Personal

In what must be a first for me, I get invited to a birthday party over WhatsApp. Truth be told, there were mitigating circumstances. Although the parent in question and I have some tenuous familial connection - my grand father and her grand mother somehow managed to get entangled in the far distant haze that is a few generations ago - she and I haven’t stayed much in touch, in spite of us living the the small matter of the length of Union Street apart. I suppose the invitation was one last hopeful punt in my direction. If it was, it worked, the twin attractions of something to do on a Saturday afternoon and proper Nigerian food proving too strong for even I the quintessential recluse. Izzy, the kid in question had just turned One, and her parents keen to celebrate the milestone were putting together a small get together for the guys; for that I was very much a willing eater. ...

Three quarters of the way through the year, I find I still have just under three weeks of holidays left - and that does not include the productivity black-hole that is the last week of December when all and sundry truly grinds to a halt. Once again, in spite of my plans to not be in this situation, I have ended up hoarding holidays again, the plan being to use them as a make weight in lieu of notice as my plan to swap cold, windy, Aberdeen for the slightly warmer, but more rural climes that are Kirkland Lake. The BossMan has made it clear there will be no carry overs this year, and he has made sure to ping the appropriate warning email in my direction in addition to the automated ones sent by our holiday tracking software. All told after one too many reminders, I log on to Teamseer and fire off holiday requests for an extended weekend. ...

It was my birthday a few weeks ago, and what should have been a routine, barely noticeable bump on the flat line that has become the ultra predictable, safety first, thirty-something year old life that is my lot somehow morphed into a swirling mess of mildly depressive emotions. The trigger was an epiphany of sorts, one that I had no business having. If having that epiphany was odd, where it hit was even odder - midway through my morning ablutions, just before the commode gave way to a four minute duel with sensodyne and a power toothbrush. Leading up to it, I was stoking along nicely, keeping up with my annual birthday ritual - deactivating my facebook account, turning off all but my private phone and lobbing a text message in the direction of the one friend I know whose birthday is in the same week as mine. ...

More of the same fare form the last few months I think: MoSli’s gone dark this last week, prior to that we had good conversations, even providing [largely unhelpful] thoughts on some dresses she was looking to order for her big 3-0 birthday jaunt. Mme.P emailed out of the blue - I’d missed the opportunity to catch up with her when she was in London and quite frankly I was beginning to think it was an opportunity that was long lost., fingers crossed Meesha and I have had two telephone conversations which ended very well if i say so, and we’ve a meetup planned. On a strategy level, I do need to get some clarity in my head. Have been reading the He’s Just Not That Into You, and I suppose some of the excuses hit close home. Long story short, if I really am into a girl, I have to toss off my natural reservations and let her know….. Interesting ...

Measured against the original iteration of the five year plan, my life couldn’t be more off target than it is at the moment - I had myself getting married at 26 with two children done and dusted by the time I turned 30, a PhD being progressed, and being on course to retire at 40. At the time I was sitting on the veritable cash cow that was a plum job assuring integrity for a Nigerian operator, and the thoughts of retiring at forty were in part due to the very generous pension provisions at the time. ...

As far as epiphanies go, I suspect my latest one - bang in the middle of stooping to grab some soap whilst running a warm shower - stands right there as one of the more unexpected. The epiphany was the realisation, somewhat belatedly from the looks of it, that any pretensions of continuing youth I may have retained no longer hold water. Where once I could hide behind being under 30, and then being just over 30, turning 33 means that I am nearer 35 than 30. There goes what was at best a tenuous grip on wannabe coolness! ...

The worst thing is the waiting - the alternative flip-flopping between the giddy heights of anticipation and the cold, calculated, calmness of detached pragmatism. Somehow or the other I have managed to find myself waiting on responses back from a whole slew of people - the Professor I am looking to work with on the Welding Program at Northern, the PRI Coordinator who needs to revert with a date for my Professional Review Interview and the neither here nor there email and skype exchanges between myself and Mlles S and P. ...

The one thing I feared would happen post Sister #2’s wedding was that the pressure to deliver on a steady relationship and marriage would get ratcheted up a few notches, and boy did it happen! the very next morning, Mum tried to visit with the kid brother and I, ostensibly to catch up with us, with the subtle undertone of trying to find out what our demob plans were. We managed to escape on that morning, but we could only do so for so long. I eventually got a right good earful, with a few recommendations tossed in my direction for follow up - not bad in and of themselves except for the small matter of the fact that these were people from church I didn’t know, and hadn’t seen for close on ten years. ...

I struggled to not slip into an overly pessimistic, dystopian view of Nigeria with all its troubles. In the few intervening years I have been away, the Nigerian tragedy has hit close home. As with most other people, it turned out that the Dana air crash had claimed a fairly recent acquaintance of my father’s as it did a couple of friends of friends of Sister #1. It also transpired that she - whether by some quirk of fate, divine orchestration, or plain old chance - had resigned from her poorly paid job as a doctor in the police officers hospital the Friday before the Monday Boko Haram’s bloodbath hit the IG’s offices. One day late and that could have gotten really personal. ...