Mr Effy and I were hit with nasty food poisoning last weekend, taking it turns in the toilet throughout the Friday night. At four in the morning we have a house call from a doctor, a stubby Russian woman with spiky orange hair, who jabs lollypop sticks in both our mouths, a thermometer under our armpits, goes to the toilet, returns, writes out a bill of 160 shekels together and leaves. Both of us sit in a state of confusion, having not been given an answer to our nauseating predicament. The night had at least provided us with the bonding experience vomiting together, etc. Yet it was truly frustrating. We had eaten and drunk so many different things just three hours before, so to pinpoint our error was impossible … the tuna, the tortilla chips, the chicken, the wine, the water or was it the chocolate fondue? The following morning my face was a raspberry, blood shot and swollen, what a pretty sight.
I couldn’t help myself but be metaphorical about these past events. So many things have gone on in my past, so many decisions I made, challenges I faced, and somehow I ended up here. I wonder which choice of all the choices had brought me to this point? What was the cause of my dilemmas right now? If I hadn’t taken a bite of this, a nibble of that, then maybe some things would have turned out different. Maybe I wouldn’t be stuck at home right now instead of working in a cafe, because I fear the waiter’s reaction to my grossly blood shot eyes. And, maybe I won’t be stuck at home, with scraps of money in the bank and wondering how I ended up here in the first place.
Yesterday morning my dad dropped me home in a cab after breakfast and headed back to England. For the first occasion ever, he left me crying. This time was really hard, actually the hardest it has ever been, because this time, he gave it to me straight. He left me pondering with questions and dilemmas that need answering. He could read my thoughts, as if they had been laid out by the waitress on the table, amongst the coffee and croissants. But he couldn’t pop a stick in my mouth, take my temperature, and give me an answer to life’s larger questions.
I realized I need to take control of things and actually jump on the tidal wave of life. It’s as if I have been sitting in transit in an airport terminal the last few years. People fly into Tel Aviv, and eventually go back home. Whereas, I am in one place, sat in the terminal, waiting to fly off in a direction, but realizing I am still here, as this is not a terminal, it is actually my home. There is no doctor with a prescription waiting on hand for me. I realized there isn’t anyone to rely on in transit, except my one constant, who will hopefully work out my remedy.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
2:15 Back Again
Yep, guilty as charged. I am a lame blog-writer. Four months went pass and I didn’t rear my wordy head onto blogger.com. Ever so often, I would open up a new word.doc and begin to develop my thoughts into ‘literary illustrations’. Yet persistently, I could not settle into the words on the screen. Rather, I blew on them, as if they filled into a hot cup of coffee, and having taking the first careful sip, I would realise the milk was off.
I do have a few excuses: 1. I came to realise the wonders of poetry. I was able to place the consistently-initiated unpublished, untitled blogs, which progressed into pieces far too personal for public release, into a piece of anonymous poetry. 2. I quit my 9-5 corporate role and became a freelancer. As ‘free’ as that sounds, I no longer had the time-wasting hours in an office to cultivate my blogger-sphere. 3. My life became mundane. 4. Hence, I lost motivation to write.
I have decided to stop taking things too seriously and have returned to my precious blog.
So for now, I will wrap up the last six months into one.
January, I resigned from the same tribulations of my former-English self: a life trapped by a corporate prison. I left the steady, reliable and emotionally draining job in the egotistically- charged world of finance and, once again, pursued self-determination. I never felt more alive; the seeds of my mind awoke and blossomed into a channel of passion. With the awakening of my soul, I discovered new loves and doors began to open. I also plucked up the courage to begin venturing out on my new pink bike, which Mr Effy bought me for my birthday.
February, I landed ‘the’ position I only dreamt about during the lonely night shifts in a grey office setting. I am now a research analyst, specialising in the redevelopment of developing regions, which is somewhat of a mouthful to say and is quite a great deal to digest. This new life has brought its own trials and tribulations, which are now being realised. I have also learnt how to swerve around Tel Avivian strollers, little old ladies and dog poop on my not so new pink bike.
March to May, life plodded on. Realising I had begun speaking to myself in the lonely ‘freelance’ hours of work at home, I began to venture out into cafes and resolve my loneliness with the company of waiters and other lonely freelancers. I also decided that for my next birthday, I will go ‘up a gear’, literally, and buy a really flashy mountain bike, as the pink one doesn’t seem to get me very far.
June, it seems reality has starting to nibble at me. And this is the world of thought I hope to continue writing in.
I do have a few excuses: 1. I came to realise the wonders of poetry. I was able to place the consistently-initiated unpublished, untitled blogs, which progressed into pieces far too personal for public release, into a piece of anonymous poetry. 2. I quit my 9-5 corporate role and became a freelancer. As ‘free’ as that sounds, I no longer had the time-wasting hours in an office to cultivate my blogger-sphere. 3. My life became mundane. 4. Hence, I lost motivation to write.
I have decided to stop taking things too seriously and have returned to my precious blog.
So for now, I will wrap up the last six months into one.
January, I resigned from the same tribulations of my former-English self: a life trapped by a corporate prison. I left the steady, reliable and emotionally draining job in the egotistically- charged world of finance and, once again, pursued self-determination. I never felt more alive; the seeds of my mind awoke and blossomed into a channel of passion. With the awakening of my soul, I discovered new loves and doors began to open. I also plucked up the courage to begin venturing out on my new pink bike, which Mr Effy bought me for my birthday.
February, I landed ‘the’ position I only dreamt about during the lonely night shifts in a grey office setting. I am now a research analyst, specialising in the redevelopment of developing regions, which is somewhat of a mouthful to say and is quite a great deal to digest. This new life has brought its own trials and tribulations, which are now being realised. I have also learnt how to swerve around Tel Avivian strollers, little old ladies and dog poop on my not so new pink bike.
March to May, life plodded on. Realising I had begun speaking to myself in the lonely ‘freelance’ hours of work at home, I began to venture out into cafes and resolve my loneliness with the company of waiters and other lonely freelancers. I also decided that for my next birthday, I will go ‘up a gear’, literally, and buy a really flashy mountain bike, as the pink one doesn’t seem to get me very far.
June, it seems reality has starting to nibble at me. And this is the world of thought I hope to continue writing in.
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