I looked at my seniors from work. They are really young, only a few years older than I. I thought, "This is like school all over again. Except that we are paid to work." But when I paid closer attention, some do have wrinkles around their age, some with wedding bands.
I feel as if I should belong in a classroom or a lecture hall somewhere. Not here in this pharmacy, filling scripts. I feel like a fluke by calling myself a provisionally-registered pharmacist. I don't feel like someone who should be earning a paycheck. Perhaps that is me, trying to grasp with reality.
But each time I return home, I gain a sense of normalcy all over again. This is where I should belong, I thought. This is where I ought to be.