As they all say, we are in an age when the concept of “a career for life” no longer works for most people. It’s almost taken for granted now that the path of spending your lifetime with a single employer or in a linear progression in a single job is no longer the advice or the reality. Now people are increasingly realising that the same applies to careers. Few careers last a life time. Sometimes the driving force is internal (i.e. we want a change) and other times, external (i.e. the world changed, and your job no longer existed).
I’m writing this with a cup of black Cosi brew within reach of my right hand, a short distance from my mouse.
Black Coffee. On a Saturday morning, sitting in front of my laptop in the quiet office with the silence broken only by the almost rhythmic blasts of horns from the street below.
I never would have thought that the day would come when I take my coffee without milk. Cambridge took the milk out of the tea for me. Age seems to have taken the milk out of my coffee. Continue reading “On Coffee – A is for Arabicas, and B is for Black”
I was always arbitrary in my feelings towards Yangon. I felt at the back of my head that I should love Yangon, and couldn’t help feeling slightly guilty that I didn’t know if I did.
I knew I loved Kyangin, where I was born. I didn’t recall much of Mandalay, where I had spent some of my youth. I didn’t dislike Yangon, but I didn’t feel much for it any other way either. For a place where I spent most of my time before I left Myanmar, and a place so romanticised by tourists and foreigners alike, I didn’t have the emphatic “these-are-my-roots” sentiments.
The Yangon that I came back to didn’t hold the first-time wonders that it did to many foreigners who came in, eager to see the place where time stood still, locked away from the rest of the word.
It also didn’t hold the familiarity and comfort of a homecoming. Continue reading “Yangon”
Seriously. Navel-gazing is a perfectly legitimate and worthwhile endeavour.
Nothing self-absorbed at all. Slightly self-absorbed, but still a very worthwhile and legitimate past time.
With time, we (the royal ‘we’) have gotten slightly more comfortable in our skin as we age, in admitting that we not perfect, and acknowledging that being thirty doesn’t mean that we have figured out our lives, our careers, our families etc…
The skin seems to fit better when you stop trying to over-stretch it with the mass of inflated expectations that doesn’t hold within your frame.
While I would love to say otherwise, I’m not always nice, conscientious, clever, kind or generous. We all try our best when we become aware of our problems, but we aren’t always the best version of ourselves. Sometimes I like to gossip about people, complain about events, take a little short cut when I do things, wonder if I should take an undeserved advantage that comes my way, get really annoyed at people who should never have to bear with my ill temper, convince myself out of doing that 30 minutes exercise that was part of my new year resolution, and many more… Actually, some times, I don’t even like to try my best.
And yes, that’s why having a little chance to be self-indulgent in being introspective about your life (and no one else’s but yours), can still make you a better person. If I can’t focus in other aspects of life, at least let me try having some focus and awareness in my own actions.
So long again, dear diary. Let’s pick up from where we left off the last time round. It won’t be a one night stand. (And that’s how it always started).