My boss is kind of a big deal. If the corporate world is a bowl of jelly, she’s the fattest kid at the party refusing to get on the bouncy castle because she’s busy with pudding. She is exceptionally kind; hence offered me a job when I put my hands in the air in my interview and said I don’t know what I want to do. “Good” she said, “that’s how it’s supposed to be. Don’t worry”.
And at my desk next to her, listening to her talk of the types of gelatine based products, she has inadvertently given me much advice. One piece being that if one is not an expert in a particular subject, one should not pretend to be / think they are qualified to sit around a table oinking at the rest of us because they read the paper that morning. Especially when, in her case and they’re talking gelatinous substances, she is.
I am an expert in nothing. At school, I played sport, I got along with most people, I got through my academic career without too much strain. At A level I hedged my bets and chose Art, English and Maths as i didn’t want to close any options off to what i potentially could study at university. At university opted for Philosophy – non committal to any particular path. In hindsight; an error. My mind couldn’t cope with the concepts, I was a reluctant philosopher as i couldn’t escape my inherited sway to the practical (and the straightforward question of “why does it matter if the table is real or not?”). I found something to latch on to and hit my stride in my fourth and final year with ethics and the analysis of human character. Scraped a 2.1 by 0.5% = boom time. Came out of 4 years in Dublin with some truly fantastic friends that I now don’t see enough of, and an amateur knowledge of Guinness and betting on horses. And I still can’t do an Irish accent. Wha’s the fecking craic with tha’?.
I love music but am in no way musical. My piano teacher and I had a very frank conversation when i was 12 about my progress or lack there of, sharply followed by the likelihood of me getting my Grade 3. I promptly closed the door on dreams of pop stardom and touring with East 17.
Perhaps by writing what I’m not an expert in, and what I’ve no interest in becoming an expert in… I might stumble across what I could be an expert in, or what I really want to master (nunchuck skills and magic skills aside)
I have been loathed to start a blog for many years. I wrote emails home on my gap yaaar, killed a few birds with one particularly unpolished stone; it let people know I was alive, it was a diary of sorts without me having to write a diary; I often wrote them a little drunk therefore clarifying some events one might otherwise have forgotten; and I really enjoyed it. Desperately lazy, I wrote one email to all; my father, my grannie, my friends, my siblings, my English teacher, my ex boyfriend. You know the emails we’ve all received, perhaps now extinct with the rise of the blog. Irritating fecking things you always tell the recipient you’ve read – “sounds fantastic!” and “keep safe” – despite them just telling you’ve they’ve had Delhi belly for the last month, and are being air ambulanced home with immediate effect. Ah… you’re completely right, i never read your emails. Soz maaayte.
There’s always been a niggle of not following the advice of my English teacher to polish them a bit (a lot of keyboards in Malaysia seemingly don’t have the letter “e”) and send to a publisher for feedback. That was then and this is now. Today it seems that one showcases writing in a portfolio of online letters to no one in particular – and though the idea of starting this strains my face the same way sucking on a lemon does, it’s an itch a have to scratch in order to test the agenda I have set out for myself above.