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Interlude

Hello. It’s me. I was wondering after all these years you’d like to read.

So it’s been almost 2 years since I last touched this blog! It’s not necessarily a bad thing; it probably shows I was busy living life, but now I’ve hit a small bump in the road. I’m not worried about being at home this time, I was living at 100mph and this break has given me time to collect my thoughts before pushing on.

We are taught by education and by society to continuously think about the next step and to plan for the future, looking 5 years down the line. Taught to always strive for more. More money. More recognition. More power. This is a great motivator to make sure you don’t get too comfortable in a position and works a treat when you've lived a life where everything has gone to plan. However, such is life that you will most likely not progress in a straight line and if you’re not prepared for this it can come as a massive shock to the system. I went through this before, I would know.

So how do you cope when your plans askew? My Dad helped me cope with disappointment, I hadn’t really faced any during my younger years and went on a downward spiral when it first happened. He taught me to escape from the upward-looking mentality at tougher times and to take a step back. Comparing yourself to your peer group can drive you but can also demoralise you, so when its the latter you need to be able to introspect. Look at where you’ve come from. If someone told you two years ago that you would have achieved what you have today, would you believe them? If the answer is no, there’s your comfort. Who knows what you will have achieved in another 2 years time, so don’t give up. The switch from happiness to depression is a lot quicker than the reverse.

I have recently been reading my old blog posts, something which I started to help me remember my journey and to cope with disappointment. It brought a tear to my eye when I revisited the struggle and dark times trying to secure my first job after graduating, but also reinvigorated me. Now, I’m sitting in a position where I’ve turned down two £50k+ jobs in less than a year and being courted by two Tier 1 investment banks. That’s what self-confidence, reminding yourself of what you’re capable of and importantly the right support around you does for you. 

The latter is completely underrated by the millennial generation, everyone is desperate to make the journey by themselves. For what? Because it makes it better when you are telling your story? You’d listen to advice from your partner or friend who is as clueless about life as you are, but disregard your parents’ words because ‘they wouldn’t understand what it’s like these days’ and that good ol’ ‘I will only learn if I make my own mistakes’. Guilty! Experience is something you can never catch up on. Always seek to make full use of it, whether they are good or bad experiences.

I’ve been keeping myself occupied by dedicating more time to studying as well as looking for a new job, but most importantly I feel a lot happier. I felt like a zombie for a while, just ambling through a set routine of work, study and gym. I live in the same house as my family but might as well have not been! I hardly saw them apart from on the weekend, by which time the week had tired me out to such an extent that I all wanted was time to myself to unwind. I had developed stress and health issues from doing all that, but fortunately the visible signs seem to have receded. 

And most importantly, this interlude has given me a chance to write on here again! 

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Most people send funny photos/memes/links through social media and WhatsApp, @rikeshpatel92 sends me these gems - this one I thought was particularly spot on. #ThoughtForTheDay #Reflection

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Team Lunch & Drinks to celebrate 4th July, which may or may not have gone on for more hours than worked today. Shh. Pork Belly and Scratchings, Truffle Polenta and Salsa Verde. Food heaven. #4thJuly #IndependenceFromOurUSBossesDay #CanaryWharf #CabotPlace #SorryVegetariansButThisWasAbsolutelyAmazing (at Boisdale of Canary Wharf)

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MNEK - NEVER LEAVE YOU (LUMIDEE REFIX)

In the past few weeks I have become a huge fan of the voice and music of 19-year-old, Gerald from Hey Arnold look-a-like MNEK. I strongly urge you to check out his other music on his SoundCloud page, but for now I give you his take on this famous Lumidee hit.

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12 Things About Working In An Investment Bank

It has now been exactly 2 months since I started my first job after graduating. I’ve got a one-year contract with an American investment bank in Canary Wharf and have learnt a lot already about life here and what’s in store for me. Here’s a list of twelve things I’ve picked up on.

You find out about everything - whether its from the Intranet page or the grapevine, somehow you will hear of the sinister and not-so-sinister rumours about other banks, multinational corporates, foreign governments and your local curry house once you've been drawn in. Whether you choose to believe it or not is up to you, but it's a well known fact that investment banks exercise a lot more power than your average firm and possess the means to bury a lot of information.

Your day starts twice - there’s the traditional 9/9.30am start every morning where you sift through the list of overnight emails and demands, if you’re lucky enough to not own a BlackBerry, and then again around 2pm when the New Yorkers stroll into their office. Or, even earlier from keen American bosses cheerfully ‘reaching out’ to you from their BlackBerrys at home in their pyjamas at 7am EST.

Everyone can’t get enough of coffee… and popcorn - because of the fast-moving pace of life here, designating time for proper food consumption comes scarcely for anyone with a title after their name (which is pretty much everyone, coming to think about it…). The vending machines make a roaring business as people saunter over to it in their disarrayed daze for the few seconds the invisible rope tied around their necks gives them slack to leave their desk. No one around me seems to be able to function without a hot beverage planted on their desk as an emergency supply - in fact I’m almost certain that if someone fainted from their workload the whispering, huddled group would come to a consensus to try coffee to revive them. But not their own coffee. More surprisingly, people pick their way through bags and bags of popcorn daily. Its cult status has reached so far that it even has a place reserved for it in the vending machine, that's how sought after it has become. At first I thought it was just one of those items unfortunate people bought pressing the wrong buttons but no - its now the chosen comfort snack and guilty pleasure for the sun-starved masses to help get them through the day. I would dread going to the cinema with these poor souls, they’d probably breakdown from confusion about where they were as soon as the box office attendant utters the words, “would you like some popcorn, sir?”

Your concepts of dates and spelling is meaningless - its a relentless tirade of Americanisms forced into your mind, resisting is futile. My obsession with spelling and grammar has helped me this far, but who knows how long down the road until my steel breaks. I already panic and quiver if someone shouts over to me to quote a written date, it takes a while to garner the confidence to have a stab at it.

People love their catchphrases - the English language is so colourful and you'll never stop learning new words to add to your vocabulary collection. Throw in a generous dollop of American charm and you have the perfect recipe for confusion to a polite British person. You can't blame me for expecting a tide of people to drape my desk moments after an email was sent out by my Executive Director welcoming me, which requested team members to specifically 'reach out' to me. Nor did I understand the context of what we were assessing potential vendors for when I was informed the meeting was a 'bake-off', and was left thoroughly disappointed when I realised there wouldn't be any culinary delights to sample.

If you’re not using a headset, you’re doing it all wrong - because holding a phone in your hand is so mainstream. There’s no better way to lay down the law to a client or distant colleague than by pacing up and down the office, waving your hands about, with a flashing headset which flashes purely to remind others you’re not due a visit from the white coats. It also helps keep your hands-free, I guess, to scroll through BBC News whilst listening to a conference call conversation you have no input in or will later have no memory of. No joke, these calls should be used as capital punishment for eavesdroppers.

Not many people bring lunch from home - unless you’re seconded from India, everyone eats at or gets food from the first floor restaurant. So people that I haven’t been introduced to and that have been walking past my desk must think I’m seconded from India. Great. It might not be a good idea to suggest my Mumbai-style tiffin revolution to deliver hot, home-made lunches just yet…

All the stairs are hidden - walking is for the time-passers and carefree, ain’t nobody got time for that. As nice and plush as the lifts are, I really wouldn’t mind two flights of steps twice a day. Standing in awkward silence with the HOT Persian/Indian girl from Floor 6 that you see everyday and her geeky colleague who is fumbling through another dry anecdote, whilst waiting for a lift to finally decide to go in the right direction all seems a bit counter-productive, as my old A' Level Economics teacher would say.

Security is everything - I’ve worked at a central bank before, you’d imagine they’d be tighter about risks over there! My second day in and I tried to charge my music player using the USB port on my computer - it got shut down and all my music wiped. You can’t even email to a personal account - I’ve suggested to my Dad to set up a business simply so that he has an email address that I can use to contact him with.

Never be rude, be passive aggressive instead - professionalism is everything in the services sector because of the hefty amounts of dollar at stake, but that doesn't mean you can't vent your frustrations at a docile colleague or an incompetent client contact. I've seen it used in this context so many times that I am now convinced the word 'please' is a rude word judging by the churlish manner in which it tends to be used in emails. One of my current favourite methods I've seen is the downright deliberate misspelling of someone's name eight emails down a communication chain - but nothing compares to 'accidentally' addressing someone military style and going for the surname as their first name in their 'friendly' message opening. Lil bitch.

Networking, networking, networking - this is a given in a lot of industries. It’s a cliché, but it really is about who you know more than what you know. Once your name begins circulating the hallowed corridors of investment banks, you're on to a winner. The staff at all the Canary Wharf firms are like a part of a small community, knowing people in similar jobs at other firms is just as important.

The views are stunning throughout the year - whether its the towering landscapes and trees lit up on a Winter’s night, or the air of Summer with its fountains and water features serenading happy workers on their lunch break, Canary Wharf is one beautiful location and is no wonder that so many firms have flocked to buy up its real estate. Everyday I leave work and gasp at the panorama, still unable to believe my luck at being able to stand where I am.

I hope I’m working here and in this industry for a long time, there’s still so much more to learn, so many more people to meet and so many more memories to be created.

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CHRIS BROWN FT. LIL WAYNE & TYGA - LOYAL

I am, and always will be a die-hard loyalist of Breezy. Not your average role model and his actions can often be indefensible, but as an artist and entertainer his choreography and wide-ranging talents never fail to amaze me, although his lyric choices aren't always the most inspirational. I see this as a reply to the burgeoning Beyoncé fan club who have been masquerading as oh-so righteous on their high horses after her last album dropped, a reply which was well overdue for the beleaguered ordinary man. I also like how he's trying to make the fisherman/ScHoolBoy Q/my Dad hat a thing, and only he could pull off a kilt like that. These hoes ain't loyal.

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KID INK FT. CHRIS BROWN - SHOW ME

Another song which surprised me - usually anything Breezy even breathes on I'm on it faster than you can say 'lehhgooo' so I should have been drawn to it straight away, but I heard a fake version of it and wasn’t so sure until one day I heard it on the radio and couldn’t get enough of it. The Robin S sample is very welcome in this day and age, with Chris Brown’s chorus complementing newcomer Kid Ink’s bars perfectly. You remind me of something, I just don’t know what it is.

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THE WEEKND - DRUNK IN LOVE (BEYONCE COVER)

On the day Abel Tesfaye turned 24 he dropped this absolute stormer of a track, which not for the first time made social media swoon no sooner than he had uploaded it. I'm sorry Bey, this version is miles better than yours. The Weeknd continues his dominance across the industry with his ghostly touch and crooning notes alluring fans of many genre. We be all nightttt.

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ROUTE 94 FT. JESS GLYNNE - MY LOVE

I find it very strange that I have many moments where I just phase out completely from chart music - my university friend was shocked that someone so into music like me had not heard this hit record before it came on in my car. An eerie thermal imaging video, but its addictive continuous tempo and simple repeated lyrics are a winning combination. Stay close to me.

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Thoughtless Thoughts #4

THE LOVE GAME

This blog post was inspired by a Tumblr reblog I saw ages ago, but haven’t been able to forget. It read, ‘Why does who we fall in love with have to be a big secret? What if we walked around with the names of our crush on our t-shirts.’ What if.

Imagine how much time would be saved planning the moment and occasion to tell them, thinking about what they might be thinking and trying to find out if they like you too. You just look at the name on their t-shirt and move on.

Imagine how much time you’d save thinking about whether to text them first, whether to WhatsApp them, pondering obsessively over who they must be talking to when you check to see if they’ve been active on WhatsApp every hour, wondering if they will like your new profile picture or status that you’ve spent ages labouring over perfecting, debating whether to start up a Facebook Chat convo with them when they come online, whether they’ll laugh at that Snapchat you want to send, whether they read through your tweets and find you witty and entertaining.

Imagine how much quicker you’d decide if it was too quick to like their latest Facebook post, to decide if you’ve liked too many of their Instagram photos in a row, imagine all that research you’d have to avoid doing in order to find something mutual to bond over.

Imagine how many insecure moments of highs and lows you would circumnavigate, all those stomach flutters from noticing something you didn’t want to you’d avoid, all those jitters when you think someone might know your secret, all those well-thought alibis you wouldn’t need to get out of having to confess it’s true when you’re not ready to say yet, all those diversion signals you need to co-ordinate to disturb the scent.

Imagine all those conversations you would have been saved from having with your confidante who is as clueless as you, all those hours you could have had back from not reading back their messages over and over, all that time you wouldn’t need to spend scheming to make an excuse to see that person, all that time you wouldn’t need to prepare yourself to act nonchalant to not reveal how much deeper you just fell in love as soon as you see them and all your doubts about whether they are right for you dissipate immediately.

Imagine just how much easier life would be if you had this issue sorted. So I repeat the question - why does who we fall in love with have to be a big secret? Don’t ask me, I don’t know what that feels like.

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YG FT. DRAKE - WHO DO YOU LOVE?

I first heard of YG when he featured on the remix of a Young Jeezy song and liked his verse. I somehow missed My Nigga completely and his was another album I put off listening to, until it was brought back to my attention by an Ed Sheeran tweet, of all people. I didn't think much of this song when I first heard it until a joke with a friend about how Drake's songs are about the trials and tribulations of life elongated and I found myself paying more attention. A shameless, head-bopper, car journey tune that music purists would cringe at with its typical hedonistic lyrics - it's all a bit of fun to me. If you do listen to the album from start to finish, this song is placed in its story so well that it'll make you laugh. I would pinky swear, but my pinky ring too big.

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TREY SONGZ - NA NA

I used to be a huge fan of Trigga when he was producing tunes like Successful, I Need A Girl and Say Aah but for me has waned quite a lot in recent years. If this song is a sign of what to expect, I look forward to seeing what he serves up next. A certified banger with a mysterious music video designed to make his female fans drool even more over him.

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Aaliyah's immortal words

The dream job at the Bank of England arrived, an Economics research assistant at the one institution that decorated my CV and one I couldn’t get enough of. I can’t remember a time that I wanted something so badly more than that. 10 hours spent filling out the application form. Next round. Aced the numerical and logical reasoning test. One step closer. Squeezed through the Excel challenges, with a lil help from my friend Google. My excitement crescendoed. My heart pulsated as I walked to the interview room with the secretary. It was going remarkably well. I could taste the job offer on the tip of their tongue. Pause. My heart stopped pumping. My brain had a lapse. My tongue refused to move. A bead of sweat broke free and may have turned to ice judging by how quickly I had frozen. Stumped. Outfoxed, by a simple question. I mumbled something inaudible. My interviewer raised an eyebrow and scribbled animatedly. She had that, ‘you were almost there’ expression on her face. The right answer came to me, but it was too late to turn back. It haunted me throughout the rest of the interview. I wanted to rip my skull open, take my brain out, stare at it and scream WHY? My whole world crumbled in an instant. If you know my story, you know this isn’t the first time. But I’m an eternal optimist and thought this opportunity was in the palm of my hand. I was so broken beyond repair when the rejection email arrived. The most likely potential saving grace to rescue my disastrous year had been snatched away from my eyes. The last remaining drops of self-worth and confidence had been sapped away from me.

I was taking serious consideration to a temporary job at a factory. My life had hit rock bottom. I sat alone in my loft room for many days crying to myself at the cards destiny had dealt me. Friends would keep me company virtually, but they weren’t to know the true extent of my pain. My brain said they saw me as junk, and I could feel the growing distance with some. Not all, they know who they are and my love for them is unconditional.

The arguments with family started increasing as frustration seeped out from both sides. They were only trying to help, my ego didn’t see it that way. I didn’t speak to my Dad for a few months, my sister and mother slightly less. Arguments started with friends who couldn’t understand my solitude. I wanted to erase them all from my life. My determination to get a job dithered. Depression had won my soul from hope, and gripped on to it tighter everyday. I couldn’t see a way out of the darkness as I cursed my fortune and regretted my decisions. I blamed the world. I hated the world. Fuck the world, and its roll of the dice choosing our paths. I wanted to turn back time, turn back to the point where the first part of me had shattered. 18 August 2010. Futile thoughts.

I slept a lot. I would go upstairs at 10pm and find myself struggling to wake until half 8 the next morning, not being ready until at least 10am everyday. I took afternoon naps increasingly for many hours, just passing time in between meals. I had nothing to look forward to apart from meals, except when Mum made some distastefully horrible shak. I took solace in fast food, guilty pleasures that no one knows about. My weight ballooned. All the hard gym work from the previous summer had washed away, but did I care? No, sir.

I stopped shaving regularly, often seen marauding with an unsightly beard. I wore black tracksuit bottoms all the time and even out of the house, the ultimate symbol of idgaf about life. I stopped believing in religion and everything it stands for, another victim of my feeling of betrayal. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. My discipline had evaporated.

Staying trapped at home everyday had got to me. I snapped, and picked it up again. I registered everywhere. I broke the ice with Dad and we were rolling again. He had finally convinced me to do the one thing I had been avoiding all summer. I went to the DirectGov website and registered my details to sign-on.

As I went for my first appointment, I hated myself. I felt unclean. I felt people driving past and at the bus stop were sneering at me. I felt the attendant at the door was judging me as another hopeless scrounger. I didn’t even want to sit down.

They were friendly, but my ego told me again I was better than this. I didn’t want the money, it felt like corrupt money. I planned to give it all to my parents, I had no interest in hand-outs. The woman made it seem simple, but I felt tied up. Bless her, she was trying to help, but I knew from that very moment the only person who can truly help is me. At least I had accountability now.

It was quiet at first, as I waited patiently by my phone every morning for an email notification or a phone call. And then it all kicked off.

Recruitment consultants started calling regularly, they liked my CV and cover letters. I felt rejuvenated, like the moment you insert a charger into a mobile phone. They were dud calls, promising a position in finance but a little bit of reading showed it was actually a sales pyramid scheme. Someone had forgotten to flick the switch on for my charger. Flat battery.

From a barren spell, the calls became incessant and now I wasn’t the one who was desperate. The persuasion tactics got even more ridiculous and for a while I had forgotten what career path I wanted. The promise of a job was alluring and I started ignoring at what cost it may be. It made me realise that I was always the desperate one all along, and my lack of confidence had brought me to this point.

It became downright farcical when I conducted an “interview” in my bath towel kneeling over my bed, describing the wrong company and making up transparent lies on the spot - only to be told I had passed and was being invited for an assessment centre. By the time the woman had pointed out my “cute laugh” as a reason and thrusted her personal phone number onto me, I was well shot of her and her company. The phone calls and emails didn’t rescind for several weeks, but in fairness it did turn out the firm they had put me forward for was a legitimate new financial company, which now has significant advertising all over the Tube and newspapers. It was even promoted by money saving expert Martin Lewis. Oops.

I didn’t care, I had been invited for an interview somewhere more exciting the week after and this seemed more promising and had more legitimacy. I felt like I was on to something. Optimism overwhelmed me and visions kept coming of holding the title of ‘junior private equity analyst’. Destiny woke up again and threw a speed bump at my feet. My mind was travelling too fast and careered off as it reached the bump. It was my worst interview ever. Ever. It was only my third interview, but it was so jarringly bad. I didn’t even make it to 15 minutes before I found myself walking straight back through the revolving doors which had barely settled from when I had arrived. I looked up at the pillared, towering building with a resigned look of another opportunity squandered and broke down again. The top seemed very far away from where I was standing.

From impatience after believing it was going to be sooner rather than later, I had nothing. I kept being fed horror stories about turning out like someone we know who lived a life of lies to cover up their inability to secure employment. I could sense the underlying tension my parents were going through when their son, who had held the key to unlocking their dreams, that they had made many sacrifices for, had dropped it in the water and was scrambling around trying to find it as they looked on, disenchanted. I dropped my guard and welcomed stress into my mind.

I receded into my slump again. The long naps, the self-indulgence, the reclusive mood and general downbeat outlook on life returned. I just waited, but didn’t know what I was waiting for.

I was beginning down another route, but I didn’t know it yet. The job centre forwarded me to a graduate training programme, where I met a man named Dean Frederick. I name him because, along with my father, I credit him a lot for the support and confidence he instilled in me to not let something like the last interview happen again, and to believe in myself once more.

I saw him compulsorily for 2 days, but those hours were more fruitful and eye-opening than anything I had found on the Internet. I wasn’t the only one in the same boat, I made friends there too. I had renewed vigour. He arranged to meet one-on-one for another interview which popped up.

It was a telephone interview. Sky. But they wanted me to move to Scotland. Hesitation. A job is a job, wherever it takes me. Dean prepared me well. My notes prepared me well. I was buzzing off my test aptitude which got me to this stage… My nerves didn’t prepare me well. I was at the penultimate stage, but I felt the opportunity slipping from my hand like sand as the clock ticked on. Not again, not again - those desperate thoughts took control of my voice. I sat there clutching my phone for minutes after I hung up. A long, resigned breath and a forlorn look into the mirror.

Dean tried again. I still had another opportunity with Telefonica. A video interview. A combination of him and my Dad picked me up again. I was ready. The practise went well. The real one started well. The googly was delivered. I stuttered more than I should have, and said ‘umm’ one too many times. I lost my cool and even dared a glance at my notes. Fuck sake. I just didn’t know what to make of it.

Dean opened another door for me - he told me there was another way he could try. My ears pricked up. I had an interview with an agency consultant. He was happy with me. I was invited to sit tests. They were even more eager to work with me. It felt like I had been here before. He said some right words, I found myself signing a contract with them no sooner after. 

It all went quiet for a while, it was Christmas time. I waited patiently. My practical-thinking Dad tried to make me be logical and keep my options open. I did so half-heartedly, but wanted to believe this dream sold to me. The job centre were running out of options with me apart from forcing me to take temp jobs, yet my advisor knew I was trying. It became a battle against time.

I breezed through another graduate scheme application as I got a hang of how to answer questions. It was with Unilever. I had passed their tests convincingly. They said they'd notify me of the next steps soon. I allowed myself to settle down a little. Other rejections and auto-responses kept piling through, but I still had this to keep me going. My hopes had found a new ledge to hold on to. They were taking an age. I was feeling good about this opportunity, even told another friend to chance his luck. My job centre advisor was encouraged by the signals given too. But then one Thursday evening, a WhatsApp message came through. It was a screenshot of an assessment centre invite for my friend. I was happy for him and my adrenaline rushed as I remembered to check my emails. Nothing. I pressed refresh. Still nothing. A thought crept into my mind that I hadn't got it, but I was talked out of thinking that. No news is good news, they said. That didn't help me sleep that night.

We were in Birmingham the next day for a family wedding. I hadn't seen these relations in six months. I popped out to the toilet after dinner at the pre-wedding celebrations. The response had arrived and was sitting in my inbox. I could feel my blood pumping furiously. I clicked on the message. My jaw dropped. Rejection. I read the email over and over. My head was spinning. The fingers of hope let go of the ledge and was falling into the dark, bottomless and lonely abyss, motionlessly. It felt like an atom bomb had been detonated inside me and it was creating a widening crevice in slow motion. I was in no state to come back out to a crowd. I looked in the mirror and finally understood what a face like thunder meant. I couldn't even hide it if I tried. It was fair to say that I didn't enjoy the rest of the wedding. I still wasn't ready to give up the fight and hope stood up again and dusted itself off.

It got to the new year and January. Still no news. My hope didn’t waiver. There was little communication, but all there was was sufficient to keep me going. A call did arrive. It wasn’t what I was looking for. I thought the agency had lied to me and couldn’t deliver their promises for a minute. I held firm and they continued with the original plan. And then it started rolling again. An interview had been set up. 

The agency bombarded me with information to prepare. I read everything I could find about the firm. I didn’t look at my old notes or CV, I knew them well enough by then. I met the agency in person the day before my interview - I was more ready than I ever could have been.

I arrived half an hour before my interview. Canary Wharf. I stood by the fountains before pacing up to the large revolving doors with the firm’s metallic, embossed logo visible through them. This was it.

There was a hiccup with confirming my interview at reception. I was left sitting for half an hour. My interviewer arrived, recognisable from my LinkedIn research prior. A firm handshake and welcome through the barriers by the security guard, accompanied by polite conversation on the way up to the higher floors.

I was ushered into the room where my second interviewer sat waiting, and involuntarily gawped at the spectacular view of London. The interview had begun, but mentally I didn’t feel like I was in one. I was surprisingly calm. I played to my strengths - turning a conversation on to the other person. It felt like a normal conversation. The answers came to me easily, but it was like having a chat with friends. There wasn’t enough time to continue talking. I felt like I could keep going. They both showed me to the lifts. I thought that was a good sign.

The positive energy flowed through me as I walked back out and relayed my experience to my Dad and agency contact. She said she’d let me know if I had made it through to the second interview soon. A few years ago this was my dream location to build a career, but I hadn’t dared think of it again till then. I was beaming, but pessimism and history levelled me by the time I reached home. 

3.30pm. I was just about to leave for the gym. My phone rang - it was the agency. My consultant joked about the irony that this was the first time I had picked up her call without having to ring her back. I awaited with bated breath at the feedback she had received. I prayed inside that my luck would change. Haha, my faith suddenly resurfaced then. But I wasn’t ready to comprehend her next sentence.

You’ve got the job, she said. It didn’t register. They were so impressed that they don’t want to do a second interview, she said. It still didn’t register. She repeated it again. I was stunned. Words I yearned to hear for months, but sounded so foreign to me when they were spoken. I lost count of the times I said thank you.

I put the phone down and burst into my Dad’s room. He was just about settling for his afternoon nap. What happened, he asked. He had that look of being prepared for disappointment, one which twinged inside me that I was the cause of it. I broke the news. It didn’t register. Dad can’t hear properly at the best of times, but it definitely wasn’t that. The tiredness left him as he gleamed and rejoiced whilst embracing me tightly when I told him again. Tears streamed down his face as he looked to God and thanked him. Tears shuttled to my lips as well at the look of pure happiness my Dad had plastered across him. I felt contentedness, a sensation that I lost a long, long time ago but it felt good to remember it. I hate crying, but it felt like our stress had finally realised it had exploited our hospitality, that it had overstayed its welcome and was making for an apologetic exit from our eyes. We were jubilant.

Pharrell’s song came on the radio as I drove to the gym. How appropriate. I turned the volume up and wound the windows down. I clapped my hands because that’s what I wanted to do. I felt like that room without a roof that he was in. 

I didn’t tell Mum and my sister till the official confirmation arrived 3 days later that I was starting the following Wednesday - 5 February 2014. It was difficult to hold out for so long, but some things mithai explain better than words. My Mum bawled her eyes out - the one thing that always gets me going without fail. My sister was chill lol, but she offered a hug which tells me she was happy. She never gives hugs. 

92 applications, including 24 graduate scheme applications. 56 still waiting for responses. 18 unsuccessful with the number of rejections increasing even more recently - I laugh about them as I read their new, well-thought out replies on my commute home now. 11 numerical and logical tests. 30 jobcentre appointments. 12 job agencies registrations. 3,430 emails. 18 CV drafts. 15 cover letter templates which I poured my heart and soul into. A whole day spent trudging around the streets of Canary Wharf trying to sneak past security guards at all the banks and slip my CV through quietly, with only one acknowledgement out of five. 2 job fairs. 4 job forums trawled religiously. 43 questions of ‘have you got a job yet?’ 6 friends’ birthdays missed. 4 friends’ meet-ups missed. Inconceivable numbers of lies and half-truths told, inconceivable numbers of secrets kept.

8 months, 5 days. 250 days. 6,000 hours. 360,000 minutes. Just over two-thirds of a year. Just waiting.

Two-thirds of a year of pain and heartache, fluctuations and frustrations. Two-thirds of a year of promises and false promises, hopes and disappointments. Two-thirds of a year of preparation and nerves, the fights and depression, the battling and perseverance. But it had happened. It was such a mellow day. 

The long road to success and fortune begins with a footstep. A footstep that no one else can take for you, but a firm footstep that you should only take when you're certain you're walking on the best path for you. Fortune is always hiding, it will never come to you unless you relentlessly chase after it.

In the immortal words of Aaliyah and ones that should never be forgotten - if at first you don’t succeed, dust yourself off and try again.

[kuffon-blog]

DRAKE - TROPHIES

I shit you not, I listen to this song every Friday evening without fail when I leave my office. It really should have made Nothing Was The Same ahead a lot of his other selections. Its not a song of exceptional quality, just one with entertaining lyrics such as 'BITCH I USE A WALKIE TALKIE JUST TO GET A BEVERAGE'. As most Drake songs are, another highly quotable track in any situation.

[kuffon-blog]

MARVIN GAYE - SEXUAL HEALING (MIKE POSNER REMIX)

There are no words to describe this. A modern classic, an insanely reworked beat and a purposeful release for Valentine's Day. Eargasm levels will be rocketing.

[kuffon-blog]

SCHOOLBOY Q - MAN OF THE YEAR

Kendrick Lamar’s extraordinarily talented label mate’s album Oxymoron has been hotly anticipated for a long time - he first came to my attention for his killer contribution on A$AP Rocky’s PMW (All I Need). An out-and-out rap album for his longstanding fans and a video many a boy would dream of participating in, its a song that grew on me once I gave it the full Creative earphones experience. Shake it for the man of the year!

[kuffon-blog]

Dishoom! and #FailFish

For most people, meeting up with friends is just something you do as naturally as eating, breathing and sleeping. For me, I act like a puppy that’s just been let out of incarceration. (That’s a joyful image if ever there were one!) Being unemployed and all, as well as developing an acute inferiority complex, I don't really step out of my usual confines. It’s crazy what a year or two can do to your personality, and how much a blog can hide all your self-doubt and trembling state. 

I haven’t seen many of my university friends since I left Southampton last June, something which I am constantly reminded of, so I decided to make some space in my not-so-busy calendar for my second year housemate and two other chums. Anyone who has had the misfortune of having to sit at home for many months would know that having plans really does give you something to look forward to. I’ve been in a quandary because my principles tell me acting like I have money to spend when I don’t is a no-no, but I also know that getting out of the house every now and then is good for my state of mind, which has become increasingly more irrational. The fact that I don’t have a job plays on my mind a lot, having to answer questions about it regularly gets tedious and sometimes I just want to hide away in my room away from the world. Nevertheless, hiding never solved anyone’s problems either.

On Saturday I walked out of the house and realised there was pretty much no turning back. That was more because my sister had volunteered to drive me to the station, but still - I told myself that it would be fine. I was going to Covent Garden, a place which I had visited with family when I was younger but hadn’t been able to register many memories of, apart from what you see on TV. I made an odd request to go somewhere Indian for lunch; it was symbolic of our memorable takeaway nights in second year, and we chose to visit the Mumbai cafe chain based in Covent Garden, Dishoom. I had seen a few Instagram photos and tweets about the place, but had no idea what to expect - apart from Indian food, obviously, and hopefully no gun hostility as the franchise name suggested. You never know, some people get pretty heated when it comes to their food. 

Despite setting out reasonably early to make the journey, I still ended up arriving late as per usual. In my defence, I didn’t know Chancery Lane would be a battlefield to navigate through on a Saturday afternoon and I’m also not au fait with the streets of Central London. I did however get a good tour of all the West End theatres, mind, but that didn’t help me get any closer to where I should be. Half an hour later than planned, my friend also was caught up in delays too, we were finally reacquainted. It was a glorious moment, like one of the great Bollywood movie scenes as we moved towards each other in slow motion under the looming grey clouds; until our joy was cut short by an impatient car attempting to run us over. #FailFish. In fairness, we had stopped to chat in the middle of the road so the driver was well within his rights to mow us down. 

A few circles of Covent Garden later and after slowly realising we didn’t exactly know where we were going, we finally found the place. It was similar to how I picture. I had looked at pictures of it online, and was left jaw-dropped when the door attendant notified us that our reservation had been cancelled. #FailFish No. 2. Luckily we didn’t have to wait too long to be seated, but it was enough time for him to drop a bombshell on me. I can’t disclose those details just in case it is picked up by unintended eyeballs and it probably isn't what you think it is. Now you’re thinking why did I even mention it in the first place. Bitch, so that I can chuckle to myself for when I read this back in years to come. 

My tastebuds went wild at the the touch of their freshly-made mango lassi. It’s the drink I always order at a place such as this and I’m quite sure it gets better and better at each new place I visit. Despite the prices being more sensible than most London eateries, it still would make an Indian gasp. I had some renegade samosas, a PJ that no one understands, and their tikka roll which was pretty decent to say the least. But omg their lassi, just voww. 

After we finished up there we walked around for a bit and ended up at the MEATMarket to try out their apparently renowned, as their name might suggest... milkshakes. In fact, it was made out to be so good that I had a right to be disappointed that they hadn’t encased a chalice of their frothy, creamy glory as a shrine on a spinning Lazy Susan, with the sounds of its devotee Kelis’ most famous bhajan filling the air. The vanilla flavour was overwhelmingly divine though.

Sadly we had to part ways so soon, but you know a friendship is legitimate if you can not see each other for close to a year and feel like it was only yesterday.

The next part of my day took me to Liverpool Street, a place which I pass through quite regularly from all the main London train stations, but I had no idea of the place where I was supposed to be meeting my friends. After realising standing outside like a dodo in the freezing cold wasn’t going to help my quest, I eventually started walking around and found the pub we had agreed to graze at. It was nice catching up, but it wasn’t the circumstance I had envisaged. I pictured it being more of a regular after work event, where we’d all turn up in our suits and with a more positive outlook on life. The emptiness of the pub was a metaphor for our disillusionment and desolate outlook on life. Let’s just hope that in a year’s time we’re not all still in the same mood.

The only cheer was my football team actually winning a game for once, woopah. It made me content as I made my way to the train station and then home, but the strive for a longer term fix of happiness continues. Here’s hoping that there’s less fail fishes in my pursuit and more action than an Indian movie fight scene in the coming weeks. Areh dishoom!