated.
He chuckles as Da starts gnawing on his fingers, half asleep.
He's developing a sense of empathy that doesn't have to do with his own survival. Seeing that he can ease the fear of living things not involved in the bond is ...
He trails off, smiling, then rises from his chair.
19:54- Scylas had a party of some sort to go to on Voss. Imperial, but if I know Voss, there would be Jedi. We're incapable of staying out of things.
He chuckles, rifling through a few pages of flimsi as if looking for something. He pulls out a sheet, fingers tracing a column of data.
Says the one who's in Imperial space now. In any case, Scy is out for the evening, and I haven't decided if I'm grateful for the quiet or put off by his absence. A little of both, I suspect. It's been awhile since I've been around someone so much, and Scy -- chatters. Sometimes, it's as if he's afraid of silence. He's gotten better.
Arel pauses thoughtfully, fingers still at the datapad.
Or perhaps I have. It isn't just Scy, after all, who has seen a change in himself.
20:46 - When the recorder picks up again, Arel's seated at the desk with a mug of something steaming. Moffki is sleeping against his arm, and his one ear twitches as Arel starts to speak again.
I've been thinking a lot lately, on the Code and my adherence to it. Part of this assignment was to give me the time to do such, away from other members of the Order.
Arel taps long fingers against ceramic, stubby, shredded nails making deadened click-click-clicks.
I have knowingly broken several tenets. But I do not feel regret or that I am in need of rehabilitation. I have followed the spirit of the Code, if not the letter of it.
My suffering occurred when I attempted to be deaf to the will of the Force and to follow, without thought, the Code. I felt fear, I felt frustration, I felt guilt. Here I had formed an external loyalty. I had formed an attachment other than a training bond, far worse than any other such bonds I'd formed with prior patients. Fear was my greatest motivator: the fear of hurting Scylas, of destroying him, of being found out. And so I fell back on the Code as a crutch, not using it as a tool to help me understand my relationship with the Force. I was dishonest.
I am not now. Perhaps I am in the wrong in disobeying these tenants, but I would be guilty of a far greater sin if I ignored the Force for my own gain. Scylas would not have the progress he's made if I had continued pushing him away.
The small man sighs, expression pained even without eyes. He's quiet for a moment, then,
I watch him. When he doesn't know that I am. The benefit of no eyes. He hunches over his food, he gulps down clean water, he --
Arel has to stop again, to search for a word. His throat works around something unsaid, an emotion he can't really verbalize.
When I touch him, when I touch his face, or his arm, he laps it up. The man's been treated so -- so poorly, he sees normal human touch as a luxury. Food is a luxury. I don't know all the details, but it's clear he's been abused. Terribly abused. He won't let others touch him. He panics at --
He combs his fingers through his hair, frustrated.
At the thought of me leaving. Of me using him. When Master Book went through that poor girl's head, I couldn't believe the amount of work she'd undone. There's so much damage. So many fragile pieces that are only starting to heal.
He exhales, hands folded on the desk in front of him. Speaking of Master Book, she and Master Tormin appear to be engaging in something. As long as he’s not touching another student, I don’t care who he beds. A pause. Arel is still for a moment. I just hope it keeps them both away from doing damage. I don’t need to hear about another student taken advantage of, or, or another misuse of the Force. I can't keep seeing Jedi acting like this, not without growing disillusioned. Another pause, then a laugh. More disillusioned.
They were talking to the one with all the hair on his 'saber hilt.
He smiles crookedly, a hand absentmindedly rubbing Moffki's stomach.
I suppose I'm old enough now to fear for the next generation, as the past one always does.
final prep
documentation for "Arel Venn" obtained and checked: birth certificate (province 18, "Leern", Alpheridies), Imperial passport (status: educated alien, tested: Force sensitive, too low for Academy), doctoral degree in medicine from capitol university, Imperial medical certification test completed with high-average marks
3X set of immunizations for domestic pet (feline): Hutt Space, Imperial Space, Republic space (First round)
1X set of immunizations for Miraluka: Imperial space (Third round)
1X set of immunizations for Human: Hutt Space, Imperial Space, Republic Space (second round)
Instructions logged with Order re: possible death. Personal letters logged for "S. Qwynn", "T. Lociuro", "I. Surth", "B. Kren", "K. Roth".
Cultural modules 7.A-8.T completed
Contacted Sentinel stationed in the area.
Transport of samples arranged.
Prelim info
Secure frequency set up
Papers for Lunar Ion updated, received back up documentation.
chips for cats: "Da'shara", "Atrus", "Grand Moff Kitten (Moffki)". Owners listed as A. Sirdio, S. Qwynn
Based on parameters, you also have ...
12 high priority alerts
43 mid priority alerts
107 low priority alerts
16.1
The holorecorder is set to audio only. There's the end of a deep sigh, then a hoarse voice, lowered as if it must be quiet, starts speaking, slowly, carefully I have been thinking on many things lately. timestamp shows three minutes, twenty-one seconds elapse Fourteen standard days ago was the anniversary of Rulli's death. She has been dead for two standard years and just short of three weeks. I have not thought on how that translates into whatever calendar is used on Nar Shaddaa outside of the standard. timestamp shows two minutes, four seconds elapse More than two years, and I still feel the loss of my Padawan as sharply as the day it happened. She would be around seventeen now. Maybe eighteen. I never did get a birthdate from the slavers that had found her. Every day it is as if I am fumbling around in darkness now that her light has gone out in my mind. A dry laugh. 'Now has gone out'. It has been two years and I still speak of this in the present tense. I think on what Master Surth told me, when I was – what, fifteen? Sixteen? What was I doing that day? Mmm. I remember. I was visiting a memorial on Coruscant. It was – hmm. It was an event honoring the deaths of soldiers in some war I don't remember, but one that was important to the neighborhood we were working in. He told me that “anniversaries are a sort of attachment to the past: they cross the years, no matter how many there are, and tie us to a day we can no longer change, but can relive”. I am doing this with Rulli's death. I am tied to it, and it causes me suffering. timestamp shows one hour, thirty-three minutes, forty-seven seconds elapse Kal was running numbers. I went and sat with him. Sometimes, he told me of things I had little interest in: credits, how much he earns, how much he spends on the ship, what he puts into new jobs. As always, I feel ill at ease in space, but keeping near him helps. Life orients me. I believe the Force guides me, but when my own reality is diseased due to grief, I wonder what I don't hear, what I don't see, what I sense incorrectly. timestamp shows two minutes, eight seconds elapse We heard of a slave auction, the two of us, through different sources. We went. I felt... anger. Hatred. Feelings that gripped me and, not only that, feelings that I gripped onto. It felt good to hate someone, rather than to feel grief. For a moment, the ones leading the auction were the ones who stole my Padawan from me, and for a while, it felt as if – could I somehow kill them, I could save my Padawan. I could fix the past. A sigh, bonedeep, weary. Quiet. Timestamp shows nine minutes, fifty-six seconds elapse. I meditated, in seclusion, for – some time on this. Nearly a day. My legs ached from the lack of motion. I'm more than forty standard old; I thought I had this sort of thing figured out. He laughs. Every day is a learning experience. I accept my weakness as a lesson, as a reminder to be ever vigilant. I'll go and sit with Kal again. It brings me peace to hear him go on about numbers.
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