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...
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
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 :)
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 :)
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, June 04, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
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…
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…
Sunday, May 13, 2007
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...
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...
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
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!”
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!”
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
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…
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…
Sunday, March 04, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, February 16, 2007
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…
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…
Sunday, January 21, 2007
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….
…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…”)!
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…”)!
Sunday, January 07, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Is this normal?
Tiring week full of long nights of work, and one night of great fun…We will belittle it as fun, we will belittle it as something that had to be done, we will not speak of it again in any way, and we may or may not have another chance…but now after the fact, in my own time and space, and with my own ‘port and lemon’ in me I can call it what it deserves to be called…a great moment of human contact…I don’t mean sex. Life is short and, at times, lonely so when there is someone to share a moment of intimacy, even if (or perhaps because) that word is not uttered, one should celebrate it. Rejoice in the glory of being able to share a touch, a feeling, an unnamed purpose…and that’s what this paragraph is about, no games, no script, no past nor a future…just the present…a present from which you wake up and wonder if it ever happened.
Went to my local pub tonight…The Palm Tree…an East End gem…where on Friday and Saturday nights East End old geezers and birds sing Rat Pack and Cole Porter. It was marvellous. A quite night by Palm Tree standards but wonderful soundtrack to two friends struggling to hear what the other is saying…’The man I love’ sang my favourite local singer, a woman of an advanced age and walking stick, with short hair and long earrings, huge boobs and deep man’s voice courtesy of years of smoking…
At one point as my friend was talking, I drifted away from what she was saying and started wondering how is it that the air that trembles through her vocal chords and travels through the air reaches my ears and then to my brain and gets converted into understanding. Those few seconds when I wondered about that there was nothing more important in the world. Is this normal?
Then I came home, sitting on my sofa, I heard a bus stop at the bus stop nearby, open doors, close doors and pull away. I could not see the bus but I sat here wondering about the people who must be in it. Who are they? Where are they coming from? Where are they going? Did they have a good night out or have they just been made redundant or dumped? Are they awake thinking about thinks or have they fallen asleep? I sat here wondering all this and feeling almost physically there on the bus. Is this normal?
I see planes approaching to land at City Airport and circling above London to land at Heathrow. I’ve lived in the same flat more than 10 years. But only recently I’ve begun to look and wonder who are in them? I began to feel transported into the plane, seeing the stewardess walking the aisles making sure everyone has their seat belt on. I began to see the faces of each and every passenger, wondered where they are coming from and why and who they are. Is this normal?
I’ve been doing this a lot lately…living the present to a fuller degree than I’ve ever done before yet wondering about the countless lives that pass me by in that very present, lives that I will never know. What stories do they hold? What is it that makes them get up every morning, get dressed and go out and go very far out at times? What is it that makes my mind extend like a telescope and transport me to where they are? What is it that makes me wonder all this?
Is this normal?
Feels like it’s not.
Feels like it’s the start of some psychosomatic situation.
Feels good.
Is this normal?
Tiring week full of long nights of work, and one night of great fun…We will belittle it as fun, we will belittle it as something that had to be done, we will not speak of it again in any way, and we may or may not have another chance…but now after the fact, in my own time and space, and with my own ‘port and lemon’ in me I can call it what it deserves to be called…a great moment of human contact…I don’t mean sex. Life is short and, at times, lonely so when there is someone to share a moment of intimacy, even if (or perhaps because) that word is not uttered, one should celebrate it. Rejoice in the glory of being able to share a touch, a feeling, an unnamed purpose…and that’s what this paragraph is about, no games, no script, no past nor a future…just the present…a present from which you wake up and wonder if it ever happened.
Went to my local pub tonight…The Palm Tree…an East End gem…where on Friday and Saturday nights East End old geezers and birds sing Rat Pack and Cole Porter. It was marvellous. A quite night by Palm Tree standards but wonderful soundtrack to two friends struggling to hear what the other is saying…’The man I love’ sang my favourite local singer, a woman of an advanced age and walking stick, with short hair and long earrings, huge boobs and deep man’s voice courtesy of years of smoking…
At one point as my friend was talking, I drifted away from what she was saying and started wondering how is it that the air that trembles through her vocal chords and travels through the air reaches my ears and then to my brain and gets converted into understanding. Those few seconds when I wondered about that there was nothing more important in the world. Is this normal?
Then I came home, sitting on my sofa, I heard a bus stop at the bus stop nearby, open doors, close doors and pull away. I could not see the bus but I sat here wondering about the people who must be in it. Who are they? Where are they coming from? Where are they going? Did they have a good night out or have they just been made redundant or dumped? Are they awake thinking about thinks or have they fallen asleep? I sat here wondering all this and feeling almost physically there on the bus. Is this normal?
I see planes approaching to land at City Airport and circling above London to land at Heathrow. I’ve lived in the same flat more than 10 years. But only recently I’ve begun to look and wonder who are in them? I began to feel transported into the plane, seeing the stewardess walking the aisles making sure everyone has their seat belt on. I began to see the faces of each and every passenger, wondered where they are coming from and why and who they are. Is this normal?
I’ve been doing this a lot lately…living the present to a fuller degree than I’ve ever done before yet wondering about the countless lives that pass me by in that very present, lives that I will never know. What stories do they hold? What is it that makes them get up every morning, get dressed and go out and go very far out at times? What is it that makes my mind extend like a telescope and transport me to where they are? What is it that makes me wonder all this?
Is this normal?
Feels like it’s not.
Feels like it’s the start of some psychosomatic situation.
Feels good.
Is this normal?
Sunday, October 22, 2006
My name is…
I’ve been so busy lately that I almost missed the news that Orhan Pamuk has been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. It’s a personal honour to be writing about it. I love his books.
Not always I have to admit. It seems I like his books in rotation. For example I couldn’t get my head around Black Book. But I know of Turkish people of the generation one before mine who found themselves in it. New Life I loved. They didn’t.
I loved New Life not because I was searching for a new life or the book offered a new life but because it offered an adventure. I read the book in my 20s when I was leading a conventional life by all accounts but I had hopes for a new life: a life spent in pursuit of a dream even if it is impossible to fulfil. The idea of an impossible dream appealed at the time. How can you not like a book the first sentence of which is “I read a book one day and my life was changed”?
Those were the days when life seemed to offer more possibilities. While the hero of that book was after a dream that would end his life, the dream I was after was a loose notion of a better life. What matters is that I shared the dream of a life that’s possible to change. It didn’t matter that what the hero wanted and what I wanted (not that I knew what that was) were two different things. I identified with the desire for change.
Then there is My Name is Red. Possibly the best book I read. I of course remember the overall story. But what I remember most is the pleasure I had reading that book. It took me a long time to finish because I kept going back to sentences, paragraphs to read them again and again, they were so beautiful.
I also liked his very clever idea to juxtapose what is happening in Turkey now with a murder mystery in the 16th century. Murder mystery is simply a tool to tell the story of a quest for an individual identity. Do we carry on as a part of the community and follow the rules instead of what we wish to do or do we make our individual mark on the world? Community offers love and support. But it seems only if you follow the rules unconditionally. Individual identity gives you freedom but at the price of loneliness, at least at times. I think my thirst for freedom is what keeps me in London and what keeps me single but as I grow older loneliness that comes from being an outsider – no matter how well I fit here – and being alone – no matter how many so-called boyfriends I may have - becomes a bigger price to pay. Still I continue.
There seems to be a debate in Turkey whether he would have won the Nobel prize if he didn’t make that infamous political speech about the Armenians and Kurds. I can write loads about this point but I want to believe that he won because he is a great author so I will not honour the doubt by discussing it. In fact, if there is a universal anti-Turkish wave, then the best way to confront it is not to have debates about what someone said or meant, but by trusting ourselves as a nation. I repeat I think he is a great author and like any great author of any nation he deserves this award. End of story.
Pamuk explained this best in an interview he gave to The Guardian a few years ago. He said “when an English language author writes a love story, it’s a universal love story but when I write a love story it’s a Turkish love story”. Here is a great author, undoubtly a product of his culture but global in his appeal and message. Congratulations. I am proud of you. Not just because you are a Turk but because you are an author whose ability to take me into new worlds I admire.
I’ve been so busy lately that I almost missed the news that Orhan Pamuk has been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. It’s a personal honour to be writing about it. I love his books.
Not always I have to admit. It seems I like his books in rotation. For example I couldn’t get my head around Black Book. But I know of Turkish people of the generation one before mine who found themselves in it. New Life I loved. They didn’t.
I loved New Life not because I was searching for a new life or the book offered a new life but because it offered an adventure. I read the book in my 20s when I was leading a conventional life by all accounts but I had hopes for a new life: a life spent in pursuit of a dream even if it is impossible to fulfil. The idea of an impossible dream appealed at the time. How can you not like a book the first sentence of which is “I read a book one day and my life was changed”?
Those were the days when life seemed to offer more possibilities. While the hero of that book was after a dream that would end his life, the dream I was after was a loose notion of a better life. What matters is that I shared the dream of a life that’s possible to change. It didn’t matter that what the hero wanted and what I wanted (not that I knew what that was) were two different things. I identified with the desire for change.
Then there is My Name is Red. Possibly the best book I read. I of course remember the overall story. But what I remember most is the pleasure I had reading that book. It took me a long time to finish because I kept going back to sentences, paragraphs to read them again and again, they were so beautiful.
I also liked his very clever idea to juxtapose what is happening in Turkey now with a murder mystery in the 16th century. Murder mystery is simply a tool to tell the story of a quest for an individual identity. Do we carry on as a part of the community and follow the rules instead of what we wish to do or do we make our individual mark on the world? Community offers love and support. But it seems only if you follow the rules unconditionally. Individual identity gives you freedom but at the price of loneliness, at least at times. I think my thirst for freedom is what keeps me in London and what keeps me single but as I grow older loneliness that comes from being an outsider – no matter how well I fit here – and being alone – no matter how many so-called boyfriends I may have - becomes a bigger price to pay. Still I continue.
There seems to be a debate in Turkey whether he would have won the Nobel prize if he didn’t make that infamous political speech about the Armenians and Kurds. I can write loads about this point but I want to believe that he won because he is a great author so I will not honour the doubt by discussing it. In fact, if there is a universal anti-Turkish wave, then the best way to confront it is not to have debates about what someone said or meant, but by trusting ourselves as a nation. I repeat I think he is a great author and like any great author of any nation he deserves this award. End of story.
Pamuk explained this best in an interview he gave to The Guardian a few years ago. He said “when an English language author writes a love story, it’s a universal love story but when I write a love story it’s a Turkish love story”. Here is a great author, undoubtly a product of his culture but global in his appeal and message. Congratulations. I am proud of you. Not just because you are a Turk but because you are an author whose ability to take me into new worlds I admire.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Happiness…
I’ve been having a bit of a difficult time lately. Nothing objectively bad mind you, just too much to deal with: a lot of work (good), tiredness (changing seasons, burning candles); friends leaving town; family issues; many things I talk and think about but can’t do at the moment for various reasons – some but not all within my power.
So, after another long day at work and saying goodbye to M who is off to his Tanzanian adventure; and having bored myself with the last couple of entries and inspired by I-D magazine’s cover story this month (never read this magazine before but am enjoying this issue so far), I’ve decided to make a list of happiness (in no particular order). So here it goes…
· That moment before falling asleep;
· Comfortable silences;
· A hot bath on a cold day;
· ‘urban moments’ like catching a stranger’s eye on the tube and smiling;
· No holds bared free flowing conversations;
· A big, long hug;
· Smiling;
· Making others laugh;
· Happiness of those near and dear;
· Daydreaming;
· Clean and ironed sheets;
· To be woken up by sunrise;
· Colours of the sunset;
· The sound of light rain on the roof of a tent;
· Swimming in the sea first thing in the morning;
· Receiving unexpected calls, post, emails from good friends and family (with good news of course);
· Watching the excited concentration on the faces of small children when they are learning something new and fun;
· Learning;
· I love you;
· Reading, watching, listening to something that opens new avenues for my mind;
· Chocolate for about two days once a month;
· Foodstuff associated with Turkey and childhood;
· Memories (good or bad for different reasons);
· Dancing;
· Letting go;
· ‘Yes’;
· Quirky shoes;
· My red leather jacket;
· Blue and yellow;
· Fresh flowers;
· Achieving goals;
· Travelling;
· My hair being stroked;
· …
· …
Just realised, some of the above makes you happy, some you can only appreciate if you are already happy and some both...Go figure!
I’ve been having a bit of a difficult time lately. Nothing objectively bad mind you, just too much to deal with: a lot of work (good), tiredness (changing seasons, burning candles); friends leaving town; family issues; many things I talk and think about but can’t do at the moment for various reasons – some but not all within my power.
So, after another long day at work and saying goodbye to M who is off to his Tanzanian adventure; and having bored myself with the last couple of entries and inspired by I-D magazine’s cover story this month (never read this magazine before but am enjoying this issue so far), I’ve decided to make a list of happiness (in no particular order). So here it goes…
· That moment before falling asleep;
· Comfortable silences;
· A hot bath on a cold day;
· ‘urban moments’ like catching a stranger’s eye on the tube and smiling;
· No holds bared free flowing conversations;
· A big, long hug;
· Smiling;
· Making others laugh;
· Happiness of those near and dear;
· Daydreaming;
· Clean and ironed sheets;
· To be woken up by sunrise;
· Colours of the sunset;
· The sound of light rain on the roof of a tent;
· Swimming in the sea first thing in the morning;
· Receiving unexpected calls, post, emails from good friends and family (with good news of course);
· Watching the excited concentration on the faces of small children when they are learning something new and fun;
· Learning;
· I love you;
· Reading, watching, listening to something that opens new avenues for my mind;
· Chocolate for about two days once a month;
· Foodstuff associated with Turkey and childhood;
· Memories (good or bad for different reasons);
· Dancing;
· Letting go;
· ‘Yes’;
· Quirky shoes;
· My red leather jacket;
· Blue and yellow;
· Fresh flowers;
· Achieving goals;
· Travelling;
· My hair being stroked;
· …
· …
Just realised, some of the above makes you happy, some you can only appreciate if you are already happy and some both...Go figure!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
No more!
Take another piece of me
I’ll give
Pull me in all directions
I’ll stretch
Crash
I’ll restart
Give up
I’ll hope
Run out of breath
I’ll wait
Talk and talk and talk
I’ll listen
Lie
I’ll believe
Cry
I’ll console
Ignore me
I’ll persevere
Disappoint me
I’ll forget
Be desperate
I’ll help
Be selfish
I’ll understand
Be ruthless
I’ll give up
Ask for forgiveness
I’ll forgive
Until I can no more
And I will no more
Take another piece of me
I’ll give
Pull me in all directions
I’ll stretch
Crash
I’ll restart
Give up
I’ll hope
Run out of breath
I’ll wait
Talk and talk and talk
I’ll listen
Lie
I’ll believe
Cry
I’ll console
Ignore me
I’ll persevere
Disappoint me
I’ll forget
Be desperate
I’ll help
Be selfish
I’ll understand
Be ruthless
I’ll give up
Ask for forgiveness
I’ll forgive
Until I can no more
And I will no more
Sunday, September 24, 2006
A bit down…
After the relatively relaxed time in August during which I was able to think and write, September so far has been total chaos. I have so much work on at the moment that I guess less frequent rants will be more likely than some slightly more thought through arguments (that is if, at least, some of the previous ones were).
It’s not just work either (or is it ‘neither’ I never know). Two of my non-Brit friends are leaving London. J, an American, is going back to the States after about 10 years. We went on short breaks several times with mutual friends and solved the world’s problems several times over...though unfortunately the ideas left with the first signs of hangover. J is a bit of a pop-psychologist and loves to hear others’ conundrums. I hope email and telephone will suffice until he comes back. There are no plans for a return journey but I am sure he’ll be back!
M is a Pole. He might as well be my third brother (I already have two blood brothers you see). At first meeting, M is not the easiest person to get on with: he comes across cold and stubborn and can be far too straight with words. But all this is because he is honest and strong enough not to take any sh*t from people. But if one manages to get through (and only a few do), he is one of the most loyal and caring people I know. Perhaps the fact that we are rather similar (though am much weaker than him) makes me love him so much.
M may also be leaving. It’s not certain yet but he is seriously thinking of going back to Poland after 12 years in London. I am in denial still. I don’t even want to think about not having M in London. Sure, we’ll stay in touch, and our friendship will continue. But it’s never the same. And after a few months or at most years, the ties do get weaker, they get replaced by others that are more immediate. I am really sad about this.
I hate goodbyes. And I am not just saying that. My life has been full of goodbyes. From parents at an early age to aunty when I came over here, several friends who came and went through my life over the years…and here I am spending the day entirely on my own on an exceptionally warm September Sunday.
Another foreigner leaving London is annoying in a less personal way too: you can’t help but ask ‘what the hell am I still doing here?’. No family here, best mate is thinking of leaving…just the work and some, admittedly, very good friends. But where to go? What to do? I think some ideas are forming in my head but far too vague at the moment to share…and they are not plans for the near future anyway…just some exercises of visioning the future…but better not lose track of present between too much work and too much future-planning.
***
M was complaining the other day that most people we know are continuously talking about themselves these days. It’s either how terrible their life is or, and surprisingly more often, how great it is. The problem with the latter is that they seem to say this to convince them and justify their choices to themselves more than to the listener. I can hardly judge…I have a blog after all! But I wonder if this is one of the first symptoms of mid-life crisis.
We are mostly in our mid to late 30s, with some achievements under our belts but some mistakes and disappointments too. And the inevitable finality of life is becoming more and more clearer. As we are mostly lazy and scared of taking risks, if we are not entirely happy with life (and who is?), the best option is to convince ourselves we are entirely happy with life. There is genuine merit in this of course. But I wonder whether the best way is to loudly announce to whoever cares to listen (or pretend to do so)…there is something fake about that.
Cynical? I am not naturally cynical; neither am I naturally down. But with friends leaving, me being physically and mentally tired, having had an upset stomach since yesterday; despite the wonderful sunshine outside…this is as profound as I can be at the moment. Life is a simple matter after all…and, at times like this, an early night is the best answer.
After the relatively relaxed time in August during which I was able to think and write, September so far has been total chaos. I have so much work on at the moment that I guess less frequent rants will be more likely than some slightly more thought through arguments (that is if, at least, some of the previous ones were).
It’s not just work either (or is it ‘neither’ I never know). Two of my non-Brit friends are leaving London. J, an American, is going back to the States after about 10 years. We went on short breaks several times with mutual friends and solved the world’s problems several times over...though unfortunately the ideas left with the first signs of hangover. J is a bit of a pop-psychologist and loves to hear others’ conundrums. I hope email and telephone will suffice until he comes back. There are no plans for a return journey but I am sure he’ll be back!
M is a Pole. He might as well be my third brother (I already have two blood brothers you see). At first meeting, M is not the easiest person to get on with: he comes across cold and stubborn and can be far too straight with words. But all this is because he is honest and strong enough not to take any sh*t from people. But if one manages to get through (and only a few do), he is one of the most loyal and caring people I know. Perhaps the fact that we are rather similar (though am much weaker than him) makes me love him so much.
M may also be leaving. It’s not certain yet but he is seriously thinking of going back to Poland after 12 years in London. I am in denial still. I don’t even want to think about not having M in London. Sure, we’ll stay in touch, and our friendship will continue. But it’s never the same. And after a few months or at most years, the ties do get weaker, they get replaced by others that are more immediate. I am really sad about this.
I hate goodbyes. And I am not just saying that. My life has been full of goodbyes. From parents at an early age to aunty when I came over here, several friends who came and went through my life over the years…and here I am spending the day entirely on my own on an exceptionally warm September Sunday.
Another foreigner leaving London is annoying in a less personal way too: you can’t help but ask ‘what the hell am I still doing here?’. No family here, best mate is thinking of leaving…just the work and some, admittedly, very good friends. But where to go? What to do? I think some ideas are forming in my head but far too vague at the moment to share…and they are not plans for the near future anyway…just some exercises of visioning the future…but better not lose track of present between too much work and too much future-planning.
***
M was complaining the other day that most people we know are continuously talking about themselves these days. It’s either how terrible their life is or, and surprisingly more often, how great it is. The problem with the latter is that they seem to say this to convince them and justify their choices to themselves more than to the listener. I can hardly judge…I have a blog after all! But I wonder if this is one of the first symptoms of mid-life crisis.
We are mostly in our mid to late 30s, with some achievements under our belts but some mistakes and disappointments too. And the inevitable finality of life is becoming more and more clearer. As we are mostly lazy and scared of taking risks, if we are not entirely happy with life (and who is?), the best option is to convince ourselves we are entirely happy with life. There is genuine merit in this of course. But I wonder whether the best way is to loudly announce to whoever cares to listen (or pretend to do so)…there is something fake about that.
Cynical? I am not naturally cynical; neither am I naturally down. But with friends leaving, me being physically and mentally tired, having had an upset stomach since yesterday; despite the wonderful sunshine outside…this is as profound as I can be at the moment. Life is a simple matter after all…and, at times like this, an early night is the best answer.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Intervals...
I went to a seminar by Prof Daniel Kahneman, Nobel laureate in economics on Friday. He is in fact a psychologist but since he investigates the aspects of human behaviour that relate to the fundamental assumptions underlying economic theory, his Nobel award in economics is justified.
I won’t bore you with the details of the fundamental assumptions of economics. But, in short, they are that people are rational, selfish and their tastes don’t change. In my humble opinion, rationality assumption is exaggerated. Unlike what’s implied, rationality does not require all decisions to be correct – whatever that means and whoever could achieve it?! They just need to be consistent with the conditions at the time and the desired outcomes. Rationality also does not assume uniformity: what is rational for me can easily be irrational for others. Selfishness assumption is also generally misunderstood: we are selfish and seek happiness but that does not exclude the possibility of other people’s happiness making us happy. In fact, if it did, no ‘rational’ person would ever have children!
Prof Kahneman says people’s rationality and selfishness are bounded (basically they are not always rational or selfish), they have limited self-control and they change their minds. Yeap, this is why he got the Nobel…And it’s not surprising…both economists and psychologists spend their entire careers searching for ‘proofs’ for the most obvious. But for those who try to understand human behaviour (theirs or others’), is there any other choice than exploring the obvious?
Anyway, this is not a piece about economics or my cunning plan about getting a Nobel on the easy! It’s about another obvious – what would make life better…should I ever worry myself with such a question.
Prof Kahneman said “Think of life as a succession of moments. People think of it [life] as a story, a narrative. They want it to be meaningful. They want to improve it. All our intuitions favour life satisfaction. We live in the present but we don’t get to keep the present. We keep the memories…and our memories are selective. [In our memories] routine is not important.” This is from my notes so apologies if I got anything wrong.
It was really exciting to hear him say these words because they were a confirmation of my little way of making my life better. About three years ago, I suddenly came to the realisation that I lived my life as if I was in a theatre. All my excitement was about the ‘Acts’ and all my happiness came from them. The trouble was, I also realised, Acts were rather short and infrequent and most of my time was spent in the intervals. And there was only so much chocolate ice cream one could eat!
I promised myself that I would make the intervals more interesting. That’s when I pushed myself into things that I’d shied away from before, like learning to act by going to an improvisation course; travelling to Australia after 20 years of dreaming about it; staying away from people with negative energy who were bringing me down; starting this blog, taking photographs again and so on and so forth.
As I was listening to Prof Kahneman, it became clear that this realisation I had upon waking up one workday morning had been a life-changing moment. I am going to bed now, if I am lucky there will be another revelation tomorrow morning…but more likely I’ll rush out of the house…I have a deadline tomorrow!
P.S. Dating update update – I’ve thought about this more. I have no right or need to be annoyed. Anyway, bygones... Text received from the non-date; not responded, no need. All I say is that this ‘Act’ of my life has flopped until a better leading man shows up :)
I went to a seminar by Prof Daniel Kahneman, Nobel laureate in economics on Friday. He is in fact a psychologist but since he investigates the aspects of human behaviour that relate to the fundamental assumptions underlying economic theory, his Nobel award in economics is justified.
I won’t bore you with the details of the fundamental assumptions of economics. But, in short, they are that people are rational, selfish and their tastes don’t change. In my humble opinion, rationality assumption is exaggerated. Unlike what’s implied, rationality does not require all decisions to be correct – whatever that means and whoever could achieve it?! They just need to be consistent with the conditions at the time and the desired outcomes. Rationality also does not assume uniformity: what is rational for me can easily be irrational for others. Selfishness assumption is also generally misunderstood: we are selfish and seek happiness but that does not exclude the possibility of other people’s happiness making us happy. In fact, if it did, no ‘rational’ person would ever have children!
Prof Kahneman says people’s rationality and selfishness are bounded (basically they are not always rational or selfish), they have limited self-control and they change their minds. Yeap, this is why he got the Nobel…And it’s not surprising…both economists and psychologists spend their entire careers searching for ‘proofs’ for the most obvious. But for those who try to understand human behaviour (theirs or others’), is there any other choice than exploring the obvious?
Anyway, this is not a piece about economics or my cunning plan about getting a Nobel on the easy! It’s about another obvious – what would make life better…should I ever worry myself with such a question.
Prof Kahneman said “Think of life as a succession of moments. People think of it [life] as a story, a narrative. They want it to be meaningful. They want to improve it. All our intuitions favour life satisfaction. We live in the present but we don’t get to keep the present. We keep the memories…and our memories are selective. [In our memories] routine is not important.” This is from my notes so apologies if I got anything wrong.
It was really exciting to hear him say these words because they were a confirmation of my little way of making my life better. About three years ago, I suddenly came to the realisation that I lived my life as if I was in a theatre. All my excitement was about the ‘Acts’ and all my happiness came from them. The trouble was, I also realised, Acts were rather short and infrequent and most of my time was spent in the intervals. And there was only so much chocolate ice cream one could eat!
I promised myself that I would make the intervals more interesting. That’s when I pushed myself into things that I’d shied away from before, like learning to act by going to an improvisation course; travelling to Australia after 20 years of dreaming about it; staying away from people with negative energy who were bringing me down; starting this blog, taking photographs again and so on and so forth.
As I was listening to Prof Kahneman, it became clear that this realisation I had upon waking up one workday morning had been a life-changing moment. I am going to bed now, if I am lucky there will be another revelation tomorrow morning…but more likely I’ll rush out of the house…I have a deadline tomorrow!
P.S. Dating update update – I’ve thought about this more. I have no right or need to be annoyed. Anyway, bygones... Text received from the non-date; not responded, no need. All I say is that this ‘Act’ of my life has flopped until a better leading man shows up :)
Monday, August 21, 2006
Dating follow-up
For those of you who read my views about speed dating, don’t get excited, I haven’t yet changed them (but perhaps I should!). The follow up is not about a date from that event.
About 10 days ago I met someone through ‘natural ways’…started talking at a bar, got on really well and all that, exchanged numbers, texted each other a few times and spoke on the phone on Friday arranging tentatively to meet up tonight, his only night off these days.
Come 6pm, I’d finished my work for the day but he still hadn’t called. So, I called, to give him a piece of my mind. Series of supposed excuses about how he’d worked a 16 hour shift the night before, how tired he was, he had to wait for a new flat mate to come that night blah blah blah. Who is that busy to not find a few seconds to at least send a text?! I can’t believe any of it. He called back later in the evening begging forgiveness. I did give him a hard time of course. But why?
Why? Because, to be honest, I liked him. I am not having a self-loathing trip like ‘oh dear, I am not worthy, he doesn’t like me’. I’ve gone over that stage in my life. But I do feel like a small child whose new toy has been taken away before she got bored with it.
So, maybe, I deserve this. Maybe people only treat you the way you feel about them: like a toy in this case. A toy that they get bored before you do!
What gets me is the lack of honesty. Why can’t people say they don’t want to see you again? Why can’t they just not pick up the phone when you call or not reply to your text? Why can’t they just not call back when they say they will? So that you at least know that they are, for sure, not interested. Why bother give me all that story.
I am angry with him for not respecting me enough even to ignore me. I am angry with myself for investing energy and time in the possibility of meeting up tonight – I had to pass on one arrangement and cancel another! How weak am I? Why do I need human toys so much?
I called a friend who simply said ‘forget him’. I will. Of course, I will. People who don’t want to spend time on you are not worth wasting your time on. I know that. But this lack of honesty, this lack of courage, this lack of balls even by men who are fully endowed is disappointing me. It is making me feel despair about the (possibly eternal) state of humanity. Why am I so bloody transparent? Why am I so honest? Why, when the world functions in implied words and actions rather than explicit showing of cards, do I waste my energy trying to stand up and remain honest? When am I going to grow up and stop this stupid belief that honesty isn’t that difficult?
Any answers? No? Don’t worry. I feel better for writing it already. I just hope my Dad is not reading this!
For those of you who read my views about speed dating, don’t get excited, I haven’t yet changed them (but perhaps I should!). The follow up is not about a date from that event.
About 10 days ago I met someone through ‘natural ways’…started talking at a bar, got on really well and all that, exchanged numbers, texted each other a few times and spoke on the phone on Friday arranging tentatively to meet up tonight, his only night off these days.
Come 6pm, I’d finished my work for the day but he still hadn’t called. So, I called, to give him a piece of my mind. Series of supposed excuses about how he’d worked a 16 hour shift the night before, how tired he was, he had to wait for a new flat mate to come that night blah blah blah. Who is that busy to not find a few seconds to at least send a text?! I can’t believe any of it. He called back later in the evening begging forgiveness. I did give him a hard time of course. But why?
Why? Because, to be honest, I liked him. I am not having a self-loathing trip like ‘oh dear, I am not worthy, he doesn’t like me’. I’ve gone over that stage in my life. But I do feel like a small child whose new toy has been taken away before she got bored with it.
So, maybe, I deserve this. Maybe people only treat you the way you feel about them: like a toy in this case. A toy that they get bored before you do!
What gets me is the lack of honesty. Why can’t people say they don’t want to see you again? Why can’t they just not pick up the phone when you call or not reply to your text? Why can’t they just not call back when they say they will? So that you at least know that they are, for sure, not interested. Why bother give me all that story.
I am angry with him for not respecting me enough even to ignore me. I am angry with myself for investing energy and time in the possibility of meeting up tonight – I had to pass on one arrangement and cancel another! How weak am I? Why do I need human toys so much?
I called a friend who simply said ‘forget him’. I will. Of course, I will. People who don’t want to spend time on you are not worth wasting your time on. I know that. But this lack of honesty, this lack of courage, this lack of balls even by men who are fully endowed is disappointing me. It is making me feel despair about the (possibly eternal) state of humanity. Why am I so bloody transparent? Why am I so honest? Why, when the world functions in implied words and actions rather than explicit showing of cards, do I waste my energy trying to stand up and remain honest? When am I going to grow up and stop this stupid belief that honesty isn’t that difficult?
Any answers? No? Don’t worry. I feel better for writing it already. I just hope my Dad is not reading this!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
