You are your priority- not mine!

Two sides to a coin. The illusion of weighing the pros and cons. The classical dilemma between rationale and instinct.

The fear of losing something you don’t own. The dread that comes with the possibility of owning something you don’t even want.

Welcome to my mind. Let me take you on a tour through the world I’ve built for myself in the world that you call yours.

Before you begin your journey, there are rules you must abide by.

1)      You may judge.

2)      You may criticize.

3)      You may make fun.

4)      You may be biased.

5)      You may relate.

6)      You may stop reading at any instant of time. This moment qualifies.

7)      You must not question.

8)      You must not debate.

9)      You must not interrupt.

10)   You must not try to gain a residency status in my world.

Let me begin by answering a question that people love to ask- What are the priorities in your life?

Family, career. I don’t have a third priority. Yes, I probably do not have a life according to the rules of your world but this is my world we’re talking about. I believe in the concept of friends just as much as I believe in the concept of the tooth fairy. The purest non-familial love is touch and go. Money is a necessary evil but not worthy of being a priority.

First up, my family.

Satisfaction level: 10 out of 10. They are so perfect I don’t have to think. Touchwood.

I have been writing a lot about marriage lately and so I must clear the doubts that have been consequentially raised.

I love the concept of marriage. I think it’s beautiful that you find someone you want to spend the rest of your life with and then you both make a world together, where there are no secrets and you are never alone and you don’t have a moment to spare for yourself and you have a new set of relatives overnight and you can’t go out for a drive alone because you feel like getting away from everyone and you see that the man you married has put on weight and you are stuck with him and he farts and belches and makes a mess of your bathroom and he wants to have sex every night and suddenly there is someone telling you what color does not suit you and that you would look better with your hair longer and you have to cook for him and you have to socialize with people you detest and suddenly someone is stalking you and he is what they call a husband. EEEEYAAARRRGGGHH!!!

Who am I kidding? I began writing about how nice it would be and I can’t even lie about how horrendous it sounds. As I said, welcome to my mind. This is what I think about getting married.

Current satisfaction level: 9 out of 10. Currently content with the single status.

Next up, my so-called career.

So, yeah. Qualifications: 3 years of electrical engineering, 4 years of computer science engineering, 2 years of MBA with Marketing and Sales as a specialization and an additional year of MBA with Marketing & IT specialization, currently pursuing a long distance course of script writing from London School of Journalism.

Currently working as an Associate Editor of an online tech magazine. Previously dabbled in advertising and digital media.

Perpetually torn between creativity and logic.

Perpetually trying to come up with hare-brained entrepreneurial schemes that bite the dust when I try to work out the business models for each.

Satisfaction level: 4 out of 10. Don’t know what I want or where I belong.               

There aren’t any more priorities. There are wants, but there are no needs.

The mind does not adhere to the norms of convention and the heart does not want to talk about it.

There is this constant nagging sense of insecurity and uncertainty that the mind creates whenever it gets a moment to itself. And that makes me wonder.

·         Do I love what I do?

·         Do I know what I want?

People tell me that I am wise and not a stupid fool. Why doesn’t it feel that way?

Why do people expect me to talk to them when talking irritates me? I don’t mind communication, but I hate phones. You can’t just pick up your phone and dial my number and expect me to be free to talk to you or to reply to your texts. Why is that so difficult to understand?

If I’m sitting in a café and quietly reading a book and drinking my coffee, why do people feel the compulsion to make small talk? Yes, I know the author of the book is good. No, I haven’t read his other books. No, I don’t want to tell you where I work. No, I’m not carrying my business card. And no, I do NOT want to network with a complete stranger. And I know how to put a bloody charger into the wall socket so you do NOT have to assist me. I can pick up the tissue that fell from my table so do NOT help me.

I always thought I was one of the optimists and if there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s cynicism based on whim. But living alone has made me fiercely possessive about my space. Not just at a café but also at work, at home and even on the road.

So you can imagine what happens when the mind starts thinking too much about one person in particular. It obsesses one moment and then it distances itself in the next moment.

So, now that you know about my priorities and know that you are not one of them, feel free to ignore me. You’ll be doing me a favor.

Advertising My Mind

I'm definitely way too young to consider mid-life crisis as an option to help untangle the muddled labyrinth of my mind.
But I have to admit that it's got me feeling sad. Sad because I feel lost. I'm trying my best to understand people around me but I've never ever given myself a good reason to trust my instincts.
I like people and I trust them. And that is indubitably my curse.

The world of advertising is full of people who are exciting, new, passionate, intelligent, creative, abusive, predatory, misleading, critical, helpful, admirable and calculative. It's hard to balance the beam and they are suddenly vicious and instantly affectionate within the same conversation. But they are easy to relate to because they are so close to reality that at the end of the day, I end up giving excuses for the nasty man who was rude to me at work while rationalizing the help from a complete stranger.

It has people who feed on humiliating me to get back at me for making a comment that established them as brainless and gutless pieces of office furniture.
It also has people who are celebrities and are yet humble enough to grant me 2 hour long meetings just to get to know what a newcomer in the industry goes through.

I like this world. There are no "Sir"s and "Ma'am"s, save a few who still require their egos to be stoked every now and then. The client servicing people abuse each other and a few minutes later share a plate of Maggi noodles. The planners argue over the best strategy over endless cups of coffee and then trash it after a meeting with the client. The copywriters and art directors fight over layouts and then play chess and step out for a smoke only to come back and resume the fight from scratch again. The studio professionals make faces and roll their eyes when they see the client servicing guys approaching but then sit with them through the night to get artworks released on time.
Like I said, I like this world.
And I know I belong here. I just don't know where I fit in.
My interviewers said they saw great "potential" in me and a spark that was burning bright and they took me on the Client Servicing team.
A gentleman of great repute on the Creative side saw through me and said I'm not cut out for servicing and should consider copywriting instead.
Planners with years of experience to their name said I have a keen analytical mind and should shape my career in a way that would land me in the Planning division.

What I WANT to do is write. But I don't believe I'm good enough. There are a lot more talented people out there.
What I DON'T want to do is stay stuck doing meaningless errands like fetching printouts and scans and making a repository of historical advertisements and stand over people's shoulders chasing deadlines. That's not who I am.
I can sense my brain rotting away. I can feel that "spark" in me fizzling out. I'm fighting to keep it burning. But I'm burning my hands in the process.