This time around during the last leap year I was nursing a broken heart.
(Not mine. Oh no. Nothing that dramatic.)
This time around the year after that I was telling a young boy to buy his girlfriend the biggest bouquet of pink roses that his wallet could afford him.
(A few days passed.
It’s over aunty, he said. No valentines for me. We’re over.
I smiled. Aaah. Young love.)
This time around two years ago I was on the verge of falling in love. It is a mistake that I will never make again.
And this time around last year someone from 25 years ago came back into my life. I’ve been having all these feelings for you all these time, he said. Well not those words exactly but you know what I mean.
He found me through this blog.
(I am not that hard to find, really.
And no, this post is not about him.)
For some reason, my February’s seem to revolve around the same thing.
This February I am in love again. He doesn’t know it. In fact, he doesn’t know me. Yet.
(Please. Please. Don’t go all “Oh, Ijah…” on me. It’s not what you think. Seriously. It’s all good. Trust me. )
I’m not scared of February.
I just wonder what this one will bring me.
(A latte and two blueberry cheese muffins delivered anonymously by someone concerned about my not eating properly.
A dozen cupcakes.
A Ken Jeong fridge magnet.
A lip balm in a pink tin that comes together with the Ken Jeong fridge magnet.
A trip to a distant land.
Another trip to an even distant-er land.
A keychain that looked like me.
A broken stem from a glass. Just like my heart, he said.
Etc.)
Here, you thought I was joking about the keychain, didn’t you? (Thanks, Job!)
I wasn’t joking about the rest either.
Well, welcome February 2012.
Bring all the ghosts you can.
Do your worst.
I’m ready for you.
Always.
(This post is dedicated to those who complained that a non-running post is long overdue.)
I have several reasons for wanting to share this story. I will tell you those reasons at the end of this post. But before I get to the main story, I need to tell you the backstory first, which goes like this:
Two weeks ago I made up my mind that I want to meet someone, let’s call him Mr. Abu. I don’t know Mr. Abu, we don’t have common friends, he lives seven thousand miles away, we don’t walk in the same circles. For all intent and purposes, we may never meet at all.
But my mind has a disinclination to worry about the impracticality or the improbability of it all. The way I see it, if it’s all in my head I might as well go for it. So, if I were to meet Mr. Abu accidentally, without orchestration, what would be the most logical situation for it to happen? What would I say, what would I wear, how would the conversation start? In short: when my grandchildren ask me to tell the story of how we met, what would be the story that I tell?
So this is how I worked it out in my head.
I was standing behind Mr. Abu at a Starbucks and he didn’t have enough cash in the right currency on him to pay for his coffee. I was impatient about getting mine, so I paid for him and told him, don’t worry about it, someday when I am in your beautiful country and we happen to meet, you can buy me coffee in return.
The only logical place for this to happen is of course in an airport. In my head, the Starbucks would be the one in Changi Airport Singapore – simply because I pass by it every time I am walking to or from the arrival/departure gate. Anyway, I raised my coffee cup to him in a silent toast, smiled and we went our separate ways.
Fourteen hours later I was at Heathrow Airport waiting for my luggage to come around when someone tapped me on the shoulder and said “Coffee girl!” And the rest, they say, is history.
This backstory is important because of what happened next.
In order for me to meet Mr. Abu as lined out in the backstory, I need to be flying to London via Changi. There are two possible ways for this to happen: either I am going for a holiday in London or I am going there for work.
In my current work situation, travelling overseas is not required (side note: a lot of the work I did in the past required me to travel extensively). So if I were to travel to London for work, I’d have to have a job that entails travelling to Europe as part of my duties.
I play and replay this “meeting story” in my head. Most of the time I do it when I am trying to sleep and need my mind to “switch off” from the realities of my daily life. I do it because it is fun and nonsensical. While doing this usually I will fall asleep without realizing it.
A few days after I started doing this, I sat in front of the TV to watch an episode of Amazing Race. In this particular episode, the competing teams were in Denmark and they had to find their way to Legoland. For some reason, this particular scene was stuck in my head.
About two days after the Amazing Race episode, I was contacted by three separate parties about three separate jobs. I remember remarking on facebook: why do I have so many missed calls today? When I returned the calls I found that opportunities exist for me to be considered for the following positions:
Job #1: as a global strategic advisor based in Singapore.
Job #2: as a director of corporate affairs for a European-based company that has an office locally.
Job #3: as VP for a specific development project down south, that among others involve 2 separate theme parks, one of which is…Legoland.
All three opportunities would make it very probable for me to be in Starbucks at Changi Airport at one point or another. The only question that I need to answer now is this: which one would I be interested to explore? I know the smart thing to do is to explore all three. But, moving one step ahead, presuming that I am exactly what each company wants and that I have the luxury to choose, which one would I pick?
I spoke to an old friend a few nights later about how coincidental things seem to be. Earlier that night my sister made a casual remark about us going to London for a holiday some time in April. Suddenly the possibility of going to London, either for a holiday or for work, doesn’t seem so distant and improbable anymore. Both became very real possibilities; which way the scale would tip now depends on how I well make use of these possibilities.
It was past 3am when my friend drove me home. I had too much teh tarik to drink that night so I knew instant sleep would be impossible. So I decided to surf the Net. The first news that I saw was about one Ms Christina Aguilera taking her son Max for a birthday treat. Where to?
Legoland in Carlsbad, San Diego County, California.
Now we’ve come to the point where I will tell you the reasons why I am sharing this story.
Firstly, it’s because for the most part of my life, I have been told that I am lucky. I can’t and don’t want to dispute that. I know I’ve been lucky. Opportunities, possibilities, coincidences – distant or ridiculous as they might be – all these seem to knock on my door at just the right time for me to take advantage of them.
But I don’t believe that I have been accorded a bigger portion of luck than the next person. I think we all have the same share; that we all have the same access to tap into the “luck well” and take as much as we need. What I do know for certain is that if I connect the dots, I can manufacture these possibilities. I may not know how or when they will manifest themselves, but I know that by making certain choices or doing certain things, I close the gap between dream and reality. Luck is very nice, but I need to get up and get moving for this luck to be of any use to me at all.
Secondly, it’s because there is a popular school of thought propagating that if you have a dream, don’t tell it to anyone. Just keep it to yourself. The line of reasoning goes like this: if you tell your dream or personal plans/goals to other people, the positive feedback or encouragement that you receive from them will make you feel gratified and trick your mind to think as if the goals are already achieved. This in turn will (a) give you a false sense of satisfaction; and (b) demotivate you from working as hard as you need to achieve these goals. Sort of counting your chickens before they hatch.
Is that true? Apparently there’s a lot of research to support this. You can see a video that explains it here.
Do you agree with this school of thought? Wait. Don’t tell me. If it works for you, good for you man.
Me? This school of thought bothers me. A lot. I think different dreams need different ways to be actualized. Some dreams need zipping up, and some needs to be vocalized. For me personally, voicing it out helps me to widen my playing field. It’s like playing Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. Somewhere out there is someone who could help connect my dots. It may be someone I already know, it may be a stranger. The point is, I need to find this someone, this Kevin Bacon. And to do that, I need to tell – be it by telling the universe, or friends, or strangers who accidentally come to this blog looking for something else and run across this post instead. Sitting here being mum about it hoping that somehow Kevin Bacon will find his way to me is asking too much of a favour from Lady Luck.
I am not being naive. I know the value of keeping your dreams to yourself. And I understand that this school of thought is not advocating being mum, all it is suggesting is that you don’t share the end game with anyone so that you will be self-motivated to continuously work hard to achieve it. I am just not sure this is the most important rule I need to adhere to. In fact I don’t think it is a rule at all. To quote Feynman “The fact that you are not sure means that it is possible that there is another way someday.”
Which brings me to my final reason, it’s because this story illustrates and reminds me, in real time, that it is good to dream. That it is good to disregard the improbability of it all and let my mind run riot. That it is good to have something just a little wildly out of reach so that I’d always have something to work on, something to look forward to. And that if I pay attention to what is happening around me, if I pay real close attention, the only thing that is stopping me from doing anything and everything is my own hesitancy.
Too often I catch myself thinking “Oh, that’s never going to happen to me,” or “How the hell am I going to do that?” or “I’ll never be given that chance,” or “Forget it, it’s just not my fate,”. I haven’t even tried visualizing it in my head, much less doing something about it and I’m already giving up? Why do I do this to myself? I claim to be an optimist yet I talk down to myself and allow this defeatist attitude to influence me that I wonder if I can call myself an optimist at all.
So I decided to write this down, to commit this story to a permanent form, to remind myself that I am, to use an overused cliche, my own worst enemy.
I need to overcome.
I must.
This is a progressive story. I don’t know how it will progress from here because there are things that are yet to pass.
Maybe I’ll go to Legoland, maybe I won’t.
Maybe I’ll have coffee at Starbucks in Changi airport, maybe I won’t.
Maybe I’ll meet Mr. Abu, maybe I won’t.
What’s certain is that any of these maybe’s can become definitely’s – it’s all up to me really.
And that is, my friend, what dreams are for.
(Dreams can’t come true? I’m glad Kaka didn’t believe that.)
Kaka’s 11th dream came true. He added the Champions League title to his trophy case for the first time when Milan defeated Liverpool on 23 May 2007, after publicly sharing this dream with millions of people.
It was a relatively slow night on the LRT. No seats available but the carriages were not filled to the brim. I stood in front of an elderly couple and gave them a little smile as they were scanning me up and down. Don’t worry, I was decent. They were not outraged by my choice of clothing or the vast expanse of my bosom.
A seat beside theirs became vacant at the next stop. I sat down, fully intending to continue losing myself in the world of oversized sunglasses and jpops. The elderly woman nudged me.
I looked at her and she gestured at the young man who was standing in front of me. He had gotten in during the last stop. By his flustered looks, it didn’t seem like he was familiar with the public transportation system. You can always spot this specie. They’re the ones who’d be standing nervously and surreptitiously glancing up every 5 seconds at the station guide at the top of the cabin to make sure that they haven’t missed theirs.
He was breaking into a sweat, and his breathing quickened. I stood up and touched him lightly on the arm. Have this seat, please, I told him. He smiled and declined politely. Please, I insisted, I want you to have this seat.
He was a little embarrassed. The elderly couple scooted to make more room for him, murmuring persuasion to get him to sit down. By this time the other passengers were looking at us and he had no choice but to gracefully accept my offer. Thank you, he said. I smiled and put my MP3 player back on and stood near the door. From the corner of my eye I could see him making small talks with the elderly couple. He was looking better, the sweating had stopped and colour had returned to his face. When he smiled, he had a tiny dimple on his left cheek.
His stop must have been coming up because he thanked the elderly couple and started walking towards the door. When he passed by me, he hesitated. Oh these awkward moments, I get them by the dozen. Have a good night, I told him, take care.
I wasn’t being friendly, I just wanted him to relax. It was just a seat. Really bro, no big deal. No, I didn’t say that last part out loud. But it was implied in my “take care”.
As the train slowed down, he said something that I could not hear. The elderly couple sat up, clearly trying to make out what he was saying. I took out one earphone and asked him, what was that again?
This is highly unusual, he said, but would you mind giving me your business card?
I’m sorry, I told him, I ran out.
I wasn’t lying. I did run out. Not that I am in the business of giving my business card to strangers anyway. But really, I ran out.
Of course, he said while shaking his head. What was I thinking? Let me give you my card, please call me so that I can thank you properly, he said.
The train stopped and passengers started to exit. I laughed a little and slipped the card into my tote bag without looking at it. He nodded and turned away to leave.
Just like in the movies, right at the last second he turned back to me and said, thank you, you don’t know it but you made my terrible day better. And then he was gone.
I never called. I have no idea where I put his card and even if I do, I am not going to call. It’s not the kind of thing that I do and this is not that kind of movie.
(He knew that too.)
Some days bring you rain. Some days bring you cute young man with a dimple on his left cheek and a business card.
(What he didn’t know was he made my day better too.)
I was furiously finishing last-minute touches to a paperwork I was working on when the internal phone rang.
Ma’am, you have food delivery downstairs.
Huh?
I thought to myself. I didn’t order anything. If someone is pranking me by sending me foodstuff and straddling me with a huge bill, they’d better be prepared for my hell-hath-no-fury.
Well unless I accidentally sleep-ordered something. Takeaway dominates my speed dial.
I didn’t order any food, I informed the receptionist. She read out my name and address on the delivery order.
Is that correct, ma’am?
Yes, I said. I’ll be right down.
I put pants on, grabbed my mobile phone, wallet and keys.
Two Starbucks paperbag sat at the corner of the reception counter. I opened them up and peered inside. There were 2 tall lattes, a blueberry cheese muffin and a chick-o-cheese pastry. A Roomservicedeliveries slip was stapled to one of bags. There, my name and address in capital letters. No sender details.
Hmm.
Maybe they are from your boyfriend, ma’am?
I laughed. If only it was that simple.
Maybe, I said to her with a smile. Then I thanked her, gathered the bags and made my way upstairs.
I was holding one of the lattes when Maverick picked me up for a meeting.
When did you get out to get coffee, he asked.
I didn’t, I told him. Someone sent it over.
Slaves?
Yeah, I agreed. Easier than explaining the real situation.
I never did find out who sent the food package.
Some days bring you rain. Some days Starbucks coffee. My life is funny that way.
I went to the Aryani again recently. Alone, this time. It wasn’t something that I planned or gave too much thought about. I had a few days to burn and decided sitting on a beach was what I needed.
I didn’t pack much. Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami, a fully charged mobile phone and MP3 player for my facebook and music fix, a couple of crisp white t-shirts fresh from its vacuum-packed bag, sunglasses, the usual girl’s stuff – everything fitted neatly into the orange Rip Curl beach bag that I bought two summers ago in Singapore.
The place is as beautiful as I remember. The staff friendly yet respectful. There is a very calming quality in the air, untouched by the noise and chaos that I am used to in my daily life. I couldn’t sleep much on the first night; a little scared of being alone in this little corner of the world, a little restless from not having anything to do. After a while, the quietness got to me. Everything in me – my mind, my body – everything slowed down.
In the mornings, I walked around the garden. The air was always warm and slightly damp, the sound of the sea accompanying every footstep. There was no one else around. Not even a cat. How strange to have this wonderful place all to myself.
I didn’t do much thinking or reading. Sitting there by the beach, with a bowl of grapes on my lap, mostly I just stared at the waves and daydreamed. The daydreams were wispy and formless. They didn’t make me anxious. They were just blurry photographs of a future; one that is yet to happen, one that I still have time to shape.
Once upon a time there exist a song that reminds me of a boy that I knew from a very long time ago. I have very vivid memories of him – the first time I saw him, the first time we spoke, what he said to me about my long damp hair that I hastily tied up into a messy ponytail because I was running late one night, the time he walked beside me without saying a word.
I don’t know why these memories exist. He wasn’t anyone special. I mean, he wasn’t special to me that way. And I wasn’t special to him that way either. But I guess you don’t get to choose the kind of memories that your mind wants to hold on to. These random occurrences, so regular, so un-amazing, yet they flash through my mind every time I hear the strains of this song, a song that has no reason to be associated with him at the first place.
I have long ceased to try to explain this phenomenon. But I can tell you how I feel when my mind replays those little bits of stories from my past. I feel warm. Luminous. Like a small light is glowing very softly inside my heart. How during the uncertainty and awkwardness of youth, when nothing seems to be right with the world, he saw me. He saw me. In those moments, I existed. I was… the center of the universe.
I suddenly had a momentary flashback of the scenery I dreamed of in my far
far off childhood.
The young girl who kissed my cheek while laughing overlaps with you.
The floating time is marked by the faint rays from the cloudy sky
I wonder if I can air-tightly pack this wonderful, troublesome feeling?
Even if I draw it, as time goes on, something will fade.
Forever is always a fleeting shapeless shadow,
with you, by me
If I could draw better and better pictures
what I really want to draw is you.
for me, you are, in short, those little points
and everything in total.
The real answer is slumbering within the foolishness and lies
I wonder if we can make it through this wonderful hasty life three-legged?
No matter what I draw you’ll definitely be in the picture.
I know it when I take a deep breath with my eyes closed.
You’re always in my notepad.
Even if I draw it, as time goes on, something will fade.
Forever is always a fleeting shapeless shadow,
with you, by me
and always in my notepad.
Translated By: Brian Stewart & Takako Sakuma
Translator’s Notes: “three-legged” means like with one of each person’s
legs bound to one of the other person’s legs. Like in a three legged race.
When you read this, please listen to this pieceas its accompaniment.PUISI AKHIR MUSIM BUNGA
by Tuan Faridah Syed Abdullah
Musim bunga ini telah tiba
ke hujungnya. Seri alam pun
Memudar bersama keringnya
kelopak-kelopak segar
alam ini bakal sepi lagi
seperti aku yang bakal kau tinggalkan
siangpun akan kabur lagi mencari
pasti – musim manakah Tuhan akan mempertemukan
kita kembali?
Dalam sepi dan kabur akhir musim
puisi ini kutulis. Bersamaan itu
wajahmu memenuhi ruang ingatanku
Ya, puisi ini kutulis
Kutulis untukmu yang jauh
dengan payah
kerana
seperti musim bunga yang bakal berakhir ini
kita juga bakal jadi dewasa
bersama hukum alam itu.
(Translation)
POEM AT THE END OF SPRING
This spring has come to
its end. The beauty of the land now
fades with the drying of
fresh petals
The world is going to be lonely once again
just like me whom you’re about to leave
The days pass in a blur looking for
certainty – which season will God bring us
together again?
In the loneliness and bleary at the end of the season
I wrote this. Simultaneously
your face fills up my memory
Yes, I wrote this
I wrote this for you who are far away
with much difficulty
Because
Like this spring that is about to end
We, too, will have to grow up and move on
Just like that law of nature.
-END-
(p/s: please pardon the basic Eng translation. It doesn’t do justice to the original Bahasa Malaysia version. If anyone can provide a better one, please do.)
About 3 months ago I was asked this question in all seriousness: if money, talent and time doesn’t matter, what would I want to do next? I had no answer then. I went uh, ummm and then went silent. The truth is, I have an answer and I knew clearly what I wanted. But I didn’t want say it out loud because these people have the power and the resources to make it come true (and for that I am grateful); but it came in a situation and with unavoidable conditions that were at odds with who I am and what I stand for. It wasn’t their fault. In fact, they were trying to help me.
But I chose not to say anything and decided to bide my time instead; to wait for the right circumstance and the right people, the right investors, the right cause. Yes I am optimistic that way.
Please allow me to explain.
I was asked this same question 4 years ago at a lunch with a couple of good friends who were puzzled with the career choices that I made so far.
I told them, very frankly, that all my choices were deliberate and carefully engineered: it was advertising/PR, venture capital, a stint with a global company for international exposure (and what an exposure it was), financial services, FMCG and finally airline. Please note that this conversation took place when I was still with the investment bank; before I was with FMCG and airline. Prior to that I have done my tour of duty by interning for 4 straight years in a Japanese factory in Shah Alam where I was rotated to manage HR, Finance, ISO 9002, 6 Sigma and Kaizen implementation as well as procurement and logistics. And in advertising/PR I was in consumer research, broadcasting, then in nutrition and pharmaceutical communications, publishing and event management before leaving after assuming the role of managing the bottomline for the company that I was serving then for close to 2 years.
If I go even further back, I’ve worked in a chili plantation (the same one, I found out later, that was part of the MAGGI CSR chili plantation program), in a medical glove factory (yes I was a minah kilang, loud and proud) owned by Yee Lee Corp (which was how I learned about the mineral water business and about QA and QC processes – I still have the notebook where I interviewed the supervisors, engineers etc about the why’s and how’s, they were puzzled so I lied and said it was part of my school requirement but I was just, plainly and simply, curious) and temp-ed with a govt agency where I saw for myself the efficiencies, inefficiencies, corruption, honesty etc of earning a living as a government servant.
So, what was the golden dream? 4 years ago, I made these choices because I wanted to take over Sepang International Circuit when I turn 40. I wanted to market F1, because I think I can; nope, not just that I can but because I think I can do a bloody good job out of it. I think I can make F1 Sepang sexy and desirable again, and I think I can help SIC make a tidy sum of money too. It was a job that I wanted after I heard Carlos Ghosn gave his speech at the Khazanah Global Lecture Series. I voiced it out loud to the other people at the table. They actually thought, and told me, that I would be perfect for the role. I believed them. More importantly, I believed me.
However, back then I knew I wasn’t ready and did not have the capacity, experience or the skills I needed to market something like F1 Sepang. I had ideas. But I didn’t know if those ideas would work. I had an inkling they would, but I didn’t have enough insight to work out the odds in my head; and I didn’t have any opportunity or a field to test out my game plan. Everything was theoretical.
So, I told my lunch companions, I am going to leave this investment bank and work with an FMCG next, and an airline after that. Once I hit 40, where age and experience and connections (or lack thereof) will not longer be a burden for me to bear, I will walk up to the people in charge, introduce myself and tell them I want to run and market SIC. I even had the whole script worked out in my head. I would work for free, I’d tell them. Pay me whatever’s appropriate to cover the expenses that I incur in the course doing business and not a single cent more. I’ll figure out how to make rent and buy food. But, if I successfully market SIC and make them the amount of money I promised I could make them, I get to name my price.
That’s quite an ambition for someone so young, my lunch companions told me. Yeah, I told them, since we’re talking about dream jobs I guess I might as well go for broke. Why not. It’s how I get there that counts, right?
My career really did follow the plan, much to my lunch companions’ surprise. We had lunch again, this time when I was at the tail-end of my airline job. One of them told me that it was the first time ever in his entire life, and he has worked for a very long time across many continents, that he saw a self-fulfilling prophecy such as mine. I laughed and told him it was not an accident.
But I have changed my mind, I confessed. SIC is no longer my Holy Grail.
What do you mean? he asked.
At that time I could not tell him what I had in mind because I didn’t know how to explain it. I didn’t realize, actually “didn’t remember” is a better description, that I had drawn out what I wanted to do. Literally. About a year and a half prior, while reading the book Lemony Snicket and A Series of Unfortunate Events at Starbucks Amcorp Mall, a lightbulb went on in my head. It had nothing to do with the book, but it was the only thing I had with me at the time so I drew up what was on my mind in between the pages using a pink pen. A simple diagram, a simple idea. It had nothing to do with my (then) work and it was completely out of character. I showed it to a few people that I know; from their surprised reaction I knew this was one of those your-effing-crazy-out-of-your-mind ideas. We laughed and critisized the plan, and from time to time I would go back to it and change it based on what I’ve learned; I had no definite ambition to actualize the plan but it was a good exercise for my restless, sleepless mind. How to make this work? How to make this work? Puzzles, they fascinate me.
The funny thing was, by the time I was asked what I wanted to do by these concerned gentlemen 3 months ago, I was more than halfway into that plan. The circumstances surrounding my work (and other things, of course) were so tumultuous and so crazy that I didn’t fully realize that the projects that I was working on were building blocks of what I drew up a year and a half ago. It was only when Wade pointed this out, as we were walking to his car from a coffee session at Coffee Bean Bangsar, that I admitted that the coincidences were just too much to ignore. Up til then, I thought I was just imagining it.
So where does that leave me now? I guess you could say that today I am in a unique, albeit extremely delicate and difficult position, where I can finally do something that means a lot to me. I could see the how, the when and the why’s. I’ve done the math, I’ve tested the game plan. I’ve tried doing it other people’s way because that was what I was instructed to do. I’ve tried doing it my way because that was what I believed would work. I’ve played hard ball and I’ve backed off. It didn’t matter. The whole point was to see what works. It was to see what I was capable of, whether my ideas were sound or insane; to learn who I can trust and who I should be wary of; to learn what sort of a person I want to be and I could be; to see if I would fall into the pitfalls that I swore to avoid.
I have another lunch coming up soon. This time I know exactly what I want to say. I’ve changed my dream. SIC is no longer the Holy Grail. SIC is now only one of the many paths to the Holy Grail. Just like the plan that I have in my hand right now, they are catalysts and not the end result. Many roads to get to Rome.
So like before, I am seeding and putting this dream out here in the universe. I am casting my wish now.
I want to run a bank. Not an ordinary one. A bank like this one. This is now my model and my benchmark. One that makes money and requires the principles and lessons and skills and experiences of running a large, profit-driven, multinational corporation. And also one that matters to me, and matters to the people around me. One that is sustainable. One that can bring changes to many people in many ways.
I used to (and still do) read and follow news and activities about this bank and Grameen Bank with a lot of interest (Prof Muhammad Yunus, incidentally, was also featured in the Khazanah Global Lecture Series; his was a very moving and sobering experience for me, and a testimony that you can be an agent of change. You don’t have to accept the hand you are dealt with. Did you know he modeled it after Amanah Raya?). Both banks, they are an inspiration and an aspiration.
And about 3 months ago, finally, I came to believe that this is achievable. For me. That I can do this too. There are a lot of things that needed to be done to support this dream and to get there; things to do to fund and sustain it – to carve the blueprint and business propositions to make sure it brings in the returns, both financially and emotionally.
Most importantly, I want to ensure that it is built with and ran by the kind of character and people that I want to work with and I want to emulate. It is not true that you need to accept all the nastiness at work and characterize it as work politics. There’s work politics and there’s mean, nasty people. Politics, you live with; but accepting and continuing to work with morally bankrupt people that you don’t respect or want to become is not the kind of life that I want for me. I have had the honour of working with some really exceptional people, in awfully difficult but empowering situations, and knowing what I know now, I know I have a choice. I even know who I want to call up for duty (you know who you are). I have a lot of promises to fulfill; and I have been shown a lot of kindness, support, breaks and opportunities. It will take several lifetimes but I’m sure gonna try to start repaying some of these now.
Sure. I know this is ambitious; it’s a lot more ambitious than what I have aimed for in the past. But like I said at the start of this post, I am optimistic that way. Besides, I have 4 years to figure out how to get there. I already know where to start, and I am already in the position that enables me to go forward. Might as well go for broke one more time. Don’t you know impossible dreams are the best kind?
So, if 4 years ago I asked you to come back and check this blog to see where I am at; now I’d like to ask you to come back 4 years from now to see where I’d be at. I’ve completed the original portion of my dream. I have a new one now.
I envy you, she said, as we were diving for the chilli-lime-honey mussels at the Apartment. It has been almost two years since I last saw her. Planes to catch, bills to pay, you know the drill. This dinner was long overdue.
I looked at her quizzically. I spent most of the night talking about myself that I lost track about what I said.
Sorry, I said, but envy?
I have a lovely daughter and a loving husband, she explained. I am happy and I am loved. You, on the other hand, don’t have a daughter and a husband. But your life is full with love. I don’t have what you have, and you don’t have what I have. Our loves…they come from different sources. But they are equal.
Yet, I can’t help but notice, the kind of love that you have comes voluntarily, not because of blood or because of a vow in front of God. You may not have a husband or a daughter, but you lack nothing.
I don’t wish to have what you have because I am truly, wonderfully happy with my life. And I can see that you are happy with yours. You are exactly where you want to be, and who you want to be. And I envy that.
We ended dinner with promises to catch up and more dinners. She felt guilty that I turned down her offer for a lift. We were heading to opposite sides of town. And the place that I live now, it is so easy to catch cab there because it is 20 minutes away from everywhere.
In the cab the driver started a monologue about the country’s state of affairs in a shrill, excited voice. I am used to it, so my ummm’s and uh uh’s came precisely at the right moments, just enough to encourage him to continue talking without realizing that I did not once offered my opinion.
Sh*t happens. To good people, to bad people. Sometimes you want to scream out in frustration about the unfairness of it all. But it is all just a test at the mouth of the dragon, isn’t it? It is not meant to be a destiny. Like the protagonist inThe Lady of the Skulls, you ask yourself again and again the answer to the riddle: What is the most precious thing? To see it, to hold it, above all to recognize it and choose it?
You already know the answer.
This too is a true story.
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IA’s note: The Lady of the Skulls is a short story by Patricia A. McKillip. It tells the story of a lady (once known as Amaranth, or love-lies-bleeding; the flower in poetry that never dies) who keeps watch over a tower of deadly treasures and mourns the treasure seekers who continually strive and fail to penetrate the tower’s mysteries, until at last one comes who sees the true treasure the tower holds.
Butterfly on Globe Amaranth
