alice's peephole

  This is the last one, and then I’ll stop. I’m not really addicted, its just good for me right now. Its what I need right now. I can stop whenever I want. One more event, that’s what we tell ourselves. Always the last event, before settling down into a respectable, predictable life. At my very first job at the CWG Delhi 2010, I envied my Greek boss. He was in Delhi for 3-4 years, to make sure that the contingency relations and services department was running according to industry standard. I thought of his wife and 2 kids, and imagined it must be exciting to live in a new city like Delhi, and move to a new place every 4 years, to have a truly international upbringing. To be honest, I still do. I envy the travelling circus. But as a 33-year-old woman, I hesitate to jump headlong into a life of semi-permanency. I ask myself whether I really have what it takes. I question whether my relationships will withstand the periodic disappearances that coincide with every operations mode.

  It’s been about 2 months since I tried this again. My first tryst went down quite poorly, with a therapist and therapy method (very classical Freud) that made me feel suffocated and annoyed. I quit after a few sessions and didn’t try again for another year. The second time I went in with more preparation. I looked into the kind of methods available and decided to try out two therapists before settling on 1. So far its been… interesting. One of the reservations I had about this process was that there is danger of creating a dependence, which is something I want to avoid. But the healthcare system here makes that a bit easier to avoid. A therapist has lots of clients in waiting, and will be paid for sessions by the health insurance. So the motivation to manipulate you to make you a lifelong client for a good therapist is lower. The second issue is a continuation of the first. Life is full of struggle and we do have to learn to deal with it, and equip ourselves with the tools for it

  3 months into an unexpectedly long stay at home, but now I am a few weeks away from having to go back to “real life” (and therefore thoroughly pressuring myself to write a summarizing blogpost about it). All of my previous “visits to home” have been 3-4 weeks of whirlwind madness, trying to cram in maximum quality time, favourite meals and relaxation into the holiday. The time available of course was limited by the yearlong leave I saved to be home with family and childhood friends. I’d land and run immediately to friends’ weddings, and usually get sick soon after. Whether from exhaustion or weather change, I never quite knew why – but it would knock me off my feet for a few days. I would console myself that atleast I was sick at home, and let myself be pampered. Not having to lift a finger while under a fever, with hot soup and fruit bowls being brought to you does soften the blow of a flu. I would bounce back after a week, and rush around meeting friends, family, shopping, eating a