[Short Story] I am a Chokubi

I am a Chokubi.

It's not 'Naomi'.

Call it 'Chokubi'.

It refers to a doctor who graduates from medical school, finishes their initial clinical residency, and goes straight into aesthetic medicine.

The new clinical residency system for doctors began in 2004.

We no longer have to be tied down to university medical departments like in the old days.

We are free.

We can freely choose our career paths and freely earn money.

If that's the case, there's no reason to work like a pack horse at a university hospital.
If you choose aesthetic medicine, you can earn money based on your own skills and numbers. You don't need anyone's protection or to worry about anyone's mood.
I live more efficiently than anyone else. That was my own clever defensive strategy to escape poverty.

I don't have to worry about the moods of those above me, spend my days in factional strife, and eventually scatter like Goro Zaizen from 'The White Tower' at the end of overwork and struggle, nor do I have to drift with the sorrow of a 'Shiitake-sensei' like those who appear in 'Black Jack'—those who are outside the factions and forgotten by everyone.

I live more efficiently and smartly than anyone else.

I thought that was the way for a smart person to live.

My mother was a nurse.

After graduating from junior high school, she went to a school for assistant nurses and became a registered nurse while working.

It was because she was poor.

She also had a much younger sister.

It seems that going on to higher education was not an option.

My father, who was a surgeon, fell in love at first sight with my mother, who worked at a general hospital.

Ours is a family of doctors for generations.

My grandfather and great-grandfather were also doctors.

And it seems my paternal grandmother said this the moment I was born:

'This child must absolutely be made into a doctor.'

And she continued:

'I cannot leave the education of this child to someone like her who was a nurse.'
Just after I was born, when they tried to take me away, my mother took me and left the house.

According to what I heard later, my father repeatedly cheated on her, and his emotional abuse was also severe.

My mother, with the habits of a nurse, recorded my father's abusive language and evidence of his affairs in chronological order with the same precision as keeping a temperature chart.


The divorce was settled easily.

I was good at studying.

I also put in the effort.

However, I don't think I became a doctor just through effort.

After all, my intelligence was inherited from my father. Thanks to my mother's 'records,' I also received plenty of child support.

The world overestimates effort too much.

If it's an athlete, everyone acknowledges their talent.

No one looks at Shohei Ohtani and says, 'Anyone can become like him if they try.'
Yet, when it comes to studying, it suddenly becomes 'you didn't try hard enough.'

There are people who don't pass even if they study without sleeping.

There are also people who have spent many years as ronin.

Every time I saw those kinds of people, I thought:

'They should just quit.'

'They're not cut out for it, right?'

Whenever I looked at them coldly, the response was always the same.

The parting shot: 'You poor person!' The barking of a loser.

I would laugh through my nose.

One day.

When I got home, my mother was crying while watching TV.

It was a news program.

A certain politician's remarks were becoming an issue.

'Wealthy children don't go to the Self-Defense Forces.'

On the screen, voices of criticism were flying back and forth.

My mother was watching the TV in silence.

I was looking at her profile.

I understood what my mother was remembering.

'You became a nurse because you were poor, right?'

My mother had been told that many times.

By patients.

By doctors.

By relatives.

I tried to say something.

'Don't worry about people like that.'

I tried to say that.

But my words stopped.

Because I had been doing the same thing all along.

I looked down on people who spent years as ronin.

I thought those who weren't cut out for it should give up.

I laughed at effort.

I judged the reasons for choosing a profession.

I despised the people who hurt my mother.

And yet.

I myself was on the side of discarding someone.

On the other side of the TV, the discussion was still continuing.

My mother quietly wiped away her tears.


I couldn't say anything.

'You became a nurse because you were poor, right?'

'If you're not cut out for it, give up.'

In my head, many words overlapped.

That night, I felt like I had seen something I didn't want to face for the first time.
--Because I, too, had been making the same judgments all along.




I am a Chokubi.

I intended to live more smartly than anyone else.

But the one who was truly immature was probably me.

I am a Chokubi.

I intended to live more smartly than anyone else.

However.

Not judging people,

seems to be harder than the national exam.

As the discussion swirled around the politician's remarks, what crossed my mind was not a big social issue, but a more personal, secret pain.
※ The inspiration for this story was largely sparked by this article by Yoboseyo. If you read it as well, you might be able to feel the background of this story even more.