Unmasking the Fashion of Masks | Covid-19

It has been over a month of lockdown in Thailand, and yesterday marked the cautious resumption of some businesses and re-opening of local parks. Though the number of new Covid-19 cases each day have dwindled down to single digits, looking towards a post-pandemic society still feels wearily distant, and the uncertainty will most certainly pollute our minds for much longer after that. I somehow fantastically managed to acquire runner’s knee during my 14-day quarantine (in my room, may I add), but it meant a rare opportunity to leave the house and explore Bangkok’s streets from the car window. Indeed, there is no doubt Covid-19 has transformed the way the world looks, and yet, much has remained the same. The local coconut shop has stayed open, supermarket queues trail all the way to the frozen section, Bangkok road rage is still a thing, and the nation’s addictive usage of Line has only increasingly stoked Thai people’s notorious social insecurities the more isolated we have to be (more from where that came from). Yes, the tourist traps are eerily empty and you’ll see the oddly heartwarming sight of Grab delivery motorcyclists making smalltalk in-store, but the biggest visual change? That would have to be the masks.

…a common site in many gardens here…

Masks everywhere, on everyone. Devoid of smiles, an abundance of expression. And as with any wearable item humans deem fit or have to tolerate, I’ve watched the inevitable emergence of something from the humble breath-catcher: fashion.

Masks now boast extensive diversity — from rugged motorcyclists adorning cartoon animal masks, to AirPod-wearing users boasting sophisticated minimalist designs that flatteringly pronounce their jawline, to young girls prancing around in pastel-coloured flower masks. (Also, what is it with so many people still not wearing a mask properly? I swear if you cross paths with me and I can see your nose I will not hesitate to SPRAY BOTH YOUR EYES WITH ISOPROPYL ALCOHOL, VERY LIBERALLY)

Mask-wearing isn’t a new practice in Asia, and since masks do claim dibs on a fair share of our face, the demand for more aesthetically appealing designs is pretty reasonable. However, I can imagine that masks becoming a mainstay item in the foreseeable future in Western cultures is an unfamiliar and radically different practice. It’ll become a “popular accessory” — and though I feel a bit uncomfortable about using that phrase in the wake of Covid-19’s devastating destruction, there is no dying that the demand for masks is more than just its efficacy.

Here’s a quick story. One time during residential back in Year 6, a classmate gasped when she saw me, and proceeded to exclaim in front of the entire year: “Oh my gosh I can’t believe you’re wearing patterned shorts with a patterned shirt! Everybody knows that’s wrong!”

People sniggered at me. I guess I was meant to be embarrassed, but alas, you can’t really care about something you put zero thought into. Plus, looking back, that statement definitely does not seem like something your average 11-year-old would say, but hey-ho. Not to brag but present-day me now harbours some fashion sense — you know, the fantastic clothes that’ll make you win “Best Dressed Delegate” at yet another overseas MUN conference (I’ve never won), all-black attire for concerts and performances that specifically have no shoulder restrictions (!!! very important !!!), and the increasingly popular all-in-one “Clerk @ 5, Club @ 11” outfit.

…sigh. Help me catch some of that pitiful despair, now would you?

Point being, despite my disturbingly limited sense of style, I do know that fashion is all about fitting in and standing out. It is an outlet of self-expression and personal value; a snapshot statement of individuality. Like wearing a poppy badge for Remembrance Day or adorning NHS rainbow badges on your lanyard, wearing a mask is not just about being the right thing to do but also being seen doing it. “Hello, it is I, pledging my allegiance to citizenship, and you should too.” The self-consciousness of mask-wearing has flipped its polarity from the embarrassment of wearing one to the embarrassment of an exposed chin.

At first I thought, great. Of course the characteristic nature of people is to extrapolate the phrase “high-in-demand” plastered all over the news as “a trendy opportunity”, a way to ride out this viral storm whilst desperately trying to stay relevant, stand out, look cool, versus the stark kind of desperate call from frontline workers for surgical masks and N-95s to simply feel a bit safer; aren’t fashionable masks a mockery, expressing sympathy for those at high-risk to our followers on Twitter from the comfort of our couch, basking in the affordable luxury to wring out the celebrity angle of this “popular” item?

But after much thought and mildly frustrated confusion, I’ve concluded this: 仕様がない. Just, 仕様がない*. Because yes, it is indeed the typical fashion of humans to take advantage of a situation, but lets at least put the “fun” in functional, because life goes on. There’s no denying the age of coronavirus is indeed dire, and the stats are more than horrendous; one can complain that ordinary people wearing fancy designer masks are not taking the situation seriously, but maybe those same people are simply getting on with life’s new normal. Don’t get me wrong, I find it digusting that some ‘social influencers’ and ‘celebrities’ purposefully exploit their audience with hiked prices for less-than-mediocire quality (that’s a whole other topic in itself) — all I ask is that if you’re going to make masks, you better do your homework, do it right, and if you will, sell it reasonably. And if we scoot past that, regardless of whatever intention you may have in mask-wearing, at least it still sends a very clear message of hygiene and safety to both yourself and everybody around you.

So if it is a coping mechanism for your feelings of helplessness to post numerous #maskies, so be it. If your post-pandemic routine before leaving the house becomes “Keys, wallet, phone, mask”, then you proudly whack on that (questionable) plague doctor bird mask, you do you. As long as they’re CDC-approved and not useless self-proclaimed “PPE” (looking at you, Boohoo), I think a little bit of colour is exactly what we need. Don’t you think?

©TMK

Music: “Stand Out Fit In” by ONE OK ROCK

*A Japanese phrase that basically means “can’t be helped” with all sorts of nuances (at least, that’s how I’ve interpreted it from living in Japan for a while!).

Sorry, Not Sorry | Covid-19

“So, this next consultation will also be done via phone.” Keyboard clacking sounds ensue. Then, “Even I have a 1 in 40 chance of dying.”

I’m mid-sentence making notes: “SCLC — paraneoplastic, LEMS, 40 dying–” Wait, that’s not what I was supposed to write down and wait what did she just say?

It’s March 12th, 2020: a bizarre Thursday with flip-flop weather that switched at a simple glance and the majority of this lung cancer clinic list being done over telephone. The respiratory consultant — a short-haired lady whose mind, I observed, had a certain zippiness that can knock you out for a second — had had her iPhone propped up behind the keyboard since I walked in. She was constantly refreshing worldometer’s Covid-19 statistics, fervently attending to every blaring BBC notification sound, and relapsing into solitary moments of a sighing & head-shaking combo as she checked the respiratory doctors’ WhatsApp group chat.

It was the first thing I asked about; of course it was. I’d walked in already on edge about this Covid-19 situation. I wasn’t feeling anxious up until two weeks beforehand — not when I couldn’t find hand sanitiser in Boots for the third weekend in a row; not when there were rumours swirling around about two confirmed and one suspected case in the trust I was practicing in. Maybe I didn’t want to admit that I had my doubts about not taking this seriously, but heck, I was still scoffing with friends in car-rides about how this was “just the flu 2.0”. It stemmed from this borderline prideful thinking that as future doctors, we have a duty and responsibility to prevent the spread of panic — but in retrospect, the horrendous cost we’re dealing with now is probably caused in part by that excessive downplaying attitude.

Perhaps it hit me hard after realising this wasn’t a blip — that this situation was not wavering. It was a consistent regression from what we knew and what would happen in the form of my Mum sending Line messages everyday in our family group chat (“Buy hand gel” “Keep some in stock” “Wear mask, take from hospital” “Buy Dettol”), a simple search for antiseptic spray and alcoholics wipes for electronic devices on Amazon Prime yielding “Out of stock” messages, the empty aisles of tissue paper and dried pasta — but most importantly, it was how light-heartedly everybody around me was taking it and laughing at those who were anxious. Thus, after much internal resistance, the palatable sense of worry suddenly got through to me because clearly, I wasn’t the only one worried if there were all the stock issues going on.

My concentration fluctuated drastically in the last two weeks before being shuttled off. I still risked clerking patients in the respiratory ward despite it being closed off due to a norovirus outbreak, brilliantly left my water bottle in one of the infected bays, put a cannula dressing on the wrong way in front of a consultant, lost a page filled with haematology notes somewhere in ED. Yeah, I was a bit of a mess — so, I made it a point to get into any respiratory clinic before the weekend, so at least I could hear what an expert in the field had to say. Luckily I was on a respiratory rotation.

“How worried should I be?” I remember asking. “Because I am, but people around me aren’t. So I don’t know if I should be.”

I remember her abruptly swivelling on her chair and looking directly at me. When unquestionable resolute, she replied, “You should be”, before turning back.

The entire clinic was a lot of her abruptly stopping to check something Covid-19-related and me immediately prompting her about it. I’d ask a Covid-19 question out of the blue that would’ve probably been deemed inappropriate manners in another setting, but she always answered without hesitation. After internally battling the two ends of putting on a face for my family to not worry, to getting my own worries immediately deflected by my colleagues, talking to her was…nice. Mildly cathartic, even.

As a sort of final assessment of how serious she felt about Covid 19, I remember saying, “Well, I guess I’ll be canceling my meeting at the library this weekend, do online grocery shopping, and freeze my gym membership.” At this point I wasn’t even sure I’d do those things. But her reaction: an approving nod, and a simple “That sounds very reasonable.”

That sort of cinched it for me, and I felt oddly lighter. It was a huge, ironic relief to meet somebody who felt as anxious (albeit much more knowledgeable and sensible), even more so as a freakin’ respiratory consultant. I felt I could justifiably worry.

Besides the racist floodgates that this pandemic has outrageously opened, looking back, it was a massive conflict in attitude. Me, at the beginning of February, thinking how ridiculous it was to buy a box of masks to send back to my family in Bangkok as per my Mum’s order, embarrassed to see predominantly Asians wearing masks on the street, and healthcare professionals laughing about how this was being blown out of proportion. Then me, experiencing a sudden turn in tide at the end of February, being scoffed at for sanitising my tuff box and my stethoscope, berated at when telling colleagues to “At least wear a mask if you’re coughing”, and being told repeatedly that I’m worrying way too much as people rolled their eyes at me. “Stop contributing to the panic, I’m not going to wear a mask, they don’t even help” to “We’re gonna be fine if we get it anyway, whatever” were common things being said.

It was hard to predict what was going to happen. Fast-forward to present day, numbers have sky-rocketed unbelievably high, healthcare systems are more than exhausted worldwide, and PPE is horrifyingly running out. No one had any way of knowing.

But, why wait? It was unnerving to see my surrounding colleagues blissfully at ease with everything as if life was completely fine, because that was what I was like before my wall ‘crumbled’. It was more unnerving that even after we were told to permanently go home and an official statement was made by Boris Johnson, some people were still going to concerts, clubbing, and traveling for the weekend, like “Oh, maybe I can catch the tail-end of the last bits of freedom”. On a more personal level, I was stunned that yet again, we were all medical students — but hey, we’re all human in the end.

I wholeheartedly agree that panic is bad, and like I said, we had no way of knowing how bad it’d be — but at that point, after a couple serious official statements were made, surely it’d be a bit daft to think you could go on with life normally. Okay, so wait until you get symptoms before deciding to self-isolate. Wait and hold out against wearing a mask because they’re not even that effective until WHO officially says you must. Wait until the number of deaths creeps up until you decide social isolation is convenient for you. But why should we sit tight twiddling fingers until an official statement is released, at which point, things are usually pretty dire?

This conflict in attitude is what made me question myself in those last two weeks. That because I was acting and worrying on my own accord, I was in the wrong. Medical school hasn’t said anything. The news hasn’t said anything about a mask. ScIeNcE hasn’t told me what to do yet!11!! I was using the “but we are medical students!” reasoning both ways — a duty to not spread panic? Yeah, but a duty to prevent the worst-case scenario is just as important. A tricky balance.

That’s something I’ll remember if there is another pandemic of sorts — it’s okay to sensibly worry. You’ll know you crossed the line if you start gulping down Dettol.

©TMK

Blogger Recognition Award!

Thank you to the beautiful Amy for nominating me – I’m currently giving you a virtual bearhug. She writes about empowerment, inspiration and change; blooming with resilience, check out her blog here for some real talk. God bless you, Amy!

The Origin Story of “That Med Kid”

I like writing. In fact, I like writing so much, I wrote a 80,000 word novel in middle school. It begins with an obscure legend that has it said a girl touched a stone that was the colour of a million dimensions, causing the destruction of Atlantis in one day and one night. In present day, the story follows the protagonist who possesses a beautiful jade necklace, and secrets begin to unravel when she moves to Canary Islands. Needless to say, it was *this* close to potential publication, but crippling self-doubt, irritating perfectionism and losing updated drafts, hindered that from ever happening.

It was in middle school where I discovered my best writing pieces came out of being in an extraordinarily dark headspace. Thus, I always went hardcore on creative writing assignments in school – murder, self-harm, teen pregnancy, depression, and so on. Fun fact: my submission for the school writing magazine got rejected because it was “too dark and intense”. 

So, I began a blog back in middle school (which is now very hidden) – it was a bit of a diary where I could lay down unedited, imperfect thoughts without having to double-space or set to font type Arial size 12. No obligations, no outside standards; great. But like any other New Year hype, I eventually let academics override and blogging dormancy settled in. This isn’t to say I stopped writing, because I didn’t.

And guess what? In the summer of 2016, I tutored Mathematics and Chemistry like crazy, scraped every last bit of money I could, and used it to self-publish my very own book, titled “The Danger Of Not Trying”. The little blurb is below:

In the past few years, I realized: we are all actors. We rehearse who we want to be, we perform who we want to be, and hope it is convincing enough for everybody else to believe. We cannot stop being actors, and that’s fine. What isn’t, is if you try not to be – the danger lies here, because genuine happiness doesn’t come from a scripted truth. 

The book explores this thinking throughout a compilation of quotes; each one holds a backstory, whether it be fictitious, anecdotal, or both. The lessons underlying them are all very real and I hope they can help you get through life like it did for me. 

No, I didn’t have an editor; no, I didn’t have a cover designer; no, the only application I used was Microsoft Word. It was a creatively exhausting process, both very primitive and very organic, that I can wholeheartedly say is one of my proudest achievements in life. I donated all the profits to Rejoice Foundation, a HIV Foundation in Northern Thailand, where I did work experience for one summer – they continuously stun me with how dedicated they are to the duty of care they voluntary committed their life to, and are one of the reasons why I want to become a doctor. And thus, I am so incredibly humbled by everybody who supported the book, because all I did was put the inspirational words of people on page. It’s a book I wrote as a homage to everybody in my life. 

Anyway, let’s fast-forward a few months to the first frigid night of December when I was listening to the “Life of Pi” soundtrack. It was a Thursday, and mindlessly scrolling through my iPhone Notes app, I found random ‘poems’ I wrote. On a whim, I created this blog, and that was the day of my first post. And why “That Med Kid”? Because it embodies exactly how I perceive myself. Just another no-name, anonymous “Ah, she’s just this random med kid” person. Just like my first ever blog in middle school, this is a bit of a diary for me – thus, I was very hesitant to share this blog until, gosh, five months in?

Goodness me, I apologise for the long-winded writing biography. Hardly Marvel Hero origin story standard, but there you go. I’ve never written this much information about myself before, so this is probably the most personal post I’ve written by far. Don’t worry, this doesn’t happen often.

To sum up, I like writing, but I’m not a writer. I hardly have any knowledge about anything, but if there’s one thing I can do, it is being honest. So if you’ve read my blog, be it one post or one word, thank you so much – the gratitude I have is indescribable.

Advice For New Bloggers

  1. Write, not “create content”. By “content”, I mean the one that gets Reddit users all irked, and what ex-Viners do in desperate need for a career on YouTube (there are exceptions, of course). Don’t try creating this commodity of value as a superficial distraction from reality, but simply write about reality. Did that make any sense to you? Yeah, me neither.
  2. You probably expect me to say consistency, but I’m a big fan of spontaneity. Blogging is time-consuming, difficult and can drain into this sewage of obligation. And if it ever gets that far, perhaps rethink your priorities with a blog. Am I just saying that because of my inconsistency and recent hiatus of three odd weeks? Maybe. But would I ever want you to stick two fingers in and painfully force content out just for the quota of “New post every Thursday!”? Absolutely not. The Quality > Quantity phrase is very applicable.

Blogger Recognition Award: Rules of Acceptance

• Take the time to thank the blogger who nominated you and provide a link to their blog
• Write a post to show your award
• Give a brief story how your blog started
• Give pieces of advice to new bloggers
• Select 15 other bloggers you want to give this award to
• Comment on each blog and let them know you have nominated them, provide the link to the post you created

***

I still yet have to finalise Part 2: Science of Superfoods of “The Dirt On Clean Eating” series I began (Part 1 here!) – apologies for the incredibly long delay. Med school life has begun, and there is much I have to update you all on, but let’s save that for another post. Hope you are all doing incredible. Stay motivated, pals. 

©TMK

 

Listerine | Time Capsule Log 💊

Listerine did not invent bad breath. Human mouths have stunk for millennia, and there are ancient breath fresheners out there you can read up about. But here’s a nice little story of how Listerine advertisements transformed bad breath from an ordinary albeit awkward personal circumstance into an embarrassing medical condition with heavy implications of social suicide. Treatment that very conveniently was sold by the company themselves.

The History Of Listerine

What: Listerine was invented originally as a surgical disinfectant.

Who: Doctor Joseph Lawrence, inspired by the research of Sir Joseph Lister. Oh, who was Joseph Lister? Well, back in the nineteenth century, “hospital disease” (now known as post-operative sepsis infection) was prevalent; that is, mortality rates post-operation were high despite successful surgical procedures. For example, Lister reported in the Male Accident Ward in the Glasgow Royal Infirmary, between 45-50% of amputation cases died from sepsis between 1861 and 1865. It was in this ward he did his experiments – in line with his earlier research on the coagulation of blood and role of blood vessels in the first stage of inflammation, he had already formulated theories and disregarded the concept of miasma (popular, but not obsolete medical concept, stating diseases were caused by “bad air”). By that time, bacteriologist Louis Pasteur had arrived at his theory microorganisms caused fermentation and disease; thus, Lister’s education and speculations that sepsis could be caused by pollen-like dust compelled him to accept Pasteur’s theory. An amalgamation of his previous research and Pasteur’s theory, he began conducting experiments; he soaked dressings with carbolic acid to cover wounds (an effective antiseptic already used as a means of cleansing foul-smelling sewers). The results were dramatic: surgical mortality rates decreased from 45 to 15% between 1865 and 1869 in the Male Accident Ward. And in 1865, Lister was the first surgeon to carry out an operation in a chamber sterilised by pulverising antiseptic into a fine mist of carbolic acid into the air around the operation. 

Why: So, here comes in an inspired Joseph Lawrence, who made a unique formulation of surgical antiseptic himself in 1879…and in honour of Sir Joseph Lister, called it LISTERINE®. He formed a partnership with pharmacist Jordan Wheat Lambert, creating Lambert Pharmaceutical Company, producing & selling this disinfectant in operating theatres and bathing wounds.

How: …but it was pretty small market. So, to increase sales, its advertised use became extremely varied: a cure for dandruff, a floor cleaner, a hair tonic, a deodorant, and even a cure for diseases ranging from dysentery to gonorrhoea. Okay, so this did put up company revenues. But the Lamberts had another idea in the 1920s. 

They began putting the vaguely medical-sounding term “halitosis” in their advertisements, framing it as a health condition hindering people from being their best. During that era of time, a lot of companies were offering products that could cure every known illness, including catering to the emerging middle class’s social anxieties. I mean, look at this ad below – the sad, unmarried Edna doomed to be a bridesmaid but never a bride just because she has this condition “halitosis”.

sf3591

This marketing campaign was incredibly successful, and over 7 years, revenues skyrocketed to $8 million. And now, we all know Listerine primarily as the antiseptic for oral health & hygiene. This must be one of the best iterations in history of the modern advertising industry creating a problem to sell its solution. Well played, Lamberts.

Sources:

http://www.sciencemuseum.org.uk/broughttolife/people/josephlister

https://www.listerine.co.uk/about

Listerine Was Once Sold as Floor Cleaner

Click to access listerine.pdf

©TMK

Addiction: A Six-Word Story

YOUng cARelessnEss –

Married mY sweetHEart, heROin.

Explanation:

Often depicted negatively, addiction is a very serious condition – people with addiction are heavily stigmatized against, seen as “crackheads” with a lack of “willpower…or a moral compass”1. I wanted to show the interaction between a patient who requires help for their addiction and somebody willing to understand, whether it be a family member, friend, or doctor. From the perspective of the patient, whilst their addictive behaviour may cause conflict in various aspects of their life, underneath they may harbour vast gratitude for those who stay by their side to help battle their condition as revealed by the hidden message, “YOU ARE MY HERO”. I simply wanted to highlight the importance of not leaving somebody in their times of struggle and need, even if they may not express appreciation immediately, because a support system is incredibly vital for recovery.

Sources:

  1. Villa, L. Shaming the Sick: Addiction and Stigma. [online]. Available at: http://drugabuse.com/library/addiction-stigma/.

©TMK

Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy: A Six-Word Story

Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy hurts;

My heart overflows!

Explanation:

Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy is a condition that causes increased filling pressure due to the thickening of the myocardial wall1 – in a very simplistic way, I depicted this as the heart “overflowing” with blood. The phrase “my heart overflows” is a Biblical inference to Psalm 23:5-62; the original phrase is “…you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” David describes how abundantly the Lord provided for him – a phenomenal picture of how God gives us everything we need and more, placing endless resources in front of us3. Whether readers are religious or not, the message states that whilst life challenges your resources or faith in difficult times, you will always have a wealth of support around you.

Sources:

  1. Shah, S.N. Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. [online]. Available at: http://emedicine.medscape.com/article/152913-overview.
  2. The Holy Bible. New International Version. Biblica, Inc. Ò. Psalm 23:5-6.
  3. MacDonald, J. Does Your Cup Overflow? [online]. Available at: http://www.jamesmacdonald.com/teaching/devotionals/2013-07-24/.
  4. Image courtesy: http://signesandelin.deviantart.com

©TMK

A Sense of Entitlement: A Malignant Tumour?

       One sunny April day, I decided to drop into my old high school, and naturally beelined towards the music department. After exchanging all the How Are You’s and the How Has University Been’s and Any New Aspiring Musicians In School’s with my old music teacher & guiding mentor, we began conversing about the evolution of job opportunities and whether millennials should be dubbed the “Me Me Me Generation” (the phrase coined by Times magazine back in 2013). As he furrowed his forehead in concentration and interlaced his fingers, he said, “It’s called a sense of entitlement – you just graduate and suddenly expect to be immediately working in the top ranks. But that’s not how it works; you gotta climb up.”

           From that day onwards, the phrase attracted to my mind like a magnet because I could finally put a title to what I observed so frequently. The rates of entitlement are unsurprisingly high around me – the very fact my parents were able to send my siblings and me to private, international schools around Asia is more than enough to say what kind of cohort I was brushing shoulders with. But don’t get me wrong – everybody contains symptoms of a sense of entitlement (SoE), including myself. An example of why this may be is because we, the millennials, grew up watching reality TV shows, most of which are documentaries about narcissists. I don’t necessarily say this in a negative way, but it somewhat trained us to be “reality TV ready” – that is, we are able to define our personality types when we’re 13 instead of 30, which is a huge evolutionary jump.

            For a deep-dive analysis into the heated discussions of whether millennials have higher rates of a sense of entitlement, it’ll have to be saved for another long-winded post. So, just to put my bare opinions out there first: I stand on the middle-ground with the issue. I believe millennials are extremely passionate and optimistic, embrace the system, and are pragmatic visionaries. We are tinkerers more than dreamers; industrious life-hackers. Perhaps our SoE is a result of our adaptation in a world of abundance. Yet simultaneously, our SoE can be extraordinarily tiresome – with social media becoming such an integral, staple part of our lives, so does narcissism and its partner in crime, entitlement. Personally, I think if you’re constantly exploring the curiosities of life rather than demanding so much from it, then that’s what matters. Living life completely free of a SoE is almost impossible.

         Anyhow, during the tedious revision period back in May, I remember going over oncology. All the tumour-suppressor genes, CDKs, and oncogenic viruses just suddenly seemed all metaphorical to me (one of those days), so I crafted this weird link between malignant tumours and the concept of entitlement. As I finally have spare time (and limited knowledge), I decided to try my hand at creating an infographic describing the similarities I was envisioning in my head. Hope you enjoy!

 

Sense of Entitlement Infographic.jpg

©TMK

Sources:

https://www.popsugar.com/news/Why-Millennials-Entitled-42873548

http://time.com/247/millennials-the-me-me-me-generation/

https://qz.com/720456/the-myth-of-millennial-entitlement-was-created-to-hide-their-parents-mistakes/

Seven Emotions That Follow a Sense of Entitlement

http://outofthefog.website/top-100-trait-blog/2015/11/4/sense-of-entitlement

https://lonerwolf.com/sense-of-entitlement/