Let me tell you a little story

When I arrived in this country seven years ago, I worked at an independent café tucked away in a side street in the financial district. My employer was a savvy Iranian lady who taught me how to cook with love and be inventive in the kitchen; her heart and passion for food were as big as the queues that formed outside the café at lunchtime.

Part of that culture included staff eating together and taking the unsold food home – which was a hit with flatmates and friends who got to try it.

In a bitterly cold afternoon, I was leaving work with a bag full with various types of food. Then I spotted a homeless man and his dog sitting by King’s Cross station, covered in bruises and barefoot. I asked him if he was hungry and if he would like to have some pasta.

He looked at me, picked up the container and the look in his eyes was of anger. He threw the entire contents of the container (the food was hot) all over me and started swearing and enticing the dog to attack me.

I ran away in shock and never managed to forget that episode. The funny thing is that, since then, the same thing has happened under different guises – i.e. wanting to lend a hand to someone and being rejected.

In Brazil, when someone is carrying something heavy in the underground, for example, one would offer to carry the item/bag until the seat was free or the item owner had to get off the train. When I offered to do that here in London, the girl thought I wanted to nick the bag off her.

In another situation, when I helped a blind girl out of a store, I started some friendly conversation and she categorically told me to fuck off, because I was a stranger – how dare you talk to me?

The consequence is that nowadays, I often stop myself from helping people because that is seen as an intromission or offensive – and that applies even to some of my friends and family.

What is shocking about it is that you need to go great lengths to find the people that want to be helped, it took me a good few months to get voluntary work with children here.

Sometimes I feel like an idiot for offering help. I wonder if it’s because I approach the wrong people or if I shouldn’t really care. The latter isn’t really an option and helping isn’t always easy, so I guess I have to learn how to properly use my time and energy with people who really need/deserve it.

This overall antagonistic attitude is suffocating me. For every (rare) positive news report I share or affirmative comment I make at work, I often hear two or three downbeat remarks back. Journalists were never a particularly optimistic bunch, correct? But many seem to think that to be respected and do well in the trade, you must be cynical. Questioning things is one thing; having an aura of jaded negativity is quite another.

(from dodecaphonic)

The above quote reminds me of all the croquis of glamourous women in cocktail dresses I loved drawing in my early years. Aunties would say, "she will become a fashion designer". At the age of three, my mum asked me to read parts of the newspaper to the amazement of guests. They thought I was a prodigy.

Then it all went sort of downhill. It emerged I didn't know the result for six times seven from the top of my head. I also had (and still have) problems with knowing what's left and right. I was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADD) at the age of ten and never managed to get good marks at school in any humanities-unrelated subjects. I just knew I loved reading and writing and kept doing the English homework for kids in return for candy (and money, sometimes).

My dad wanted me to study medicine, my mum wanted me to follow a career in IT. I didn’t do any of that. Actually, I partly satisfied my mother’s wishes by becoming a technology writer. But now, the following thought is always on my mind: Is there anything else I could do? Do I have any undiscovered abilities I am completely unaware of?

In the current times when traders are becoming gardeners and the most inventive minds are creating ways to escape the threat of joblessness and shed some light in all this doom and gloom, probably the time to look at how to stretch your own potential has finally come. Fighting against that inertia and laziness that has reduced many to their own little comfort bubbles during the golden years we have now left behind is a must.

It is really hard, but I am really trying to overcome that “coulda, woulda, shoulda” feeling. Not just for economics sake, but also to unleash some potential that could help in making a difference – for myself and others.

Hurry up, we're gonna be late, can't wait to see this place and if we leave now, we could be there soon. On the drive, you did not care, you're sun-tired and your stomachs bare, when your eyes light up and out of the blue you scream. It's a miracle, and I'm here to say, it's a miracle, and I'm here to tell you now…Wake up we're almost there, just ten more miles it was such an affair, that in all our lives we've waited for this day. And there it is, it's shining like gold and little different than the one before and who would've thought that you would contemplate. All of the work is begun, the babies comes one by one, we lie in the mid day sun and say that this is a miracle, that we're here today.

So my cousins from Brazil are coming to London to visit! I just don’t know their exact arrival date yet, it should be sometime at the end of next week. Last minute planning, such a family trait : )

They will be around for Christmas then, which is cool because at least I will have some of my family here, I’ve never had that in the six years I’ve lived here, I was often in Brazil or couldn’t bring mum over. So I’m happy.

Christmas is going to be quite a big affair at my place... It was initially intended as something for the five of us plus girlfriends/boyfriends but the whole thing has now grown so much that we will need to get a big gazebo to put outside in order to make space.

I am actually happy about it, means that we’ll have a lot of friends around and a lot of nice food too : ) But I will be in charge of cooking the turkey – nobody knows, but I have never cooked one before : P

Some wonderful things happened this weekend and I am really happy now. Things are looking good for me again!

There wasn’t a post about what has happened yesterday because I was trying not to think about it, but the time to say goodbye to one of my best mates finally came.

We had lunch together yesterday afternoon, talked about the usual frivolities and then the conversation began to veer towards more serious things, like what we would like to do in the years to come, dreams and resolutions for the new year. I told her that I am proud of what she has become in the past six years, of all of her achievements here. She squeezed my hand and told me, in one of her characteristic lines: “And you are a real trooper.”

I wanted time to pass slowly, I treasured every minute of that lunch. We then walked back to my office slowly arm in arm, me smoking a cigarette – I needed it. Then we hugged for a few seconds and I noticed she would start crying, so I sent her away. I don’t deal with goodbyes very well.

After she disappeared in the crowd, I put out my cigarette, took a deep breath and headed back to my desk. It struck me that in my 28 years of age, I never had such a strong friendship bond with somebody who's completely different to me, yet with a personality that is so complementary to mine.

As I continued working I began to think, “what am I going to do without her”? But the following thought brought a smile to my face, that even in this city where most things come and go in short spaces of time, we have built a friendship for life. And that does not go away, wherever we may roam.

Yesterday, whilst I waited between one event and an interview with a certain Internet guru, I have stopped to drink tea at the National Gallery restaurant. I love that place, there is a retro, quintessentially English vibe to it that makes it quite special.

I had an orange and passion fruit tea. Strangely, I do remember buying a tin of the aforementioned tea at Whittards of Chelsea and not enjoying it at all. The one I had at the museum had an exquisite colour and a lovely aroma.

 

 

After drinking the entire content of my tea pot, I headed over to the interview venue, where some snacks were being served. I try not to eat the kind of stuff they serve at events here as it can be quite unhealthy (read wraps full of mayo, deep fried prawns, deep fried onion rings, potato skins full of sour cream and bacon, etc) and managed to successfully avoid the snacks due to my tea-filled stomach.

I am finding that tea can actually replace snacks and nonsense cravings for stuff in the middle of the afternoon. I heard that this is true to a lot of people but never worked for me until recently. Peppermint tea seems to be particularly good. Gosh am I turning into an English lady?!

On a separate note, I don’t want to leave my desk. I am a real fashion faux-pas today, with black tights and grey shoes. Oh dear!

I am missing everything I did not want to have.

I was thinking just now, so many great authors like Ernest Hemingway, Aldous Huxley or Tennessee Williams were either on drugs or severely depressed when they produced some of their finest work.

That made me wonder whether the loneliness that many writers experience and a progressively large amount of ‘me time’ becoming writing time, eventually leads to a one-way ticket to a different world, one of madness and social isolation.  

Research carried out back in 2004 by Kay Jamison, professor of psychiatry at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine showed that  38% of a group of prominent British writers and artists had been treated for some kind of mental disorder. Out of that lot, some 75% had either been hospitalised or had antidepressants prescribed – quite significant findings when compared to the trends in other professions or even with the population at large.

It doesn’t look like people in the trade are getting less depressed. And good writers do not switch off. So what can one do in order to avoid being dragged into that spiral of living to write, not writing to live? And how to deal with being under the spotlight?

By observing colleagues and friends as well as myself, there seems to be a fine line between producing kick-ass reading material to then recoil into your little world and being a great writer and enjoy all the perks that come with it – like ‘normal people’ do. I was nominated for a company award for my work, but I do not feel  comfortable with it at all and feel physically sick when I think about it.

Queria muito comprar um ingresso para o show do The Cure em Fevereiro...Ainda existem ingressos a venda e vai ser la na O2 Arena, que e uma experiencia em si so. Mas...sao £35!

Se eu for comprar dois ingressos (um pra mim e um para a pessoa que vai comigo) vou sair num prejuizo imediato de £70...e nem sei de alguem que esta SUPER a fim de ir tambem.  O Mi nao curte tanto, meus amigos (com excecao de um, que nao poderia comprar o ingresso de qq forma) tambem nao gostam muito.

Agora e decidir se vou sozinha ou nao! Ou senao ir no show do Depeche Mode em Maio?Ah. Acabei de olhar e ja venderem todos os ingressos. Eu quero muito ir em algum show de musica, me sinto com as energias renovadas depois de escutar musica ao vivo.

Yay, it is finally Friday! I am sooo glad I’ll have a couple of days to relax a bit, the week has been intense, with bike taxis, a Gordon Ramsay episode and exploring of unknown areas of the city centre -- and I thought I knew London inside out.

Unusually, I have started to look forward to Christmas which is not something that normally happens over here, mainly because I keep thinking about the good weather, friends and family back in Brazil!

Reasons to look forward to Xmas include my cousin probably spending the festive season with me and my friends. He will probably come with his wife, whom I like very much. He will be en route to Denmark as he won a two-month scholarship at the University of Copenhagen, lucky thing! Cool thing is that he has invited me to visit him over there, so I’m already excited.

At my new place things are going well, I forgot how it was like, to live with Brazilians. It feels good to be back into that lively environment, there are stories to tell every day, jokes cracking all the time…We also cook together quite often so dinner is always nice – also because it is often typical Brazilian fare (rice, beans, meat, salad) which I have missed.

But on the flipside there has been a fight with punching and everything between two flatmates. Again, that made me realise I got so used to the uptight Brit behaviour that I had  forgotten about the fiery behaviour of my fellow countrymen. But that may help me regain that spontaneity that I am always conscious it has faded a bit. Not via punch-ups though!

Overall it was a good thing to move with those guys. I have settled in my room now and really enjoy living there even though it is further away from the centre.

In retrospect, the only thing I miss about my old place is the 20min commute to work (now it takes me 45min-1h to get to the office) as well as my friend Nerida. In fact the reasons that triggered the move was the fact that the rent was too expensive for me and that Nerida is going back to Australia for good.

I try not to think too much about it but I will have a real hard time when she is gone. She is my best friend and I will miss her a lot.
 

Nerida and I earlier this year. Photo by Ben.
 

According to my computer, its 14.20 GMT now. I write this on my way to North Carolina, as we cross the Atlantic on a plane that has a crew of smiley American flight attendants serving terrible tasting food. Earlier, I have been directed to yet another bag search at the gate, I am sitting near the toilets and that the girl sitting next to me smells as if she had a big curry night last night.

In fact, the little annoyances above would have been a lot more bearable if I actually enjoyed flying or saw it as a means of transport like any other. But now, similarly to someone who is learning how to get over a lost love, I am still trying to convince myself that this is actually safe and can even enjoyable at times, even after years of absolutely hating the experience of being so far away from “safe“ ground.

I have to fly a fair amount because of my job and the trips have increased considerably in the past few months. Because of that, I have begun to make an effort to understand my own irrational reaction to flying and talk about it with people to get their opinions (that is, after they have laughed at me and looked at me as if I was crazy).

So far, I have met two people who hate flying. One of them will not fly at all and she made her way to Spain by train from the UK and spent almost six days out of her two-week honeymoon to travel to Valencia and back. I am sure she managed to work around that constraint by introducing interesting little stopovers along the way. Could that be considered a plus?

At the moment, the plane shakes and makes its way through air pockets as we go through turbulence. “Turbulence is good”, that is one of things I have heard from people as I try and understand what goes on up here. The person used the aforementioned phrase to illustrate the fact that if there are wind dynamics around the plane, everything is in perfect working order to brave changing wind conditions.

Earlier, when I asked to change my seat (request politely declined by Barbie, smiling in its flight attendant model) a guy seating next to me said that he understood what I was experiencing because his wife, too, had a plane phobia. She had stayed at home as he travelled to London to see his nieces. He told me I could talk to him if I felt scared. But when I needed him the most, he was fast asleep, snoring loudly.

Handling takeoffs and landings seems slightly easier now, but I still can’t keep my cool when flights start to get bumpier. Though I have repeated my mantra “turbulence is good” every single time since I heard it from my friend, my palms still get sweaty and I still get dizzy every time it happens.

Some wildly ridiculous stuff crosses my mind when I’m up here, the impression that we will crash into the ocean below us being one of them. I begin to remember what one flight attendant told me once, when I confided my fears: this is just like a taxi ride, the difference is that the chances of the car crashing are a lot bigger than the same happening to a plane.

I am now 569 words into this and have not stopped sweating. Nor has the turbulence. I start to think of scenes out of Final Destination as I continue writing this. Would my hard drive survive if we crash somewhere around the south coast of the US so I can prove from my grave that I was right?

Maybe I should consider therapy. Or the BA “nervous fliers” course, perhaps. But at £2000 a session, I’d rather pop another sleeping tablet!

Oh. Time to turn electronic devices off. Are we starting to nose-dive? I don’t want to die here. It would be a very inglorious death.

---
PS: Now in the hotel room, safe and sound and my feet firmly on the ground (it rhymed!) after the worse flight of my life and the longest immigration queue and wait. I am off to the land of nod. Good night.

It is hard to believe that in London, one of the most multicultural cities in the world, there is still such a prominent racist attitude wherever you go. In many occasions, I was victim of racism myself, for being an immigrant, a woman and, just recently, for being white. What's wrong with people in this city?? Can't they understand that this is such a great place to live exactly because of its diversity?

***
I have been recently invited to attend some sort of do organised by the London district of the Communist Party. According to my friend, a fiery member of the red brigade himself, it is a great place to "have copious amounts of alcohol all night long" and "meet someone for a casual shag". OK...

When was it that being a revolutionary was actually genuine? I happened to be in one meeting for my own workers union the other day and despite the fact the agenda outlined discussing matters that were actually important to the profession, all we did in the end was eating greasy snacks and wahsing them down with high percentage lager.

In fact, when we look at people who made a real difference, like Desmond Tutu, Muhammad Yunus, the Dalai Lama and etc, there is an immense amount of effort and time put into it. Much has been said about doing your own bit to change the world, but are people really interested in it? What we see often is people hiding behind a cause without embracing it (like the people at the commie party) or even doing as little as possible (like in the UN Secretariat).

We could all make a real difference. But are we really bothered?

Today is Valentine's Day in Brazil, so I thought I'd just post a quick entry to all my Brazilian (and Brazilian wannabes hehehe) friends that read this journal to wish everyone a great day with lots of flowers and chocolate : ) If you don't have someone to share these things with, perhaps today is good day to find someone?

Or do like I'll do and have a romantic dinner...with your best mate : )

Carpe diem xx

Phew! Lots of stuff going on - since my last entry, I had a crazy trip to Amsterdam, another to Barcelona, rubbed shoulders with  Moby and Mylo, went to dentist, had my heart broken, put back together again,paid bills, had pills, made new friends, missed a plane, slept badly, wrote an average of 10,000 words about a range of different subjects and thought I needed a little breathing space, which is writing here : )

The next couple of weeks will be super busy too, as the other senior reporter is on holidays and I have to pretty much work double. Then there is my essay for uni, which I have to complete by the 19th and haven't even started - typical me! I think it will be something about the UN and peacekeeping, but I am not sure yet. Today I had a lecture from 10am to 4pm (dooohhh) but at the end the lecturer told me my questions were "really good and kept the debate alive". Things are looking good for me again, woo!

I want to post pictures here, I took some interesting ones in the past few weeks. I just have to first, figure out how to use the memory card reader, then how to load the pic onto Flickr. What a challenge - and people think I am a techie. HA!

Speaking of techie stuff, I will soon start writing my London diary, with a little tech slant to it. Watch this space!

Carpe diem mes amis x

I feel a little hungover from last night - sambuca shots, beer, cider and sangria, how does that sound? Not really sensible, I know...!

But there is more of that coming up as I leave for Amsterdam today! I'll meet two good friends there and stay until Tuesday. I'm really looking forward to it, this is a very timely break. I had a dream that I was at Luton Airport and had forgotten my passport. It was a good reminder because that probably could happen!

Ok, I better go and pack -- have a great weekend everyone!

I am not sure where my ship is going, but I just hope I will be able to look after myself for once. I need to be able to do it!

This morning I went to see Mr. Fuckingbadass from super investment bank. He took me to the 40th floor of his super hi-tech office and when I thought he was really going to tell me about the state-of-the-art IT he is using on the trading floor, he didn't. These people are so good at pretending they "didn't quite understand the purpose of the chat". That's when I really feel like using that C word to describe people, especially that sort of arrogant fuck who thinks he is the most delicious biscuit in the pack.

***

When I got back to the newsdesk, news editor told us it was time to have an off-site meeting. We left at midday and got back at 3pm, completely pissed. This is like working for a national again.

...working on Sundays. Weekends are made to REST, not work! Bloody western culture, forget about all my travel plans, I'm off to Nepal to become a monk.