Up close and personal

"I don't think sharing my jacket is a career-enhancing move", "I was thinking more lending than sharing"

"I'm an aaangel!" I sang, circling an imaginary halo around my head.

He came from behind and put his hands on either side of my head, slightly touching my temples, but I couldn't quite see what he was doing.

I was startled. It was the first time we Ever made physical contact, innocuous as it was. He had never touched me before, and so the jolt was immediate.

Again later at the bar, he put his hands on both sides of my head and I tilt my head to see him make two horns with his fingers. "More like the devil. You always look like you're up to something!"

Noticed a scab on my left ankle that was exposed as beneath my trouser hem. A slight speculative furrowing of the brow. Absentmindedly, briefly touched my ankle near the scab.

Coming up from behind, leaning over, and pushing-nudging me with his long frame. I jumped spun around wondering who it was. Glared up at him laughingly.

Reaching out his hand, making to pinch my nose. I scrunched up my face, wrinkled my nose (quite adorably, I'd like to think), and pulled back.

Dichotomy

I used to see things so clearly.

When my parents quarreled, shouted, fought, fretted, or stressed, I used to ask: "Why?" And little smarty-pants know-it-all that I was (am), I used to suggest simple solutions/mitigants for every problem that surfaced. Whereas there was a rich spectrum of grey for me on many "moral" issues, for most other things in life, I saw things in startling black/white contrast. It was either this or that. Simple.

My parents used to respond: "You won't understand. The adult world is more complicated."

And they were right. I didn't understand. What was there to complicate your life? You want something or you don't. You do it this way or that. If you don't like it, don't do it.

At the grand old age of twelve, I remembered feeling very clear-headed. I believed that there was no more real "growing up" to do. Yes of course I was going to continue growing physically. Yes of course I was going to have new experiences that I had never experienced before... love, working, marriage, sex, kids clearly being key life-changing milestones and learning opportunities. All that I saw clearly and accepted. But at the same time, I believed that I was old enough to be able to think, analyse, comprehend all the important things in life, and that I was as wise I would ever be.

And to be honest, I don't think I was mistaken in my belief.

I saw things which much greater clarity than I do now.

I knew what I wanted: to travel. leave the country, behold with my own eyes all the wonders of the world, drink deeply from the fountain of knowledge that was life. I had a vision. And no way, plan, or idea of how to get there. But life was still simple to me, because I knew what I wanted (fact 1), and I knew I did not know how to achieve it (fact 2), all I needed then was to find a way to connect the dots. Simple.

In contrast, now, when I have achieved so much of what I wanted, and have very visible means to achieve my remaining objectives, when life should be oh so simple—the golden apple is lying there for the picking, I find that I find ways to complicate matter in my own mind. What should just be a matter of taking steps 1 2 3 to get from A to B, suddenly becomes: should I take step 1A or 1B, should I do it now or later, do I really want B or maybe C is a better option which might lead to D, or how about playing a different game altogether? Maybe I don't want to be playing Snakes-and-Ladders at all, but would really rather be playing Monopoly!

The ten-, twelve-year-old me wouldn't understand me know. My younger self would furrow her brow, tilt her head to the side and ask now-me quizzically: "Why?"

Hell, sometimes I don't understand now-me. In my occasional (increasingly rare) moments of lucidity, I am completely baffled: "Why?"

I've often said that I don't feel like an adult. I don't feel responsible, weighed down, serious, sober enough to be an adult. I'm confused and mad and happy and feel more like a child play-acting at being grown-up. But recently it has percoloated through my consciousness that that is beginning to be untrue. I feel quite possibly adult. I guess that's because I've finally lost enough vision, lost sight of what truly matters in life to finally merit being called an adult.

I still believe that children have the clearest vision. They can be highly intelligent, and know how to cut to the chase in the simplest, most elegant of ways. Grown-ups muddy things up unnecesarily by having too many other wants, or nice-to-haves which have nothing to do with their fundamental happiness. There is more keeping-up-with-the-Joneses going on than keeping up with your own dreams.

I need to get laser eye treatment.

Stakes

I considered the options, calculated the stakes, weighed the risks. Took a chance. Made a bet, and lost.

Today, I voluntarily cancelled my holidays. My much longed-for, dreamt of days off 23rd-30th November.

From a rational standpoint, considering all factors, cancelling my holidays makes sense. This is the inflection point of a constrained optimisation given all the variables and inputs.

Except that I am so much of a girl some times. I placed a disproportionate weight on one factor. I had cancelled my holidays mainly in the hope that I would obtain outcome X, but had concluded that even if outcome X did not materialise, I would be better off anyway. And so I told myself I would not be disappointed.

But I was. I had bet and lost. And I had to pretend I was happy. To hide my deep disappointment. Because suddenly, the thought of having to stay on four more weeks without a break seemed unbearable, not if I wasn't getting what I hope for. And yet, I could not have expected more. Given that I had a shot at it, that the ex ante probablity of obtaining the desired outcome was Pr(E(x))>0, I could not have made a more rational and economic choice.

After struggling with it for a while, I reconciled myself to it. I congratulated myself on making the (rare) logical and rational decision. Taking calculated risks is important in life, and learning that I don't always get take my way and risks do not always reward is a difficult lesson that I must learn in the process of growing up.

Apparently though, everyone was shocked (even Ulysses, who was "very surprised") and thought I was crazy. Maybe.

Logic 1, Emotion 0; Ambition 1, Work-life balance 0; Initiative 0, Desire for harmony 1

Note to self: learn to be tougher, play hardball, speak up, stand up for self

Measure

I watched the film "The Constant Gardener" today (7.30pm: "where you going e*?" "to watch a movie!" "like a normal person?" "yes! like a normal person.")

It is a beautiful beautiful film. Elegant, contemplative, subtle, haunting. Visually compelling. It showed the beauty and the vibrant colours of Africa (which I much appreciated). The direction was excellent. Adapted from a Le Carre novel, it could have so easily gone wrong—in other words, the blockbuster hollywood conspiracy-thriller route. Instead, we have a thoughtful potrayal of the moral and humanitarian issues behind the pursuit of profits at big pharma, the complicity of governments, and the abuse of the weak and unprotected that is never melodramatic. The film uses colours, nature, and a very human, micro focus on the daily realities of deprived Africa to appeal for our sympathy and sense of what is right. The film begets the question: What is the worth of a human life? I think it has been said before (and this I deeply agree with) that our kindess/goodness can be seen from the way we treat our most defenceless. Personally, I think the film also turns a mirror to us (me) and asks: What is your measure?

I feel inadequate, ashamed even, that I am so apathetic. That I am living safely ensconced in my first world life with nary a thought for the impoverished, the underprivileged, and the deprived of the world. Whereas in the past I used to care more, as I grew older, at some subconscious level I must have decided that the world is divided into the wealthy evil empire which produces and destroys, and those who care, and if a line is drawn in the sand, that I would rather stand on the side of the haves, than the have-nots. I reminded by the film that the world is bigger than I am, that the troubles of the world are wider than I can encompass, and yet the individual stand against darkness is incredibly simple, and that is just to care. To care in the now, to your capacity.

I am currently having the briefest of respites from the hecticness of the past few weeks. The exhaustion has not completely dissipated, because I am pushing myself to my physical limits in order to live as much as possible in the little snatches of now, to steal as much me-time as I can, while this lasts.

Beautifully, apart from having watched this hauntingly beautiful film (and I am now thinking I should definitely watch "City of Gods"), I have also begun reading a beautifully written book—Ernest Hemingway's "For whom the bell tools". I have finished "A moveable feast" a few weeks ago, which is my first Hemingway (bar one short story many years ago which I did not appreciate in the least). I like his writing and wonder why I have never read him before. Then it was Haruki Murakami's "The Elephant Vanishes" which was haunting and strange. Inscrutable patterns within patterns which I would love to decode, given time. And now "For whom the bell tolls".

All that coupled with a big bed in a five-star hotel room with a sea view, working under blue skies on the hotel's beach front, and swinging to MTV Europe after a night-time shower, just about a fortnight ago, and I'm feeling a little bit lucky and a little bit calm. I just need to get some sleep and be less exhausted, cranky and irrational all the time.

Moving on

They keep coming, these "moving on" emails.

I get depressed every time an email with the subject "Moving on" appears in my inbox, even if I don't know the person leaving. Maybe it is because it seems that so many of my class of intake have already left. The word "exodus" springs to mind, although this is probably the norm. After all, high attrition is a fact of life in banking. And yet, I am not used to it.

Bar my ex-boyfriend, I have not have had many people leave me behind. For most of my life, it seems it has always been me rather than those around me, who has moved on, moved out, moved away.

But since university ended, my uni friends have moved back, moved bases, while one by one, my lunch buddies at work have either resigned or been made redundant, so now we are down to three.

When I am stuck in the office nights and weekends and feeling particularly petrified, the moving on of my colleagues only serve to underscore the airless stagnance of my life. People are moving on to a life of sunshine, of six pm drinks at outdoor bars, and fresh air that reaches deep into your lungs; my company is hiring in new blood from other firms—there is circulation, an almost organic process of corporate evolution. While I am sedentary.

It's strange how I often crave change—of country, environment, even the layout of my room, if that's all I can manage, and yet feel almost helpless to cope with a different kind of change... where it is others who are changing.

I would rather myself take flight than to see others fly away. To leave behind, rather than to be left behind. Because the truth is, probably everyone else is better than I am at moving on.