Priorities

Family
Pride
Career
Love
Money

Apparently this is the order of my life priorities according to a Tibetan quiz (http://memoriter.net/flash/quiz.swf) I am sure there is very little Tibetan about the quiz…but the ordering made me think about where my life has been and could go…

The most important thing in this list, FAMILY, is the thing I have had least of in my life…puts lots of my ‘issues’ into perspective. Could I have done better at starting my own family – partner, children – despite such a poor start in life?

Perhaps…or perhaps my PRIDE has kept me away from trying that option...perhaps honesty and trustworthiness are so important to me because I’ve been let down by those with little or no pride (and balls – men or women)…some of whom are indeed in my family…

Pride is perhaps what makes CAREER so important to me, too…positively – because I take pride in my work and negatively – because when pride stops you from exploring the family option, you have nothing but the career (there are friends of course)…

When M says my email reads like a diary entry or a to do list and he doesn’t want to be an entry in it, I totally understand. But I hope he understands too that it’s not because he (or anyone else) doesn’t mean much to me as a human but because I sometimes have no other way to deal with life…and sometimes, as he has done by not responding to my offers, I am given no other choice but return to the security of my serious self.

How can someone have LOVE so low in their priorities?

MONEY is possibly the only thing that’s in the right place…so long as I have enough of it to live independently – since I don’t have family to look after me and my pride will stop me from living off others – I’m happy.

Could a man write this piece? Would he analyse such a trivial list for such a long time?…oh, and believe me, I’ve thought about it longer than a page…and much before I did this quiz...I don’t think so….I hope not anyway…

All this is just the ramblings of a tired mind…I feel like a bag of marbles…one of those plastic net bags…there is a big right hand holding the top of it keeping the marbles in…there is a pair of big scissors on the other hand ready to snip the bag…when it does snip, all the marbles will fall bouncing off the ground and scattering all over the place into the abyss…

I think M would understand this…and possibly he is the only one who would…M the dangerously underweight recluse of a few entries ago…M who wanted a mention here last week…M whom I haven’t seen / talked to properly for so long that I don’t know how to describe anymore…but perhaps the fact that I know he’ll understand my state of mind and how hard it is sometimes to keep hold of that bag is much better than any physical explanation.

I just wish there was someone around whom I trusted to help me collect the marbles should the bag gives way…or perhaps even someone who encouraged me to let go every now and then…give me a hug and want nothing back in return…

I’ve just looked at my facebook account after writing this and before posting…A had sent me a message “I am really really sorry…very sorry…despite your tough attitude I can tell it hurts” about something different. And here that one line gave more strength than anything to keep a hold on that bag. Thank you A. Thank you God / Universe for this renewed relief.

PS...Of course, it's always possible - as A points out - that I like horses and tigers more than sheep and pigs...

Back again…

Not much point wasting my precious time apologising for not writing for almost two months…Who am I going to apologise to anyway?! Besides ‘sorry’ is a word I’ve been using more sparingly recently…

In fact, I’ve been doing lots of things more sparingly recently…things that are not serving me, that are upsetting me, sapping my energy and so on…and am getting better at it…

I haven’t been writing anything in the last two months, and nothing of significance for much longer…that was because I wasn’t sure what has been happening. After indecision that lasted for almost four years, I’ve made some decisions to change my life…And that’s what I’ve been doing…

But believe me it’s not been easy, and am nowhere near finishing yet.

Whoever said ‘change is as good as new’ or something like that was right. I do feel like a new person in many ways…those who see me after a few weeks / months tell me I’ve changed noticeably…Not a physical change – I have the same hair, same weight, height etc. But I feel a little lighter in the head, the burden I’ve been carrying on my shoulders is lessening.

But even these fantastic results – and am not going to go into detail of the results or the process, not now anyway – have been hard to achieve. I had not realised how difficult it can be to put myself in the centre of my world; to say to myself ‘you are the most important person in your life’; to assert my wants and needs first of all to myself and then to others. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t some doormat that needed shaking the dust out of. I’ve always had a good life, always had just enough money, friends, hobbies; I’ve stood up for myself when needed, achieved things I set myself to etc. But I also hardly ever knew what I really wanted, also always worried about pleasing others – just never realised in how many ways, in what level of detail I was working to please others rather than myself.

Well it wasn’t going to be easy to change a life time’s habits…bad habits are hard to shake off. But am getting on with it. More details perhaps later as they relate to life in general.

Oh, and I’ve done a lot of travelling since my last entry…

Zagreb – (or Zagdrab a friend called it…) for a friend’s wedding - wish them all the best;

Amsterdam – with a friend from Turkey, wish my outlook was as sunny as the weather, but I chilled as much as it was;

Barcelona – for work and play…bumped into someone I know from Ibiza, partied as hard as worked…saw La Pedrera and Sagra de Familia again which were divine…I want to live in Barcelona…it’s definitely my favourite city.

Brussels – for work, surrounded by insincere people who pretend they don’t know something just so that the debate doesn’t move on and action is not taken;

Zurich – for work again but in extreme circumstances…that is extreme luxury…sheets like satin, two meter wide beds, a hotel room possibly as big as my entire flat, with an entire wall made of glass overlooking Lake Zurich and the Alps, five course meal with real (I emphasise real) silver cutlery…a little unnecessary I thought but still couldn’t help but envy the lifestyle of those who frequent places like that…As I sampled the luxuries, I thought I should do something to make sure I get there again and again rather than just this once…but I couldn’t think of a fool-proof solution…And…how impossible is this?...I met up with an old friend, first boyfriend in fact…bless him, he is still as lovely.

Brussels – for work again, first train out (St Pancras is great by the way), late train back…to speak for half an hour at a chemical plant in a meeting room built in the 1960s full of mostly men who looked like they had not left that room since it was built.

On a funny note, I’ve come across this website: http://www.whoshouldliveagain.com/. It is inviting people to vote who they want to bring back to life again….Putting aside the obvious impossibility of this…’God is watching this vote’ says the website…it’s made me laugh…honestly…. There are both goodies and baddies on that list, both politicians and artists (including Bruce Lee!)…There is only one woman…Marilyn Monroe!!! Have us women contributed to world nothing more than boobs? Not to belittle MM, who I think was a fabulous woman, but honestly…Who thinks of these things?!

Next they’ll say God has a page on Facebook…Actually….God’s page on Facebook…not such a bad idea!

A September Update

There is a young woman sitting next to me on the tube. She is in a grey Islamic coat and black headscarf. She has an innocent face but not very beautiful. She is reading Glamour – a women’s monthly. “Why?” was the first thing that came to my mind. Who is going to benefit from the fashion and beauty tips you are reading? What’s the use of knowing this season’s colour in eye shadow when you don’t put on make up?

That was about Aldgate East. By Farringdon it hit me… All my life I’d been reading these magazines (even if not very frequently) for others…to put on a more beautiful and attractive show for others! Men I suppose. The irony is that I don’t really follow most of those tips cause I don’t think they’ll work for me…I must have felt such a lost-cause!

The young woman in headscarf, on the other hand, is perhaps the ultimate example of someone who puts on shows for her benefit alone (she looked like a single woman to me); the ultimate example of someone who loves herself and someone who doesn’t feel the need of approval by others..or perhaps just a wannabe of a different sort.

I am not going to cover my head over this. And I doubt if many of those who do think about it this way. But I sure had a revelation that morning…yet another example of how many secrets I am capable of keeping from myself, or rather perhaps, what a surprise I am to myself. I am sure I am not alone in falling into my own traps.

How funny that this happened on the 27th anniversary of the 1980 military coup in Turkey (12th September)…I didn’t think of it all day. There are hundreds, perhaps even thousands, who must be remembering it every day…

Recently, I can’t even remember what the date is most days. Life is so fast and furious. How does that Chinese curse go? “May you have exciting times”? Did I upset a Chinese person? No, I think things that have been waiting on the sides, ideas that I’ve been harbouring for years are finally coming to fruition. “Enjoy the ride” I keep saying to myself even if it’s hard to relax enough to enjoy a white knuckle ride!

***

After finishing this, I watched Michael Palin travel through Edirne, Istanbul, Ephesus and Capadoccia for his current documentary about Eastern Europe. What a great episode and I like his positivitiy and realism about Turkey and the Turks…and about his future revealed to him from a coffee cup…Ne demisler fala inanma ama falsiz da kalma (don’t believe your fortune told but don’t go without it being told either).

Small miracles do happen…

I’ve been struck down for four days now with the bug that’s going around these days…Someone said this was the time of the year most people got ill because the schools start and children exchange bugs etc….Hmmm why is it that then all single or childless people I know are ill and the parents are well?

I would have fought it if I wasn’t so tired from work and other things. Despite the tube strike in London I went to work on Tuesday from 6 in the morning till 8 in the evening. It was the day we were due to complete on the lease of our new office. By the end of the day it wasn’t complete but still the landlord’s agent agreed to release the keys to me – which apparently is close to a miracle as our solicitor said in disbelief…

About three months ago I started working with a business coach. One of the first things I did was to set out my personal goals for the short, medium and long term stretching from 1-3 months to 3 years. I don’t want to spell these out for fear of jinxing them but all I wanted to say that most of those goals I wrote down I’ve already accomplished or am on the way to do so…even those I could not resolve for years…even those I had given up hope…When I think about it logically, I realise that writing my goals down made me more open to signs that would direct me to them or give a chance to people previously would not have featured in my life…But when I let go of the logic, I am amazed by the miracle that’s happening around me.

I was negotiating with a potential business partner last week. The day after I thought we agreed that my company would lead on a bid and they would sub-contract to us, he wrote an email implying that they would lead. I spent that night restless with my trust in people and their word shattered a little more…I woke up to find that not only he’d written the bid document (and very well to boot) but also he’d responded to my email reminding him our agreement saying he couldn’t remember what we’d agreed and hence his ambiguous email, but he was absolutely happy with us leading. His quick turn around and doing the work for me when I was ill is truly nothing short of a miracle.

I got driven home by a lady black cab driver the other night who asked me if I was Turkish. I asked her how she guessed and she said “Turkish women speak English with this soft voice in a sing song tone”. How sweet. It turns out she had lived in Istanbul in the early 70s having married a Turkish man. Despite divorcing since, she’d kept his surname and expected everyone else to make the effort to pronounce it correctly. This gave me renewed energy to carry on demanding the same rather than giving up using my surname whenever I can avoid it as I’ve been doing lately. If she can carry it so indignantly so can I. This is not much of a miracle but made me happy nonetheless.

Then there is love…now that’s the biggest miracle of all…and, yes, I think it’s here.

Ah Istanbul ah

First things first – after months of putting it off I finally installed a wireless connection at home which means that the chaos of cables on the living room floor has been cleared away…

Then – some observations from the recent trip to Istanbul:

Religious Education from the Taxi Driver

As we were driving along the road accompanied by a radio station broadcasting prayers from the Quran, he asked ‘does it contain alcohol?’ about the wet tissue my aunt offered to him…I never knew that the alcohol in a wet tissue counted as ‘alcohol’ that is banned by the religion…

“If someone calls you ‘kafir’ (non-Muslim), you must immediately deny it” he said. Apparently if I don’t, in the God’s eyes I accept the supposition and am as bad as a non-Muslim. “Could this be? Is the God so blind? Doesn’t the God know how religious, what kind of a sinner, how good and how bad you are better than you? By believing in such nonsense don’t you in fact betray God’s trust in you and all that he endowed you with?” I didn’t say any of this as he is a local taxi driver and I didn’t want to cause any embarrassment for my aunty…But I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry…

All marriages have their ups and downs

Those couples who were arguing in my last trip were sitting arm in arm watching the lights of the (Princess) islands in this one. Those who said “ours is, honest to God, the best marriage around” in the last trip were having an argument at the dinner table with friends in this one.

Marriages continue by one accommodating and understanding the other and each taking this in turn. In any case, at the end, all decide to talk about safe topics like the taste of the latest orange juice brand so that nerves are not rattled and prides are not shattered.

The Bosporus is always beautiful

Especially when celebrating the marriage of a new couple with a group of happy people;

Especially when watching ladies dancing the ‘horon’ (a high velocity dance from the Black Sea coast) on 5 inch heels;

Especially when laughing at the 5 year old girl saying ‘I practised at home’ as a response to ‘how come you belly dance so well?’;

Especially when the sea and the sky get darker and lights of the houses come on;

Especially when counting the lights of the shanty town upon dark hills as if they were the stars;

Especially when singing ‘sevgili yarim nerelerde’ (where is my loved one?) on the top deck with a glass of raki in hand…

Naki Bey Beach overlooks the Sedef Island

I never knew, until about two months ago, that the sea in Istanbul was now clean enough to swim in. But ever since I heard about it, there’d been butterflies in my stomach with the anticipation of swimming there again after 20 years exactly…

I never knew there was a Naki Bey Beach on Buyuk Ada.

I never knew it overlooked the Sedef Island where I had swum the last time in Istanbul 20 years ago. I could see all my life for the last 20 years floating by…I wanted to swim after them but there were a few jelly fish around, oh and the waves…

Ibiza – the island of dance and love

It’s been more than a month since I got back from my stay with my generous friend H in Ibiza. I first started writing this piece two weeks ago…how time feels fuller than ever these days…anyway enough of my inability to understand time…

The trip to Ibiza in June was the second in 12 months, an escape from having to celebrate my birthday in London and find a refuge where I could think about my future.

Geographically, Ibiza is a typical Mediterranean destination; it has the same type of rocks, pine trees, beaches, olive and orange groves you can find anywhere along the northern coasts. What’s special about it is how there are so many different islands on just the one.

There is the clubbing scene. I am not talking about the vomiting teenagers in San Antonio where I’ve never been other than when we drove past it one afternoon. Much better is the more grown up clubbing option around Ibiza town. That’s the one I tried. And I tried it well: Pacha from 3.30am to 7.30am, and Space from 8.30am to 11 am and then again from 9pm to 11pm…All in less than 24 hours around my birthday…Oh, it gets better…I was up 38.5 hours over the weekend of my birthday. I tell you, I rock! More so now at 37, than I did at 27 or even 17!

There is nature. In the middle of the island or along its deserted beaches you can be forgiven for thinking that you are the only person in this ancient landscape. That’s how secluded one can be despite others clubbing not very far down the road. I would have liked to do some more walks but instead I spent early mornings sitting by the pool and thinking about my goals and planning how to achieve them.

Then there are the hippies, man…Don’t take this the wrong way but I think all hippies smell the same…at least on Ibiza…a mixture of sea salt, a few days old sweat and dope. After the first weekend of clubbing and a week of quiet contemplation, I spent the second weekend mostly on one of the hippy beaches watching the sun set (on the Sunday accompanied by drumming, fire shows and dancing) and full moon rise. I am sure the magic of it all will draw me back very soon.

Like most holidays, I started to keep notes which become shorter and more infrequent as the days passed.

June 20th, Santander
(where I was speaking at a conference)

Ah Spain! I love this place. It’s full of happy people. Arrived at Santander mid-afternoon, took a late siesta and now am on promenade above the Atlantic sitting amongst lovers watching the swimmers below.
…
Just had coffee and churros (pieces of fried dough sprinkled with sugar), walked around, bought a pair of red espadrilles which put a smile on my face – used to wear these all through summer in Turkey but hadn’t had a pair since arriving in the UK 16 years ago . Then I had chorizo, patatas bravas and half a bottle of rioja tinto and prepared for tomorrow’s presentation. Sitting at the next table but one were two beautiful men; not interesting me neither was I in them, but they made me want to find a Spanish man in London. Arriving back at hotel, I realised that my mobile had not changed the time automatically as I thought it had so I’d been an hour behind the whole time. Good.

June 21st, Santander

Managed to get up in time so joined Spanish colleagues for breakfast, and arrived at conference venue with them. I am the only non-Spanish here. I don’t think I would mind moving to Spain – at least for a while. I felt this first time in Madrid in April where I was for work for less than 23 hours.
Spain is very much like Turkey: same slight chaos that surrounds everything from bus time tables to highly technical conference presentations. There are apartment blocks which I’d never thought I’d miss in Britain…and to boot they are all different sizes, shapes and colours – but all with large windows – not afraid of the weather, unlike the small windows here.

How peculiar that the uniformity of architecture in Britain that impressed me so much with its orderliness and calm all those years ago would come to bore me. But they do.

At the conference (which is by Playa Bikini by the way!) for three hours now. Too much Spanish spoken too fast already. I feel drunk or more appropriately hangover by this bombardment of noise.

Oh yes, Spain is like Turkey but a lot more fun and free. Promenade is full of lovers of all ages hand in hand, sitting, kissing etc. not hiding like they would in Turkey – but not blind drunk disorderly as they may be in Britain. Neither repressed nor depressed!

June 22nd, Santander

I am loving Spain and Spain is loving me back!

This is life: good work, great dinner by the sea, joyful company, good night’s sleep, walk along the promanede in the morning, talking business on the phone with an American in Sweden, free PC access in a quiet room at the conference center, and now as I try to understand Spanish politicians talking about environment (all men, all six of them, not looking like they care), my mobile charges in the corner ready for phone calls waiting to be made to H and F re planning the ‘meeting’ in Ibiza tonight.

This is life! Esta la vida!

PS. There is the unpleasant graffiti on the ladies toilet door in the posh restaurant by the sea that reads ‘immigrants out’ and worse…Very disappointing.

June 25th, Ibiza

I’ve not been as happy for a long while as I’ve been in the last 48 hours or so. It’s because of staying up and out as explained above. I ate well in that period and had the occasional nap. But mainly run on adrenalin and happiness. Absolutely no drugs and very little alcohol.

The tiredness did get to me at times though…like when I nodded off in the car yesterday and dreamt that I was driving a car like the one those boys in the film Y Tu Mama Tambien had and that we were driving to the beach they were looking for…I kept jerking not wanting to miss the turning…Or like when I nodded off laying down on the rocks across Esvedra, which is a magical rock crop just off the main island. Every time I dosed off, I dreamt that I was rolling down the rock and falling down to the sea…never all the way to the sea though as I would wake up just on the edge…

Sitting here watching the bamboo and oleander sway in the wind reminds me how the coral and seaweed sway the same way with the currents underwater: the same on land as in sea. There is so much harmony in the world that, when we stop to observe, the beauty of it is overwhelming.

What’s also overwhelming (and I’ve just realised this) is the realisation of one’s visions. I knew that I’d be sitting by the pool, reading my book and being really alert but when it does happen…mustn’t be afraid of my own visions….not just of holidays but love, family, friends, life…

June 28th, Ibiza

Spent the 26th on the rocks…played scrabble, sunbathed, had shiatsu massage, drinks at sunset and the bar afterwards…what a drama…several dramas in fact. Before we knew it, it was midnight and back at home. We finished the Rosado, opened and finished the Taittinger and still managed to get up at 9 on the 27th.

The 27th was a bit overcast. H was teaching so I went to town with her; sat at Café Toulouse Latrec; read more of Born to Succeed, made my long list of ‘things that are important’. Why? Don’t ask why?

We spent the afternoon – early evening by gatecrushing and drinking our way through a wedding and a funeral…OK, it’s wasn’t gate crushing as such. We just happened to be in the same venue as a wedding where we had lunch and a funeral where we had early evening aperitifs. By 8 pm we were home to have a long chat about what it means to spend a day at a wedding and a funeral.

I’ve thought enough about life for a while, now it’s time to live it.

July 2nd, London

I was supposed to return on the 30th of June but got back today. As we were getting ready to drive to the airport, we learnt that there were two ETA bombs at the Ibiza Airport – pre-warned, diffused, with no damage to human life. But it will have caused chaos on traffic and delay in flights. After making several phone calls to the airport, travel agency and Iberian Airlines, I thought f*** it, let’s go to the beach…but not before booking an alternative Easyjet flight for today.

It feels like 70% of the relaxation I got back from holiday was due to these extra 2.5 days…could it be? Probably just feels like it but who cares. The naughtiness, the irresponsibility of it...never before had I extended a holiday…

The whirlwind of July does not need spelling out…in fact I don’t think I can manage…living it was tiring enough (see previous entry if curious)…

…In a minute I’ll be having some chicken that was frozen for more than a month. Will I get food poisoning? What the heck…let’s live dangerously…

Oh dear...how did this happen?

how could I have missed an entire calendar month without writing an entry? Not that anyone (not many anyway) cares...but I do...so here I am cheating by writing something, just something so as not to miss a month in the collection...so as to get in here before the clock strikes midnight and August...

...Am doing far too much to stop and think let alone stop and write...

...While I am active, I am fine...but when I stop I panic. So I haven't stopped for a month...both work and play have been go go go...

...In fact there is no reason for panic...If only I could trust the feeling, it'd be like swimming in the Dead Sea, the water will keep me not just afloat but even sitting. Instead, I waddle trying to keep my head above water which after a while gets tiring and I sink...momentarily of course...then the survival instinct kicks in and I come back up...

...Soon I'll be going to Istanbul for 10 days, am looking forward to a slower tempo and the opportunity to swim...the sea is clean enough now apparently...the last time I swam in Istanbul I was 16...I can't begin to describe my excitement - I have butterflies in my tummy - about the prospect.

It's not like I've not had any time off lately. I was in Spain - in particular in Ibiza - last week of June and had started to write up my notes from that trip but it's not finished yet.

...Soon...more...

It´s my brithday tomorrow...yay!

Given the stress I had earlier in the year, I am suprisingly happy about turning 37...

Am in Spain at the moment, working a little but from this afternoon on holiday. I should be at the closing session of the conference right now but I´ve had enough of listening to Spanish, which I can half understand at best of times, being spoken at speed of light...this bombardment by words makes me feel hangover...

...So here I´m waiting for lunch and writing myself a birthday message on my blog...I don´t think I´ll bother with computer / internet for a while now...

...more later when I get back to London and type in my travel notes...

In the meantime...

...I am loving Spain and Spain is loving me back :)

Faustus Update

My comment about J not looking as he was enjoying the role of horse courser sparked an interesting exchange on the purpose of the horse courser scene in Faustus. Here is an account of that exchange from which I’ve learnt a lot and I hope those who read the original review will find it interesting too.

The exchange started when J asked if my comment was about the way he acted or the horse courser as a character:

ZEO: The whole episode with horse courser was something of a sketch within the play. I am not sure what we’ve learnt about Faustus or others in that sketch other than the fact that he would rise from dead [horse courser kills him – well tries]…that in itself is no small feat of course! But, perhaps the more interesting part about his encounters with the Pope and the German Queen was how they reacted to the temptation of evil and how they were already “bad” to be tempted so and no so much that Faustus was bad in tempting them. Guess it goes back to the moral of the story that no other person (e.g. Faustus here) can corrupt us (e.g. Pope, Queen) but we do it for ourselves. Whereas in the case of the horse courser, he was wronged, he took revenge and he failed and we (or at least I) felt sorry for him. So, I guess my comment was about the play and horse courser’s role in it rather than the way you acted. Does this make sense?

J: Ah! Makes total sense! My interpretation of the Horse Courser scene is that after playing with greatest powers of the world -- pope and empress -- we'd expect Faust to be this great man but in this last scene before his life hits his final days, we see a man who is mean-spirited and petty with the most poor and disadvantaged people in the world. It is a sad comment on what corruption does. Truly, you lose your soul -- your caring -- for others, including the simplest, nicest people (like my cheery horse courser).But that's my perspective as an actor. I have no idea how it reads to the audience. I think most people just saw that scene as comic relief, which is fine too!

J: Another thought on the horse courser moment is this: Faust is getting ready to repent and Mephostophilis finds another distraction for him. Often Meph uses women. This time he knows that Faust can't resist playing mean little tricks on people. Remember that when the horse courser first approaches Faust about buying his horse, Faust says no. Then Meph convinces Faust to go ahead. Then later, when the horse courser comes back mad as hell and looking for Faust, all he sees in Meph. Meph doesn't have to reveal where Faust is but he eventually does because he knows it will be a good distraction for a man thinking about repentance. As you would say, given your interpretation of the final scene, Meph is doing his job and doing it very well.

Dr Faustus on a sunny afternoon

This is the first Monday I’ve stayed at home in months and I had no idea how crap the TV is on Mondays and even the digital TV is only showing the shopping channels for some reason…

What would I give up to get some decent entertainment tonight?

£2.50 for a DVD?

£35 for a theatre ticket?

Sleep for late night clubbing?

Liver cells for some wine?

Well, after Saturday I know not to give my soul to Lucifer!

Dr Faustus by Caravanserai at the Bridewell Theatre in which our good friends Claire and Jeff provided much of the laughs taught me that…Laughs? In Dr Faustus? I hear you ask…Oh, yes, and not just laughs but more than a little sexual tension and some nudity too…

Yes, it’s the same story but with a modern staging: Dr Faustus succumbs to his desires, conjures up the devil and signs away his soul in return for absolute power. That is despite the warnings of Mephistophilis that hell is here and now; it’s other people; it’s not being in paradise…

We watch Faustus enjoy his power while every now and then doubt whether he’s done the right thing. He does repent in the end but too late. At the very end of the show, we see him as a foetus surrounded by the good and bad angels, Mephistophilis and Lucifer. The good angel and Mephistophilis shake hands as colleagues may do as the soul of Faustus is taken through to his next life…After all they are colleagues just doing their jobs and it’s up to us to choose good or evil! That was the most effective moment of the play and the moral of the story.

That’s the play. How about the staging and acting? I enjoyed both. To be honest I was expecting the usual things you may expect from amateur dramatics. I went to see it mainly because of two of my friends were in it; and partly because I’d always meant to see the play and as research to see the level of acting. But I was pleasantly surprised.

It’s a long play but it captivated me – despite the hot afternoon we left outside during the matinee. And the staging with lightening flashes, mist, lights (and hmmm, yes, nudity too) kept me on the edge of my seat.

Only on one occasion I thought the staging was a bit too much for my senses…the scene with the seven sins which was a mixture of music, dance and monologues. But until my friend C jumped on the table and shouted “I am gluttony”, I was too busy with the visuals to pay attention to the monologues. What made me notice her was not the fact that she is a friend but that she managed to rise above the cacophony of the scene. She rocked! Made gluttony so much fun that we all really wanted to catch one of the sweets she threw to the audience. C was also one of the three scholars and was very scholarly indeed but “I am gluttony” will stay with me forever!

J, the other friend, as Benvolio and horse courser was the other comic highlight of the play. As usual alcohol had made Benvolio see and speak of the truth of Faustus much more clearly and honestly than the sobriety of the others that must have blinded them. So well played that we all felt for Benvolio when he woke up with horns on his head. Perhaps, it didn’t look like J enjoyed the horse courser as much but it was enjoyable for us.

All the other actors, and especially Faustus and Mephistophilis were very good too: in particular the latter as I thought he was gorgeous with a dangerous look – perfectly cast…well, OK, he also looked like Lenardo di Caprio…Oh, and the guy who played the Pope and girl who played the bad angel…

It’s interesting how every time both good and bad angels were on stage talking to Faustus I believed in what the good angel said but could not keep my eyes off the bad angel…evil is definitely more tempting…And while I won’t sell my soul to Devil, I sure won’t stay at home on a Monday night again!

What kind of f**kery is this? (if I may, Amy)

Amy Winehouse cancels a concert twice; a woman has a back operation and I get to have her ticket. Sitting in Level 3 of Shepherd’s Bush Empire up with the Gods; my friend A and I wait and wait for AW to appear. The boudoir lamps on stage wait with us.

At long last AW appears… legs thin and ready to break like tooth picks; hair propped up meter high God knows how; body jittery on black high heels and loads of wine (red it turns out when a stage hand brought another glass which was gone in two gulps) and a baby doll dress…all giving the image of imminent collapse…

Is she all an act or is she, as I suspect and as her voice and her songs leave no doubt, vulnerable to a degree that makes me feel like a voyeur watching her?

Either way, she sure is special and deserves all the praise and awards she receives.

The rythms of her songs take your body and before you know you are swaying in sync with the two gorgeous male back vocals on stage…even when you are brought to the edge of tears by the lyrics.

And her voice!...oh yes it’s the voice of yearning…no matter what she sings, it cries ‘help me’. It’s angry; it’s fighting….but with what? Mostly with AW, her creativity and the dullness of the rest I think.

Why is it that those who have the most talent suffer from it most? There is definitely that deep suffering to AW’s music and voice…I’d read somewhere once about how thin the line between genius and depression was and she seems to be threading that thin line with the help (?) of wine.

Perhaps, not her looks, but this suffering is what makes her look so vulnerable or emotionally naked on stage…or perhaps that nakedness is what makes her suffer.

Keith Johnstone (a guru of improvised theatre) says (in his book Improvisation for the Theatre) that that “…personality is a PR department for the real mind, which remains unknown”… AW seems to have sacked her PR department and has delved into a search for the unknown through her music. It’s difficult to watch her search not only because she is honest about how difficult the search is but also because we all wish we had the courage too.

...But most of us don’t have the courage…I may have got to the verge of tears listening to her songs, I may have written this note on the whole experience as soon as I got home from the concert. But I then went to bed, got up, went to work and got on with life…I have been thinking about AW and what may happen to her and her drinking…but there seems to be nothing I can do…except perhaps drink one less glass of wine next time I feel the pressure of sacking the PR department.

PS. I used to think people (me included) drink because life is hard…more and more I think it’s because life (and self), otherwise, is too dull…. This needs further thinking…more later…

Sundays

I used to hate Sunday evenings because that’s when I felt the loneliest…Then I had a general embargo on ‘hate’ because it’s self-destructing and tiring…but today at least I’ve lifted that embargo and I hate Sunday evenings again.

Sunday mornings are great for a lie-in. It’s good to be single then, no one to tell you to make breakfast, no one to fight with over the best part of newspaper, no ‘Sunday morning’ sex duty.

In the afternoons, you may go to markets, have brunch with friends, see a film but in the evening, there is no denying that you are alone…

I am fed up with being alone. At times, every fibre of my body feels lonely…lately I’ve started imagining an invisible pair of arms hugging me at the worst of times, or I shift my weight to feel as if I recline on someone…

I guess this is what happens when I get tired, don’t feel well, then go out partying till the morning…the next day is always a down time…at times like this it’s easy to understand how people can be hooked on drugs and alcohol…the down can be unbearable. I write instead. I usually don’t put entries like this here. I am fed up with being so self-indulgent when unspeakably worse things go on in the world. But today I wanted to upload this, hoping that sharing even in this impersonal way will make me feel better.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s better to be alone than feel lonely in someone else’s presence. But ideal remains that, at least from time to time, there is someone special around who cares, someone who will want to learn about your inner most fears, secrets, joys; someone who will gently hold your held (or you’re your little finger) and sit there without saying anything; someone you’d let in that close. I wish I had the courage to let someone in that close…

Well, on the positive side, hating Sunday evenings makes one look forward to Mondays…which can’t be a bad thing…

Expect to read more depressing comments like this as I approach my 37th birthday...

What’s there to lose?!

As you can see from two entries in as many days, I am still at home and I am still enjoying it. Well, I started working about 10 am and haven’t stopped much since then (almost 7 hours) so that’s not too lazy. There is something I should be finishing by Tuesday but I’ll start that tomorrow…after all I am planning to stay in till then and work…since the rest of the UK will be holidaying, I won’t be disturbed for other work.

Anyway, there is hope…hope for meeting deadlines and all the rest…The following is the evidence. It’s a joke email sent by a friend but it’s so good that I had to share…oh, it’s not just about hope actually…it’s ‘optimistic action’…and you know you can’t win if you don’t try!

The Sultan decides that two prisoners brought before him should be executed. One of them, who remembers how much the Sultan loves his horse, tries to strike a bargain: if the Sultan pardons him, he will teach the Sultan’s horse how to fly within the year. The Sultan who likes the sounds of this grants the pardon.

The other prisoner asks his cellmate ‘you know horses can’t fly. How could you come up with such a crazy bargain?! You are only postponing the inevitable!”

The ‘horse-trainer’ says: “Not so! I’ve given myself four chances to freedom: first, the Sultan could die within the year; second, I could die within the year; third, the horse could die within the year and fourth, perhaps I could teach the horse to fly!”

Confessions under the influenza

Another month…where has the time gone?! Why am I so slow in writing these days (not only here but in general)? I haven’t read much either…

…hmmm what have I managed to do instead?

Some work, a little socialising, a lot of improv (improving), some soul searching and a lot of sniffling towards the end…

…after a week at home with flu, well, am still at home…I was fighting this virus for months and then last Tuesday night I felt like my body saying “look here, I waited for your deadlines, your shows, your conference, your social life…I’ve taken ibopurofen, paracetamol, vitamins and mineral…I’ve eaten garlic, drunk lemon and honey…done everything I can do to stand up for you as long as I can but I can no more”…come the morning she refused to wake up let alone stand up…it was time to listen to her and lie low…

…I should be bored by now but I kind of like it. I put the air mattress in the middle of the living room and that’s where I’ve been sleeping last few nights, falling asleep watching the digital channels I’ve recently discovered having fixed the free view box which has been waiting installation for about six months…. Despite the flu, I am loving this – especially the two channels that play music videos – my favourite, even at this age!...I have the laptop on one side and the phone on the other…. I do some work every day – am probably as productive as I would have been at the office: sleeping instead of wasting time travelling, lunch hour, messing about…

But I think I also like being on my own…DIMINISH…had said the I Chin stones (or whatever they are called) Christmas before last when I threw them at a friend’s and she read the meaning out of a huge book. Diminish your engagements, emotional entanglements…I sure am slow at picking up some things so it wouldn’t surprise me if ‘diminishing’ took me over a year and the only flu I had in six years…

I like the little cocoon of my flat doing as little or as much as I can manage and pretend I am very much younger – not because of I am worried about aging but associate being younger with having less responsibilities……not having to liaise with people…not see sad things outside…not see happier people and wonder what’s wrong with me…

A few weeks ago, I was in the tube one morning during the rush hour. This is something I don’t normally do. I specifically try to avoid the rush hour to avoid the horrid mood people are in. That morning I had no choice, so there I was sitting just like the others. It suddenly occurred to me that I could be simply fooling myself with my semi-self employed status, flexible work hours, bachelorette lifestyle into thinking that I am different, that I am in charge of my life…and in fact I am there sitting there just like the others: all adult, not quite miserable but not quite happy either, wearing a ‘tube face’ that lasts all day: motionless and emotionless…Am I really one of those adults who have no joy left in their lives?

But then I am capable of seeing joy in small things: like the old man I’d seen on the bus earlier the same morning…a down and out man probably looking much older than his years, his clothes rather old with the exception of a pair of very new and colourful trainers – a present from a distant grand child? A hand-me-down from a neighbour? Most likely a gift from a charity…He seemed very comfortable in his trainers and I felt genuinely happy for him…happier than I’ve felt for myself for a long time.

So perhaps I haven’t totally lost the joy…and perhaps those people in the tube haven’t lost it either…they just choose not to share it with fellow commuters…and, hey, why should they?

Anyway, I can’t stay in my flat (working or not) forever…I have to mix with people and share whatever is on offer – joy, responsibility, fun, sadness…whatever is called life.

“I’ve grown stronger dealing with the outcomes of my own weaknesses”…just something that came to my mind the other day…perhaps the same will happen during this recuperation period…

…I never know if (a) I am really slow in understanding things about life that are obvious to others or (b) a profound inquisitor into the matters of life, love and thought….Guess it’s possible to be both as it depends on who is doing the defining…Whatever I am, God knows, I am trying to understand…

…most of the time anyway…now am gonna watch digital tv before falling asleep on the air mattress…

hmmm…life ain’t that bad and the only thing to understand seems to be that if you commit to doing something well, God/universe/energy/spirits/your own power helps you…proof: a couple of days ago I’ve decided I was lucky enough to enjoy my little cocoon of flat and virus and here I am recovering body and soul…

Most unlikely likeness…

The first thought I had today was “I am behind with life” and I am when you check my progress against my to do list…there certainly are things that I should be getting on with like sorting the spare room which is about 10 years overdue…but life is not a collection of to do lists! My happiness should not depend on ticking off items of the ‘to do’ list.

I may be behind the to do list but I’ve not been behind life…after the end of my ‘security period’ documented in the previous post, I’ve spent most of a week at an improvisation workshop, a week with back ache and hangover and another week working in Brussels (always a joy)…

Oh, and I’ve been to two exhibitions that are unexpectedly linked – in my mind anyway-: From Manet to Picasso at the National Gallery and Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s photographs at the Foyer of the National Theatre. Unfortunately, 3rd of March was the last day of the latter, but the former is going on till May 2007.

Manet to Picasso

I thought the exhibition would be full of paintings the posters of which adorn most living rooms of the houses of 20-something professionals. You know what I mean: the lilies, the sunset behind the Houses of Parliament, the umbrellas, the sunflowers and so on and so forth.

Well, they are there. But how ignorant of me it was to think that just because I’d seen several posters of a painting I would have found the original boring! This is especially true for Monet’s Houses of Parliament, Sunset (1902). The sky behind the Parliament is covered with grey clouds through which the pink rays of the sun are trying to come …not much changed in London since then basically. Actually it has: less of that luminous pink these days as there is less (or different type of?) pollution that caused it by then and also less greyness due to climate change. As for the original painting…the luminosity of the sun behind the clouds attracts your eye from the previous room…you see that light before you can even make out what the painting is….three weeks on I am still amazed by the moment it caught my eye, and how I walked towards it (and kept coming back) almost as in a trance.

Umbrellas by Renoir is another beauty…I was lucky enough to listened to a short lecture by an enthusiastic Gallery expert about it. There really are several pictures in one there: the umbrellas, the men, the little girl, the young woman out of place (or out of her place in society), the mother and so on. It’s also huge…probably 7 foot long.

There are also many pictures in the exhibition I’d never seen (original or poster) before (those by Seurat for example) and some I’d seen (Degas for example) but had not paid much attention to. Then, there is Van Gogh’s Long Grass with Butterflies. It’s a very simple picture…Apart from a promise of a tree-lined road along the top and a road sign only half of which we can see, there is nothing but long grass and butterflies. Maybe that half sign is itself a sign of Van Gogh’s helplessness and the feeling of getting more and more alinieated from the world and more and more lost in himself. It was one of his last paintings after all.

I saw this picture first in 1989 on a day visit to London from Kent. It was like seeing a long lost friend. Then I’d sat on the bench and looked at it for ages. I wanted to have at least a postcard of it but there were no prints. This time it was in the exhibition book and as a small poster.

What ties this exhibition with the next one is inspired by Degas. Like many other of his contemporaries he painted circus acts and ballerinas amongst others. Until visiting the exhibition I’d not realised that these people were amongst the lower classes at the time (until the early 20th century). And that his and others’ painting of such subjects would not have been classified as art and hence not allowed them into the National Gallery…Who would have thought the lily painting, brush stroke enthusiasts called the Impressionists (and those who followed immediately after) would have championed social equality by making the ordinary people the subject of art?

Oh, and, there is Manet and Monet by the way…

Nuri Bilge Ceylan Photographs: Climates

Making the ordinary, the down-trodden and the ignored the subject of art is what Ceylan does in his photographs: albeit a very different country and a different century. And that’s the most unlikely likeness that excited me recently.

He took the exhibited photographs, which you can see in his personal website linked above, while he was searching for locations for his latest film with the same title. I mentioned the film in the last entry. The photographs are at least as interesting.

The technique he uses is something like silk print but I cannot remember it right now. Whatever it is, it makes the photos so real that I had to stop my impulse to reach out and pull the fluff of a red jumper.

The photos are beautifully tragic – mostly of snow covered valleys and mountains of eastern Turkey. People in the photos are poorest of the poor, living in mud houses surrounded by several feet of snow for months on end, miles and miles from anywhere…Girls hang around by their homes, boys play football or ride their bikes. But there is still hope in their faces, perhaps just for that moment and simply because they were being photographed, perhaps because they are still young.

They may make you wonder when this dreadful poverty end and why do boys stick together and have fun when girls look like they are already carrying the burden of the world or feel guilty for focusing on the desperately lonely beauty of the landscape instead of the human tragedy that’s going on…. Do visit Ceylan's website.

Probably the best Valentine’s so far…

It’s raining. It’s been raining all evening and night. I must have forgotten my umbrella at home this morning, only realised it when leaving the office and got soaked.

Went to see Climates by Nuri Bilge Ceylan. He directs and plays the main character. I’ve learnt tonight that it’s possible to love the director and hate the character. I am not going to write about the film now, you can find out about it on www.nbcfilm.com. I would have liked to talk about it but I have other priorities right now. It truly is – as some critic said – the best break up film...If you ever wondered what the best break up film was…

…Anyway, back to the film: It is very truthful. It’s like many break ups you and I have been through, and it’s not about a particularly Turkish break up either – even though the exceptionally beautiful scenery of Turkey does help make the film….

…OK, enough about the film…especially a film about break up in the eve of Valentine’s…where is my sense of humour?! …Actually, break ups are not necessarily bad things; they are the gateways to new beginnings even though we hardly realise this at the time…

Perhaps if I’d seen the film 10 days ago I would have sympathised with him. Today I kept calling him a bastard…

…what has changed in the intervening 10 days?

I spent half of them with T….T who fancied me rotten, T who was going to save me from loneliness, T who was going to protect me from whatever it is that I needed protecting from, T who proved absolutely useless in everything but the most important one: to (involuntarily) show me how wonderful my life is, right now, without him or people like him…

…”Don’t be so harsh on yourself…you are a young, beautiful and successful woman and as such you are one size too big for most men around you” he’d said in an email months ago. I’d assumed that someone who notices this (so easy to agree with flattery…) could not possibly be one of “those men”. In fact for an admittedly short while, until 10 days ago, I was certain he was worth serious consideration as “the man” for the rest of my life…not because I was in love (I full well knew I was not) but because I was tired of being alone and he seemed the caring, protective type…now I know that his care and protection come at an exuberant price.

T and I have known each other since childhood. He was the next door neighbour’s son. Five years older and trustworthy, I was allowed to go out with him even if at night – only to a cultural event, and probably not more than about five times in total... And, to be honest, that’s what had interested me most about him…when you grow up yearning to be outside after sunset, want to be with the crowds in the streets, concert halls, theatres in the dark, anyone who can take you out, give you the freedom to experience life becomes your knight in shining armour, even, as in my case, 20 years later…even if you are really using them as a gateway rather than an innocent relationship as they think.

I left that street years ago of course and so did he. Over the years something would remind him of me, he’d phone and since the spread of email we’ve been in touch more frequently. A lot more frequently in fact, until emails would become too flirtatious and we’d stop for a few weeks / months at a time. Long story short…after a couple of meetings here and in Istanbul over the last few months, he came to spend the week here…Sunday to Friday to be precise.

Judging from the promise of the previous times, I expected five days of total and utter romance in front of a backdrop of London scenery…when I told a friend that I was taking the week off, he exclaimed “it must be love”…hmmm. Deep in my guts I knew that it wasn’t. But he liked me, he was trustworthy, he was a man with presence, he was this and that…all reasons for a lonely 36 year old spinster to decide to settle down…

That was the week before last…five days of increasing despair, widening chasm between us, (undeclared) revelations on both sides…five days…a small price to pay to realise the huge mistake I was liable and about to make…

People who visit London from Turkey (or perhaps any other country from any other country, I don’t know) fall into two groups: those who absolutely adore everything and those who absolutely abhor everything. He unfortunately fell into the second group. I distinctly dislike this. I don’t go around “dissing” (excuse the slang but it’s the most appropriate word for this) Istanbul or any part of my mother country. I see all the good and the bad and I love all of it.

I first thought (as I said to him) my dislike of criticism of London stemmed from my doubt about choosing to live here. It was as if with every criticism not just London but my choice, and hence, my life was questioned. But later I realised that my dislike stems from realising that the criticism was a shield for T who was weak when taken out of his physical and metaphorical comfort zone…shield like:

Why isn’t there a sign showing the temperature outside? (why should there be? It’s either cold, warm or hot…what more do you need to know?) Why can’t two people use the same Oyster Card? (because it’s “personal” travel card”!) Why did I pay £X k for my new kitchen (because it was not possible to get it for £X-1)? Why don’t I have a car? Why am I so fat, even though I don’t have a car? Why are there naked men on stage in Cabaret at the Lyric Theatre? Why do the shows close so early? Why are the roads so narrow and buildings so old? Why don’t I have an all-round sound system in my flat? Why doesn’t the waiter in The Orangery change the cutlery between the offerings of the tea set? Why, oh, why? Oh, why don’t you just shut up and f***k off?!

He was not only annoying, but in my opinion, a racist too…am too embarrassed to talk about this. And he must have thought me stupid….just because I was threatening…showing (involuntarily) that I was perhaps better than him at what he did for a living…

Anyway enough of this! As I said five days is a small price to pay to avoid a huge mistake…but what have I really learned?

I’ve learned how interesting my life really is and how, not one but many sizes too big a woman I am for him…

I’ve learned how lucky I am to have the people (close or distant) I have in my life…people who would listen and understand me…even if not necessarily agree with what I say – people whose conversation stimulates my brain and makes me feel alive (you know who you are!)

I’ve learned that all the other guys in my life who could not give me security, even if they tried, but were interesting anyway were not total mistakes after all…

I’ve learned that I must continue to fill my life with creative pursuits and continue to love people in it and continue to train myself to love myself and approve of my choices.

I’ve learned that no matter how lonely or in need of security I may be, the search for security should not be the reason for being with someone…security like everything else comes at a price too high to pay if all that’s on offer is security…

I’ve learned that no matter how fat I may be now, after a diet I’ll be thin again but he’ll always be short [this is a reference to what Churchill said to a woman, whose name I can’t recall, when she accused him of being horribly drunk,, “yes Madam, but in the morning I’ll be sober but you’ll still be ugly”’

So…right here and right now, I pledge to myself that

I am not going to whine about being lonely.

I am going to continue to be creative and with creative people who make me happy.

I am going to lose weight.

I am going to keep up the hope that there will be someone out there with whom I can love, protect, cherish, nurture together; someone to learn from and teach to…

…and you know what, if there won’t be such a person for me, so be it…I’ll still continue to be happy… and I’ll still continue to learn to truly love myself…and that’s why this is probably the best Valentine’s I’ve had so far…

A fine balancing act…

…I live alone and have done so for the last 9 years. I work in a small office and have done so for the last 15 years. So there could be hours and hours in a day that I won't utter a single word...not to any other human anyway (I do occasionally speak to myself, and more frequently - though only to say good morning and to enquire after their health - with my six pots of African violets)...OK, more seriously, some days I don’t feel like saying even hello and others I can’t stop talking…When I am on form, I don’t think I am a bad talker…but am I good conversationalist?

In the December 23rd, 2006 issue, The Economist ran an article on the art of conversation. I want to reproduce a few quotes from that article for everyone’s benefit.

Diderot’s conversation was “enlivened by absolute sincerity, subtle without obscurity, varied in its forms, dazzling in its flights of imagination, fertile in its ideas and in its capacity to inspire ideas in others. One let oneself drift along with it for hours at a time, as if one were gliding down a fresh and limpid river, whose banks were adorned with rich estates and beautiful houses” (“by one account” says the article). [How wonderful….most conversations are unfortunately like letting oneself stuck among other tired and bored commuters in a tube train stuck in between two stations]

Cicero’s rules for good conversation are: speak clearly, speak easily but not too much, especially when others want their turn; do not interrupt; be courteous; deal seriously with serious matters and gracefully with lighter ones; never criticise people behind their backs; stick to subjects of general interest; do not talk about yourself; and, above all, never lose your temper. [Wow, a tall order, but how true…it’s worth repeating to one’s self on a daily basis]

Dale Carnegie’s six ways to make people like you: remember people’s names, be a good listener, become genuinely interested in other people, smile, talk in terms of the other person’s interests, and make the other person feel important. [And presumably do this with sincerity, otherwise there is no point!]

Definition of conversation: the equal distribution of speaker rights; mutual respect among speakers; spontaneity and informality; and a non-businesslike ambience. Johnson said: “talk beyond that which is necessary to the purposes of actual business”. [What a succinct and beautiful description]

Margaret Shephard says: “Never speak uninterrupted for more than four minutes at a time” and “If you are the only person who still has a plate full of food, stop talking”. [When I succeed in not talking about myself but fail to be interested in other people, I know it’s time to move on…]

All interesting, don’t you think?

I don’t think blogging is a good way to practice good conversation – unless one wants to perfect the art of talking to one’s self. But keeping a personal blog hopefully helps with reducing the time spent talking about one’s self in person…Wishful thinking perhaps but I do hope so….

Purposeless questions

Everything and everyone has a purpose.
We are born for a reason.
Things happen to us for a reason.
We meet others for a reason.
Let the reason be love?
Everything is supposed to be connected.
Universe is supposed to help us - not necessarily get what we want but learn what we are here to learn.
Learn to love and communicate?
Some believe this anyway. And I want to believe it.

But...

What is the purpose of me being in the tropics but in an office bitten to buggery by vicious mosquitoes who are fighting a winning battle against humanity?

What is the purpose of me writing personal moments, not just thoughts I think, but also moments I share, on this public blog and by doing so blow them out of proportion?

What is the purpose of living a dream only to wake up and not remember why it was dreamt in the first place?

Then again, what is the purpose of not dreaming at all? Not taking any risks, leading a comfortable and quiet life? Not rocking the boat but forever going in circles around the anchor?

As usual...lots of questions but no answers from me....but then if I were to start with the answers (let's assume I have them!) that would exceed my allocated 4 minutes of personal time (see the entry “A fine balancing act…”)!

I’ve been away too long…

There was work which exhausted me. There was visiting family around the globe which tried to turn me into a referee between the young and the old, and the old and the older but I doubt I did a good job of it. There was saying goodbye to my best mate, M, who went back to his home country leaving me with yet more longing for yet another loved one and increased doubts about continuing to live in London.

There was also fun times….I’ve been getting better at improvisation and there is more theatrical work in store, my work has so far been awarded, I’ve rested well over the Christmas holidays, I’ve gone back to the gym to shed the pounds that piled up over the last few months. Perhaps most importantly, an old friend and I got in touch again and this has made me very happy indeed…There is uncertainty surrounding lots of things in my life at the moment. I realised that the change I thought will happen has indeed been happening for a long time and will continue to do so. It started with relatively small things like writing this blog, but will get bigger in time as I am not as afraid of change as I was before.

I was in Turkey over Christmas and this made me think even more about the past, present and the future – about where I’ve come from, how I changed – change that was instigated by being here, change that would have happened anyway, and what happens next.

Amidst all this, thoughts, memories and dreams have been flying around in my head like a tornado. I didn’t have the time, energy or the will to calm them down and put them down on paper.

It’s not been all work and self-discovery and failed attempts to write. I’ll write about the trip to Turkey and others soon, but for now, I want to write about a couple of films I saw over the last two months…it’s late to be writing about them but I just want to have a bit of fun on the eve of the first proper work week of 2007…oh, yes, before it’s too late to say it: HAPPY NEW YEAR all.

Bond, James Bond

Daniel Craig is a much rougher but altogether a more satisfying Bond. He has a huge face, which is so rough that borders ugly at times…or at least scary. His body is to die for, and so is his well disguised vulnerability.

Dialog is, in all the wrong places, laughable…but sometimes in the best places too…sorry to spoil it for the few who haven’t seen the film yet but I can’t help it…’Shaken or stirred sir?’ ‘Do I look like I give a damn?’…

He runs, climbs, almost flies, plays poker, and all that…But he is a different Bond. He kills with his hands and we watch how and how they affect him. He makes mistakes and he loses. He lowers his guard and falls in love. We now know why he is so ruthless with women who follow. If it’s not the betrayal that disillusioned him, it would have been the death.

And to show all that he can act. I’d never seen Daniel Craig in a film before, now I can’t wait for the next Bond…in fact, I think I’ll watch this again as soon as possible.

Devil Wears Prada

A silly film, no doubt, but also great fun…especially if seen in the comfort of a plane seat. I saw it on the way back from visiting family in the Caribbean and upon arrival went, almost straight, to the shops! Back in the early 1990s, I was the Ann Hathaway character with my nice skirts and nice jumpers…’the immigrant’ look as M used to put it. So I sympathised with her. But those coats, bags and dresses one sees Meryl Streep character come to office day in day out…wow, they are something else…We all have an external persona that hides, depending on our disposition, a little or a lot about what goes on in the inside. Clothes like that are that good are so much more helpful to augment an external persona that not only it becomes capable of standing on its own but also uplifts the inner goings on.

Am I becoming a fashionista? Nope, I am too lazy for that, fashion changes far too fast for me to follow closely. But when the film finished, my first and only thought – hmm, only thought? What does that tell you about the cinematic quality of the film? Well, exactly! – was that ‘I am 36 and it’s time I’ve become stylish!’…Fine thought, and I was quick to execute it by as I said going shopping upon arrival…but shopping where?…ASDA! That was before the 10 cents an hour wage rate Asda pays Bangladeshi women become the news….but I have a couple of very nice tops and a pair of not so nice trousers out of it.