Send Me On My Way

To go anywhere, you always have to leave the place before. That's the hardest part for me. 

I'm a bit of a baby. I cry pretty easily and think that my life (and the world) is ending way before its time and at the smallest of situations. 

Every time I leave Dubai I can't help myself from crying and every time I go back to Dubai from England, I am hit with a wave of sadness at leaving. It probably doesn't help that I listen to songs like Let me love you by Mario (which used to make me upset as a child) and then a repeat of the Titanic theme song will resound without my calling on it. 

But I hope this time that some Pharell Williams will get stuck in my head this time!! :D

I didn't expect to be as upset about leaving my job as I was today. I had already been reeling of letters of appreciation in my head for weeks and finally putting into action my earlier preparation was sad. 

To be truthful, I didn't think that I warranted a leaving do or even a card. I had only been working there since March and viewed myself as a bit of a rusty spoon in the grand scheme of things; I had the potential to be useful but I probably wasn't the first choice implement for dinner service. 

So when I got hugs and loads of little letter written in a card, I was over the moon. 

Cards are some of my favourite things. 

I often think of places that it would be nice to be homeless in, as though they exist! When I walk round town or visit a new place and see a dry, cosy place , I make a mental note. 

If I'm ever homeless, that's where I'll go.

I pack for this unfortunate journey in my head, thinking of what things I would take. As well as a haversack stuffed with all my money and warn clothes and blankets, the other things getting shoved in there are my favourite selection of cards that others have written to me. I'd take my 16th and 18th birthday cards from my parents and brothers, leaving cards and my mini books of notes from college in Dubai when I graduated last year. (Is it weird that I've planned this so thoroughly?) 

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A couple of days ago, I spat out the most spontaneously philosophical sentence that I've ever thought of. To be honest somebody most probably had already got there before me but the concept was still novel to me and I prided myself on the fact that I had thought of it. 

I am a huge fan of the Humans of New York blog. I check it twice daily and especially in the morning to get some inspiration to kick start the day. One of the distinct photos I remember was a little girl posing in the street. She was asked: 

"What do you want to be when you're older?" 

To which she replied: 

"A person." 

Such a spontaneous nugget of her mind held such philosophical connotations for the entire human race. It encapsulated me. What is it, I thought, to be a person? Does anyone actually want to be what we now see as a person? 

It's such a conundrum! 

My auntie took me to Wimbledon last week. Everything was all a bit easy going and so when we came out the wrong exit we were unfazed to go back and correct our error. We were heading for Wimbledon station - not the one we had arrived from - and it was taking a while to walk up this hill and all through the town. 

After a while, my auntie said: 

"I hope we're going the right way." 

I replied: 

"I don't think it matters where you're going, as long as you know where you've come from."

Bam!!

I meant it as a comforting thought that f we did get lost, we could always retrace our steps and go back the way we were meant to go. 

As long as you know where you've come from. How clever of me! Ahaha! 

As I walked out of work today, my last ever shift, nothing rang more true than this statement. It didn't matter where I was going. I ought to remind myself of that. 

I know this statement isn't always true. Career-wise it's nice to know how high you can go, and probably for life, having some kind of plan is desirable. 

I have no idea where I am going now. I'm going back to Dubai, that's a given. But I what's next? I could do anything, go anywhere without another thought. I know what I've got in my back pocket: the experiences that I've learnt from work. I have the knowledge of where I've been. 

Unemployment is a scary limbo. Almost as scary as living under a bridge outside Macdonald's with your 16th birthday cards. 

I quite like spontaneity, it stops you from hindering yourself. If you have no plans, then you can accept everything. But not knowing when the next pay slip will come in when your running up a tally in rent and bills isn't something that I want to really think about. 

 

For me, it now doesn't matter where I'm going, so long as I go somewhere. I've come from a lack of experience to being accepted in a company that believed in me more so than I believed in myself. 

Nothing describes my time at work like the word: "lovely" - a word that I use all to often but that can do justice to the passion of happiness and delight. That or "sterling". 

So, no, when I find myself in a panicky rut (which I do quite often) I'll remember my own little quote: it doesn't matter where you're going, so long as you remember exactly where you came from. :D