Me 11/2006

I reckon this has to be the easiest thing to blog about. What is harder than talking about yourself?

If you've ever attended a toastmasters' meeting, this will be the first thing that you have to do. Talk about yourself for 3 minutes (I think... I can't really remember now). Back in NUS 1997, I attended one session with the toastmasters there, had a panic attack and never returned. I wished I'd stayed: perhaps I could have gone on to become a better public speaker. It must have been the law students scaring me away with their vocabulary.

Anyhow, if you want to compare the me now and the me in 2005, I really can't see much in my psyche that has changed: I think I am still me essentially.

But... let's start anyhow.

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The Me in November has been a student for 11 months. I am currently an INSEAD participant (they don't like to call us students, the adminstration). Unfortunately, this status isn't lasting for much longer, probably warranting another update soon in 2007. See, I'm going to be graduating soon - next month - and then I can truly call myself an alumni and MBA.

Being an MBA hasn't done me much good financially: I've gone into debt and my finances are strained beyond what they can bear. The MBA also hasn't given me any better an idea what I want to become: the kiddy dreams of becoming the CEO of some MNC remains that - a kiddy dream.

But hey, I can still dream, and dream big.

:
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Come to think of it, the MBA gave me the dreams in the first place. And the MBA taught me many things which I would never have learnt in a less formal context: there just isn't the kind of room to learn the things you learn in an MBA while on the job. So a one year break to learn, to recharge, to rethink, and to find myself: priceless.

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The Me in November is also in a rut relationship-wise. There is nobody. Zilch. Not any romance in sight. Having concluded a relationship during summer, the me now just cannot muster enough resources to mount another 'offensive', i.e. search for a new girlfriend. Partly because life is still in a state of flux, and partly because I'm just not motivated enough to. Another reason was also because any romantic interests I harbour didn't get past the 'reality-check' stage.

That stage goes like this: OK, now I know I like this girl. What next? Shall I tell her? No, not yet. Only when I am sure we can have something that will last - like your last one, you don't want to make the same mistake right? Ok, but it won't last, and you know it won't. Am I sure? I don't know. But what if she doesn't like you back? Hell, then I can't tell her can I? Don't want to risk getting all hurt and such. Ok, hold back on those emotions and just be all rational: it won't last, she won't like you, and what's the whole point of it all?

Right. So the reality check was a huge jumbly mass of thoughts that did not materialise into concrete action. The fact was that I did do something about it in the end, but I did the minimal. All that thought of 'risk' just screws one up.

Oh, where was I? Yes, I'm in a relationship-rut, but then, that kind of suits my mood nowadays. It lets me simmer in dismay and brew in mild discontent at the (perceived) unfortunate circumstance. It allows me the room to play out fantasies, and not risk getting disappointed with real-life. It lets me withdraw into my own space, like a turtle in his shell, away from disappointment and hurt - why go through all that shit again, right?

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The Me in November has one grandparent less than the Me in 2005. On my dad's side of the family, this meant that there were no more old people... The mantle of old people has passed from my grandparents to... gasp... my parents.

My dad hit 60 in October, sometime after the death of my grandmother. I now think a lot more about getting old and living out the twilight years. I think more about how I want to live when I get there. The more I think about such nonsense as the future, the more I worry that my father never lived the dreams he had when he was a 30-year-old lad.

My father certainly didn't foresee himself failing in business at that age. I don't think he saw himself as getting too old either. I don't know if he ever was disappointed: with his career, his life, his children, his marriage. I don't know if he ever felt elated with the age he has lived up to. He always found solace in religion, and it has been that way since he was a teenager.

I admire that about my father: the ability to have that much faith. Perhaps I ask too much of my faith. Perhaps I ask too much of God and what he should or should not have done to this world (and me in the process, but I feel so small).

Nevertheless, my father is still the person I look up to. (I've got to speak for my mum too... but that's another long story for another time).

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The Me in November just realised how jaded I have become. Reading the post of me back in June 2005, I seemed more carefree, more at ease with myself in the world. Now, I think I am more uptight and frustrated. More bogged down by the mundane and meaninglessness of existence. More questioning of my self worth and what my station in this world is.

The Me in November can't look beyond November and regain the optimism that the Me in 2005 had. There was more hope then, and more clarity on my purpose in life. What I have now is a little less desire, a little less hunger for success. Hitting 30 must do this to you, I posit. Hitting 30 must give you that sense of dread that life just isn't the same anymore, and downhill is the only way to go.

Crap.

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The Me in November wants to walk out of December 2006 into a new year with his head held high and his future straightened out. Granted that I am not the most happy person to be with now, I do hope to be happy, and I do seek happiness.

That's why I don't like the risks that I have to take sometimes, but that's part and parcel of life.



Living it a day at a time...


The Me in November apologises for the utter lack of references to persons other than himself. This is an ego-piece and, although it does not live up to its promise of describing Me in November, it does serve its purpose of acting as an outlet for venting some frustration. Me in November is a frustrated, sex-deprived, uptight, unhappy, and screwed-up son of a bitch and he admits it readily. It's a wonder that he still has any friends, and they're absolutely gourmet when it comes to being friends. Top notch. He also wants to say that he loves you all.