Hospital by Sanya Rushdi

Author:Sanya Rushdi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Giramondo Publishing

What do they mean by ‘individualised’ here? ‘Individualised’ from the viewpoint of what kind of social system?

Individuals in a collectivist society might want to unite with one another so profoundly that their self–other boundaries merge as they become aware of one another’s extremely personal matters. But this does not mean – indeed, for this very reason – there is freedom in a real sense. In the process of depending upon one another, people may turn into one another. As a result, those who are by nature gentle, or whose ‘self’ is comparatively undeveloped, are being forced to lose their individuality repeatedly to those who are harsher or have a more developed ‘self’. Moreover, not everyone depends on others the same way. Some depend by loving, some out of the inability to do something, some by asserting their power. Love and inability might be considered weaknesses in such societies. The more information someone has about society, its activities and its people, the more powerful they will become and the more they will use that power on the weak. Even if those being considered weak believe in different ideologies which may not consider them weak at all. So this social system is not suitable for those who have low or even no practicality – which is necessary to ‘know’ something. Such a society will only oppress them. But does it consider that their thinking is in fact much more creative, much more individualised – for they are inspired from within themselves rather than by external factors? Does it realise that these people also need security and care? Is this medication-based, ‘collaborative’ and ‘collectivist’ system really doing anything ‘individualised’ for such people?

Lost in these thoughts, I don’t realise when I have arrived outside my room. I look up to see Glen Two smiling at me. I smile too, assuming he’s amused at how distracted I am. But when I see what’s in front of me, I realise the real reason. My room has been cleaned all right, but someone’s sleeping in my bed, beneath my blanket. And the shelves are filled with clothes and things I don’t recognise. Worried, I go to Reception and say, ‘Excuse me Jane, someone’s lying in the bed in Room No. 3. And my things are no longer there.’

Jane: Oh, the room’s been allotted to a new patient. You’re going to be in Room No. 10 from now on.

Me: And my things?

Jane: Your things are in these three bags (opening a door behind her and handing them over).

Saying goodbye to Glen Two, I go into Room No. 10 with my bags. This one’s a beautiful room too, with a view of trees through the window. It’s at one end of the corridor, the corridor that runs through the dining hall and past the pool room and the prayer room. I start arranging my things on the shelves when there’s a knock on the door. I look up to find an incredibly handsome young guy of twenty-six or twenty-seven standing there.

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