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 

 

My Lemons

~ "When life gives you a lemon, you peel it and find it, instead, to be an orange. That is because, one of the first lessons of the human condition is that one should not spend their life turning something bitter into something sweet, as lemons into lemonade, but rather realise that nothing life gives you is ever as sour as a lemon. Everything is rich in opportunity and vitamins for the soul, just like an orange." ~ By ME (18/05/2014)

I don't reckon dying is pretty. But death can be beautiful. It's quiet and peaceful and on beautiful sunny days like this, the deceased can be the only people to 100% benefit from it. Unattached, they are part of the gorgeous weather and are free to enjoy it. They take each day for what it's worth down to the core. They appreciate it like humans are unable to with our multiple thoughts about what to do next, or what we ought to be doing, regretting that we didn't wear our shorts and saddening at the fact that the day will soon end.

This Saturday, I had a desire which on the surface seemed morbid and I was entirely unable to explain it to myself. 

One of my best friends had put me up for the weekend. Whenever I do the Saturday and Sunday shift at work, she always does. But this weekend marked the second time in a row and I hadn't properly thanked her beyond words. On my lunch break, I took a walk into town to Sainsbury's to buy chocolate and a bunch of white and yellow 'seasonal flowers'. 

I paid and as I walked back to work with this bouquet perched on my arm like an army soldier holds a rifle in parade, a sudden urge swept over me. Suddenly, I didn't want to be heading to work. I wanted to be going to a cemetery and spending the boiling sunshine with someone who was no longer alive. I wanted to appreciate the day, buy flowers and mark a grave with them. Then sit in the sun besides their headstone and reminisce. It felt the best way to make the most of the day. But I don't know why that felt so blissful, so perfect or so right. 

When we were to younger, we used to read grave stones with mum. She took us round various places, some local and some on our trips to the new forest, and she instilled in us a courage - one that told us not to be afraid of dying, not to dodge death and to be respectful to those who had passed on. It gave us a love of quirky literature and a respect for other people's lives. 

  We would walk around and see who was who. Who had been a mother, a brother, a great grandmother or a friend. Who was the oldest and, sadly, who was the youngest. We would look at freshly covered graves with mini gates to Heaven. And gingerly run past the spots that had been broken in. It was something we had always done and something we were indifferent to. 

But, we were incredibly fortunate. Apart from our Grandad, who I knew only from photos and the memories that I had fabricated from them, no one close to us had died. We had little experience of death or of a death so personal. And so, with my flowers in hand and my lunch break counting down, I realised that I had no one to sit with. I wanted to put flowers on a grave that wasn't full and talk to someone who was still alive. 

  There was no one who could fulfill this deep desire of mine. Which, looking back, of course was very lucky. It was comforting to know that all my family and friends were alive and well. 

When I go to se my auntie, there's this place I pass on the train line. It's called Brookwood and it's the UK's largest cemetery. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Just vast expanses of fields covered with graves. And people knelt down tending to them. There's flowers everywhere and barely a soul walking around. It's so tranquil and beautiful.

*

Having the job that I have means the absolute world to me! I have no words to describe how much I love it. When I come out to go home I feel exhilarated by the people I am fortunate enough to work with. By the customers I meet in store. And just by the fact that I am worth something - that I have something that is vital to the clockwork of the company. I am a member of the team that is so crucial to the sales we make and the people the brand attracts.

It's such a wonderful feeling to be part of that. And so, when I lost my job, I felt absolutely devastated.

I wasn't fired but I was told that the only alternative to working all summer and not getting to see my family was to head out to Dubai and resign. It was an obvious choice but it was so upsetting to do it. I felt that I had come so far since getting my job, that to lose it would put me at a loose end and back to where I started: frantically searching websites for any and everything that advertised a vacancy and having countless emails that told me that I was unsuccessful. (I still get them - even now. 5. Months. On.)

Yet, the thought that I had after being told this news by my manager was not anything like I've just said above. That came after. My first thought was simply this: 

"God has given me an opportunity."

And, for a momentary lapse in my sadness, I felt like I wasn't losing at all. 

Since being at uni, religion has had such a deep influence on me. I've learnt so much and been able to deepen my faith and relationship with God. It has been fantastic and for that one thought to be my first in a disheartening situation, most definitely tells me that I'm going somewhere and that I am better for it. 

And so, life threw me my lemons and I ate them like oranges. Perhaps knowing that my job is coming to an end, like dying, isn't pretty and it does still hurt. But when it's over, I can begin to mould things anew. And the prospect of that, is rather beautiful.