GETting the Picture

carla.ornelas@gmail.com

I can never get over the impact of meeting that special person that can teach you in moments, what some people can’t teach you in a lifetime. My cousin once told me that when the student is ready, the master appears… and once again life and fate answered to my needs. Expecting to attend another one of those “Manipulating your client” or “Bullshit sales/sells”, my spirits were a little low on my first trip to Porto. I had no idea that I’d be attending the training lessons of my life! The one’s I’d been lacking and those I’d be investing in my future.

Forty-two with the wisdom of seventy-two and the spirit of a twenty-two year old, I wondered if my course manager was either from abroad or highly qualified in the Negotiation and Sales Techniques that he was teaching… in which case he’d have to have gone abroad in any case because no Portuguese mentality could’ve educated him with the amazing attitude that he possessed. For two days I watched and learned. Paying the utmost attention, I discovered a name and technique to the art I’d come to love: psychology and sales. They weren’t trying to teach me how to manipulate, they were teaching me how to sell.

“Everybody lives off the sale of something” – Robert Stevenson.

Because there is never a second chance to make a first good impression, we were taught how to introduce ourselves, how to plan and prepare a meeting and most importantly: how to discover your client’s interests. For only if you discover what your client needs: can you sell him what he wants. Communication: the art discovering intentions, conveying a message and making sure that both parties are understood.
We then wrote down our difficulties so that at the end we could once again look at them as solutions instead of obstacles. Taught to act instead of reacting, suddenly every situation could be changed positively and effectively. Even silence was something in which we had to be trained to manage. While we were all taught how to listen as opposed to just hearing, I imagined a group of people who seriously needed coaching in this area and then I imagined how frustratingly difficult it would be to teach some boys I knew this basic concept! A concept that the male species definitely has more difficulty grasping!

How you ask your questions, is as important as the sale itself. How else can you find out your counterpart’s interests?
Asking how they see things is what you call a neutral-open question.
If you ask them if they heard anything they liked, you’re using a less effective neutral-closed question, permitting only a yes or no answer.
You can however, turn that closed question into an influenced one when you ask the client “So you’ll be signing with us, right?”
But you’ll most probably get more successful results if you try an open-influenced question such as “So how do you think our service can benefit you”
The talent is in knowing when to use the question and only experience can perfect this skill.

So how do you wrap the deal? Well you could try the implicit conclusion: “Well then we’ll just sign these papers so I can take care of your order”
Then there’s the final question: “So will you be taking the blue or the green?”
If you’re desperate you can always try the pressure technique: “I only have one more of these in stock” but my favorite technique is definitely the triple yes method: “So to recap; this is good for you, and that’s good for you and that is what you need: so this is what you’re buying”

Life has taught me that many people will come and go in your life. There are those that only cross your path for moments and those that stay for longer, whilst others accompany you always. My mission in life has been to always leave something positive with each person I meet so that no matter how brief or lifelong our meeting is, people will always remember me with a smile. Sometimes, I forget that there are other people on this planet with a similar mission. My course trainer was without a doubt, a fresh of breath air to my life and I decided to make a point of thanking him through this column: as we often don’t know the impact we have on other people’s lives. I did muster up the courage to admit that his job is my future ambition and that I too play with the idea that someday I can live off bringing out the best in people.

It had been a long time, since I felt that someone could penetrate into my thoughts. I felt vulnerable under trained scrutiny. I even second guessed my body language, swearing at little gestures that I possess like twirling my hair with my finger when I’m extremely interested in what I’m seeing or nodding my head when I agree with what I’m listening to. Realizing that I’d been relying on my honesty and instinct to get me through life, I was glad to be taught how to keep my honesty without compromising myself personally with the client. If I was effective at driving assholes away, now even the clever ones are in for a treat!

Four candles were lit; the first one was “Peace” which was blown out by the cruelty and revolt of the people who no longer wanted it. Because people no longer wanted to believe, the second candle “Faith” was also blown out. With no more strength to keep burning, the third candle “Love” faded until also blowing out with the others. A child came in and began crying to see that the candles had been blown out when the forth and final candle said to the child: “Don’t worry child, my name is Hope and no matter how dimly I burn, I can always light the other three candles.”

Hope: something that dims when trust and faith is lost.
Beyond a course manager, I saw a man. I saw someone’s friend, someone’s father and someone’s husband and managed to pick up between the professional conversation; the moral guidelines with which this man lived in. It’s amazing what people tell us about themselves. Perhaps what impressed me the most is the fact that he regarded his wife as his girlfriend and told one of our married colleagues that even after marriage, your counterpart remains your girlfriend as well as your best friend and your wife. Clearly here was a man who understood his woman, or at least made an attempt to, without a doubt he recognized her worth and that made him different from the countless men I’ve met. For a couple of times I was tempted to tell him “You can’t be real” or “Are you sure you practice what you preach?” But that would take things personally considering I’d have to explain my question and I wasn’t about to open myself to scrutiny by someone who obviously stood on a higher psychological level. Not in the mood to hear what I already knew about myself, I instead concentrated on getting all the help I could get on a more professional level: how to avoid manipulation from your boss.

Just an hour after my course, I managed to meet two professionals at a mall who seemed as lost as I was. Within twenty minutes, I had managed to properly introduce myself and captivate enough interest to be invited to coffee. Ten minutes later I’d managed their contacts which I’d promised to give to my colleagues in the region so that they could receive a counter proposal to the competing network that they were using. That’s what I call putting to use what you learn!

I must’ve looked like an idiot, running up and down the airport looking for an electric socket. When I finally found one, I plugged my cell phone to its charger and sat on my suitcase listening to my course-manager, who from a cutting network phone call tutored me on the next most important meeting of my professional life. I kept wondering if he knew the difference he was making in my life and that the skills he had taught represented a turning point in my reality. So a decent Portuguese man exists after all (this of course ignoring the fact that he also finds our country’s system frustrating and suggested I develop my skills elsewhere, in a country that values my capacities and what I believe in.). I try to ignore the waiting period between my current peers and this example of maturity and comfort myself with the knowledge that at least there still exist honest and decent men around. (Even if it’s in their forties… and the Gay or Married rule still applies though).
When all is said and done, I marvel at the miracles, the people, the candles and the Hope that fate throws our way when the Faith inside us dies.

GET it? Got it! Good.


carla.ornelas@gmail.com

Hello there and welcome to Sunshine’s Column.
I am Sunshine, the author of these compilations you have been reading.
What would you say are the benefits of knowing another person’s opinion?
Could you say that it would help you understand the writer?
That it would introduce you to new perspectives?
And how about it giving you new ideas?
Then what an opportunity it is to be reading my outlook on life.
Updating your reading will guarantee that you follow my current state of spirit and evolution of ideas and if you share this webpage with friends, you’d also be able to involve other opinions enabling the development of minds and maturing of thoughts.
I will then continue to share with you my viewpoints and you can either choose to debate or agree with me. I look forward to receiving all your opinions and feedback:
carla.ornelas@gmail.com

Two Tear Story

carla-sofia@netmadeira.com

Have you ever heard the sound of your heart breaking? It rings so loud in your ears that you lose all ability to pick up any of the pieces. You try and grab onto any thread of self control but you can’t stop the tears that keep falling off your face, or the shaking in your body, and you silently pray for the strength in your legs to keep you standing. As I watched my father’s plane take off I shook my arm violently for I knew it would be the last real vision he’d see of me for a while. And then he was gone, the plane was gone and he was in it. I felt a pair of arms surround me. My uncle who’d patiently witnessed my torture as the plane slowly positioned onto the runway and then eventually taken off, had no words of comfort for me. He was already used to the painful goodbyes and knew that words were futile. Yes I knew that the moment of goodbye had to come but that knowledge did nothing to prepare me. And so I held onto my uncle and cried bitterly all the tears I knew I’d cry and let go of all the pain I’d known all along I’d feel.

Looking back at the month that dad spent with me, the memories seem so surreal. Like somehow I’d dreamt it all. But then I walk back into my house and it feels huge, cold and empty. The empty whiskey glass breaks down all the self control I’d built up. The ashtray was still lying on top of the table and the fish paste that my aunt had given him had been forgotten in the fridge. And when all you’re left with are your bittersweet memories, you sit on the kitchen floor and cry. Cry for the void that you’re feeling, the time that was and the way things could’ve been. Nothing in the world can make you feel better and you pray that you hit rock bottom soon so that you begin to stand up again.

I couldn’t sleep the night before dad arrived. I kept wondering what I should say, how I should say it and what he would think. He had no idea that he would be seeing me before arriving in Funchal. This year’s Christmas party in Lisbon represented more than an awesome party, it represented an opportunity to board the same plane as my dad to Funchal. With some help from some friends and the airline’s cooperation, I made sure that we sat next to each other on the plane and my only debate was whether I surprise him in the waiting room or in the plane. My palms were sweaty and I felt nervous as I looked for him in the waiting room… and then I saw him. My body froze, I couldn’t move, all I could do was watch him as he was about to walk past me. He looked at me once and then as if recognizing my face he looked a second time. Putting my arms around my dad was like coming home! I cried without shame, I couldn’t care what people around me thought, At that moment, life couldn’t be more perfect.

My living room is a torture chamber. The computer, the TV, the wall unit… all of it has my dad’s expert hand in it. Only Dad and I know how the cupboard was assembled; which pieces were put together first and which screwdriver was used. The computer accuses of me of not exploring all the amazing new things Dad installed and the DVD player reminds me of family nights. On regular nights when family wasn’t taking us out, we all went into the kitchen for dinner. First Dad would pour himself a glass of whiskey. He likes his whiskey filled up with ice and cold soda water, he’d pour me a glass of the milky liqueur he’d taught me how to make and we’d discuss cooking methods while making dinner. My little brother would set the table and after dinner I’d do the dishes while dad helped clean the table and little brother would make up the mattress in the living room. Each night one of us picked a new movie that dad had brought on DVD and we’d all snuggle up and watch together. This was of course when we weren’t tickling each other, telling jokes or teasing little bruv. I don’t remember us doing these kinds of things in South Africa; it was like we were given a second chance to be a real family.

It wasn’t like I wasn’t preparing for the inevitable, I promised myself and my best friend that I’d do my best not to get too attached. So on the last couple of days when the people around me began saying goodbye; I still managed to keep myself in check. I didn’t winch, or show any indication of the sadness in my heart. Not one tear dropped until that night we went to get Água Ardente (cane spirits) in Porto da Cruz. After a bit of conversation my dad and the man selling the potent poison discovered that they knew each other many years ago with common friends in Porto Santo. One glass followed another as conversation of the old times kept feeding the increasing interest. After a couple of hours, I myself was a bit annoyed as I saw my dad for second time in my life tipsy. The first time not worth mentioning, wasn’t nearly as memorable as the second. The salesman, trying to explain to me why their meeting held so much emotion evaluated me by my age saying “You probably have no idea of the hard work and suffering our generation went through…” Listening without objection I was surprised when my father interrupted him saying: “Oh no! Don’t be fooled, not this girl… this girl knows exactly how many stones it takes to build a house. I couldn’t ask for a more intelligent, hardworking and independent daughter.” And then he said the words I’d so desperately wanted to hear from him since he’d arrived: “I couldn’t be more proud of her”. That’s when I couldn’t stop a tear from falling.

You begin work and after a couple of days, you numb yourself into routine. You try and convince yourself that you’re just a little burnt out and that eventually things will go back to normal. Cleaning the house from top to bottom, you tell yourself that life goes on and you even manage a smile again… until you discover Dad’s shirt in the laundry and once again you cry yourself to sleep.

Someone once told me that love and hurt go hand in hand. So the more you feel of the one, the more of the other you really feel.
I could never regret the time I spend with my father, no matter how painful and wretched it leaves me. Being daddy’s little girl, I’ll never know a day where I’ll stop needing him no matter how independent I am or how more independent I’ll become. I can survive in the world by myself even though I always look to him for words of advice. I know this, not because of the TV, computer or cupboards he gave me but because of the toolbox he gave me for Christmas. Dad made sure I have every tool I need to survive out in real life.
It is the distance that makes life hard; it causes you to cry two bittersweet tears: the blissfulness at “hello” and the despair at “Goodbye”.

Playing with Pins and Needles.


carla-sofia@netmadeira.com

Like most people fed with the incapacities and incompetence of modern medicine, I opted for trusting the alternative… acupuncture.

My first consultation was met by an interesting assistant with a vast amount of knowledge; she had a little bit to say about everything and struck me as a woman who’d try anything and someone you’d never be bored around. The waiting room itself was proof of her imagination. On one corner there was a big bucket decorated with sea plants, filled with water and habited by little fish. On the other there was a plant filling the white clean room with the life colour green and on her desk was a book on Feng Shui that she read whilst unoccupied with patients. My biggest surprise was the acupuncturist himself. I expected an old man with thick glasses and slow talk. Instead I got a man who couldn’t be too far off in his thirties, with the big, kind eyes and a comforting voice to go with it. He asked me why I’d come to see him, although I don’t see why, seeing as though he confirmed my every complaint after looking me up and down. The way he examined me was different from the way I’d ever been examined before. He watched me from across the table, slowly looking up and down my body as if he was scanning it with a laser beam. X-ray doctor? What did he see on my exterior that other doctors can’t see without a physical examination and blood tests done. My only conclusion is that he was analysing my aura, the only element of me able to transmit information about my body that isn’t physically visible. In addition to some words of wisdom, I was given some expensive homeopathic medicine to take and booked a treatment almost two months after my first consultation.

How do you prepare for acupuncture treatment? Without any prior warning, I was left without any sleep due to mixed expectations so by the time I found myself once again inside the acupuncturist’s therapy room, I was a ball of nerves! Told to take my clothes off up to my underwear, I was lead to lay on a white table, covered by a mere sheet. Candles were lit, calm music invaded my senses and I was told to relax as the assistant placed needles on strategic spots that I identified at being my 7 main chakras. Closing my eyes, I did as I was told and shut out the world.

What seemed like half an hour later, the assistant came back in, removed the needles and told me to turn over. I grinned as I realised that I was in a perfect position for a well deserved massage. However, the tension returned after the assistant left and the doctor entered. I suddenly felt like an animal waiting to be dissected and had the most urgent urge to run. Although they didn’t particularly hurt, I didn’t want the insertion of anymore needles and after all that relaxation, I felt too vulnerable for any kind of examination.
Yet, what happened next wasn’t exactly as I imagined. I felt cold hands on my feet with a weight almost inhuman. I’d read about this and gone through it in a Reiki course before but hands-on-healing was something I hadn’t experienced before. Suddenly the doctor’s hands were no longer cold as they slowly travelled up my legs. Biting my lip, I wished that he’d stop. Feeling uncomfortable, my only urge was to stand up and run. As if sensing my insecurity, I then had one hand on my shoulder whilst the other returned to my ankle. Slowly but surely, my doctor made contact with every area of my body. His hands felt warm, heavy and reassuring. I felt like putty in his hands, relaxed to the point where he could do anything with me he wanted… until he told me to turn around. That’s when I once again remembered that I had a stomach full of butterflies ready to flap at full force. But with the same tenderness, I was comforted back to bliss. Noting that he would not remove his hands from my body when changing position, I was surprised to find that I eventually felt empty when he did eventually take his hands away.

I might as well have been naked after two hours of treatment, because that’s how I felt once it was all over… vulnerable. Yet with the strongest sensation of inner peace that I’d ever felt. Regenerated, renewed… If ever the world was a see-saw, I felt like I’d finally found the middle. Time finally moved at my pace and I breathed easy.

Did it cure my problems? I’m not sure… but I do know that I haven’t felt this good in a long time and I’m left with a sensation that cannot be produced with a mere massage. A aura operation? Does synchronizing and fine tuning your soul’s energy influence your body back to health? Some argue that it’s all in the mind; others tell me it’s spiritual. Whatever it was, it did more for me than conventional medicine or any mind work could do in the last five months and I’ll stick to it as long as it keeps working for me. It did however get me thinking a lot about the power of touch. My doctor obviously possessed a lot of healing in his hands. I was left thinking: if a hand can hold so much power, one can only imagine the strength of a hug or the power in a kiss.

The Perfect Guy - Never rubs you up the wrong way


carla-sofia@netmadeira.com

Have you ever had a conversation where you look at the person in front of you wishing that they’d simply shut up! When every word your hear is worse than the other and you try and control your nerves as you watch the idiot in front of you dig his own grave with every sentence uttered from his mouth.

Flipping channels from the comfort of my own living room, I was startled by my cell-phone ringing. It was close to bed time and I wasn’t exactly in the mood for the name on my call display, but I hadn’t wished him a Happy New Year yet and considering that one of my New Year’s resolutions was to be more tolerant and forgiving, I decided that a small conversation with him wouldn’t kill me. I kindly declined his invitation for coffee whilst putting on another pair of thick socks - no way was that boy dragging me out at midnight for a cup of coffee! He’d probably give me that sob story again about his mother being ill and how he was suffering inside. It was way past working hours and in case this boy hadn’t heard… this Therapist is on official vacation!

My acupuncturist’s words began haunting me the minute I put the phone down. Have I become judgmental? Yes, I suppose lately it’s helped to keep unwanted company away. It had been a while since I’d seen this friend of mine, one cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt… and before I knew it, my heavy conscience conceded to one drink when he called insisting with me for the second time.

Well, I thought, it couldn’t be all that bad, this time round we wouldn’t be alone so he wouldn’t unload all his imaginary problems on me. My friend had informed me that he intended on introducing a work colleague of his that was also South African and who was very keen on meeting me.

I regretted my decision the minute the car pulled up. Looking at the slightly alcoholically influenced pair of eyes, I reminded myself again of my New Years resolution before finding the courage to get into the car. My friend’s friend is every girl’s nightmare… the guy that just doesn’t have a clue! I imagined Chronis, a good friend of mine, sitting next to me and saying “Oh well… see this as material for our book”. Let’s just say that after this evening, I probably have enough practical experience to write at least 10 Chapters of: “Why men are the inferior species!”

To obtain a proper analysis, first take a full physical analysis before dissecting the remainder of the specimen. Observe the sly smile with intent on manipulation. The fact that his teeth show lack of calcium is evidence of his chain smoking and may be evidence to excess of alcohol consumption. Diluted pupils confirm the excess of alcohol consumption and failure to recognize this fact is a good indication of an either inflated ego (usually resulting from inferiority complex) or bad habits. Bad habits are born from chronic fatigue (laziness) and are accustomed to go hand in hand with irresponsibility.
The dirt under his fingernails indicates lack of hygiene once again indicating chronic fatigue or a phobia for cleanliness. Discovering that they hadn’t just come out of work eliminated the possible excuse of such evidence and the fact that his profession is a barman also tips the scales towards lack of personal hygiene.

Moving onto the intelligence... or what little our specimen carries, we can classify him as:
Slick but not sly… you can identify the lack of intelligence from the choice of conversation. To directly jump into relationship talk on a first meeting is to cry out depravation. We can back this theory up with the fact that the choice of destination was on a coffee spot near the beach and with the strategic romantic music in the car, hoping to build some kind of atmosphere… the fact that he stopped at a gas station to buy gum can also indicate a hidden hope that he might get a kiss by the end of the night.
Change of tactics can only work when done intelligently. The fact that our guy changes his tactics from building a home and family to future travel plans in the space of merely ten minutes indicates convenience tactics (more commonly known as manipulation: the art of eluding to obtain desired response from the person you’re trying to con). Either our guy is an inexperienced manipulator or he simply doesn’t know what he wants out of life. At 32 this indicates lack of ambition, drive, and self-motivation and once again reads back to low self-esteem.
A man who cannot catch a direct hint can be called clueless. The fact that a person moves away when you move close should clearly indicate that they do not wish you to invade their personal space and you should henceforth either stop or move back to your original position. To touch their face is to directly provoke their defenses and a sharp slap to the hand is a direct indication of failure to integrate or reach a common ground. This is usually the part where a normal man backs up and gives up the approach, however please keep in mind that our specimen is descendant of the numbskull with inability to catch direct hints.

Placing my forehead in my hands I decided to break my New Year’s Resolution and put this guy out of his misery. Deciding that he was never going to catch any of my direct hints I decided to be as blunt as rock and let him have it full force just before giving my amused friend an apologetic look. What set my volcano to blow? Picture a guy telling you that you will not obtain your future goals of evolution, that you’d stay put where you were and that you’d probably end up dating him! All of this, just after he reminds you that you’re not getting any younger and that at 22 you should be thinking of settling down.

To any thick ignoramus that ever tries this tactic: I strongly suggest you read this column before even attempting this type of conversation with me! I will not tolerate further insult such as the above and the next asshole that gets cute with me will get a full fist punch in the eye! Ahem… consider that a warning! (And they say I can’t stick to my New Year’s resolutions… At least now I give warnings!)

I do not consider myself fit for settlement until I have studied my field of interest and graduated with the diploma necessary to progress my career to the top possible position of the corporate ladder. In the meantime, I do not feel that a relationship is compulsory or needed unless it’s a mutual liaison where both parties contribute and benefit, anything less is a waste of time. For this to be a fair bond, my partner would have to be able to do, give, sacrifice and risk everything that I’m capable of…

At this point our moron drops his jaw and asks “That’s a lot to ask for! I’m not sure I can do all the things you can, does this mean I’m out of your league” I did not justify that question with an answer. Instead I smiled and nodded.
“You know! You’ll never find a man on this island with that attitude (Gee, I could’ve sworn I told him that in the beginning of our conversation), and just you watch! You’ll fall in love and change your mind and conform to the island and its mentality all in the name of love!”
At this point my insides boiled and it took all the strength in my body not to make contact with his jaw with my fist. I bit my lip to prevent my instinctual explosion and proceeded to explain why he shouldn’t harbor any expectations with me.
A man to win my love and affections, My man… wouldn’t be so stupid to attempt to manipulate me. My man is intelligent and a thirst for self-evolution as I have and enough respect for others not to contradict their ideas or dreams. No love will keep their partner from their goals or dreams or tie them down. My man has self-respect and enough confidence to know what he wants and doesn’t want out of life. He probably doesn’t exist on this island, he might not even exist at all, but I’ll be damned if I’ll ever settle for less. I’m demanding and yes I ask a lot from a man but only because I’m worth a lot and I only ask what I’m capable of complying with. If you think you’re out of my league, guess what, it’s probably because you are!

On the way home, I was once again bombarded by guilt. I had a slight hope that perhaps this poor specimen for the male species hadn’t understood a word I’d said, most probably he’d forget everything I told him the minute I closed the car door. However… just in case my words had touched base and hurt, I felt I owed him an apology. But before I finished, I was stopped with recognition. He recognized that he wouldn’t see me again and that he needed some work before becoming a more decent man worthy of a woman. Had I made a difference for some future Mrs. Idiot? We wished each other luck… and love and probably hoped we’d never have to see each other ever again lest it be from a distance.

Xmas Party - Lisbon 2004

carla-sofia@netmadeira.com

Sitting on top of my bed in my white and pink pyjamas with my hair up and surrounded by the clothes that I needed to pack into my suitcase, all that I felt like doing was sighing. That moment that I was enjoying all by myself with my music and my candles was the bittersweet breathe before the plunge, that moment when the rollercoaster stops on the highest peak just before it thrusts down in high-speed.
Here I was packing for the grand Christmas party in Lisbon, the one that I’d been waiting all year for. This year looked promising, all my favourite people would be there and I’d finally found the ideal outfit after intensive searching with my best friend.
I knew without a doubt that it would be a weekend with very little sleep, intense emotions and a hell of a lot of fun. Anxiety kept me up long after my bags had been packed and the final touches had been added to the rest of the house. Closing my eyes I smiled in anticipation.

Regardless of the Christmas party, my colleagues and I had still been required to work the morning before catching our flight in the afternoon in time to arrive for the party in the evening. Everything was rushed in fast forward. All the last minute situations and clients were taken care of and thanks to the mad rush; I managed to twist my ankle whilst running down the stairs. I couldn’t believe it! What bad luck just before the event of the year! How was I going to dance? Biting my lip more in frustration than actual pain, I promised myself that I would dance regardless of this little incident and cursed the high-thin-heeled shoes I’d chosen to wear with my outfit. My feet were in for a beating… however, no pain – no gain and I wasn’t going to let my misfortune keep me from doing what I love to do best… moving on the dance floor!

Walking into the massive salon, I felt like Barbie in a sea of plastic. I’d walked into the salon with the head administrator of the company and being surrounded by strange faces drowned my self-assurance. Closing my eyes, I reminded myself of the fun I was going to have and just as I got a boost of confidence, it hit me full force with the vision of one of my closest friends in Lisbon. As always, she looked absolutely stunning and wore an amazing smile that has become her trademark. I immediately plunged into a heartfelt hug leaving my other local colleagues slightly intimidated. Grabbing my hand, I was taken across the room and introduced to a spectrum of new faces, praying that my memory wouldn’t fail me on remembering names and faces; I grabbed a Martini with the other hand hoping it would help shake the weak feeling in my knees.
Taking a quiet moment to myself, I looked around the massive salon, to the ocean of faces, the expensive suits and well dressed ladies and allowed myself to feel the spirit in the room… team spirit. Whether or not the people around me realized it, we all depended on one another. Each of us represents a significant piece no matter how small, to a complex engine, without it TMN would never run as car. For those moments, I relished in the pride of belonging.

Dinner was divine, the jokes told between us were hilarious and the atmosphere was the kind that made you feel like you wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Wine and Food were plentiful, each person had their fill and we were treated to a show by the Fingertips who sang one of my favourite songs of the moment: “Melancholic Ballad”. Everything about the evening was perfect… except maybe for the speech. I came the conclusion that my head administrator seriously needed a couple of lessons on how to write a brilliant speech. That or his secretary was one of those blonde ornament kind who doesn’t know how to put two sentences together but probably gets paid pretty well to work the Monica Lewinsky profile. Once the speech and show was over… the fun began!

Shy or perhaps intimidated by my most prudent and stuck of colleagues, my two contemporaries decided not to join me on the dance floor, however this did not sway me from letting the music invade my senses and allowing my body to respond to the beat. Being joined by some of TMN´s top party animals, I found myself letting loose… cutting off… feeling free. If there’s one sport that I love most in life, it’s dancing! It’s one of the best ways of letting go. Ignoring the pain in my feet, I allowed myself to be swung around the room; I danced with a million faces, faces that no longer felt strange or intimidating. Ranks fell away as so did numbers and statistics, the only thing that mattered on the dance floor is how well you shook your bon bon!

I danced with marketing, technical assistance, IT, Communications, Big Business, people from Porto, People from Açores, heads of departments, managers, administrators… my boss! I danced with them all.
I danced with anyone and everyone who called me to dance with them and then went out and got the non-dancers to join in the fun as well.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the office queen pouting. The others wanted to leave; she had barely danced and had barely crossed eyes with the people surrounding her. I felt sorry for her, being Miss Perfect has it’s disadvantages, the biggest being not being able to make friends when other people didn’t come up to her. Deciding that it was Christmas and to do my good deed for the year, I went and grabbed her hand leading her to the group of people dancing and having fun. She politely refused to dance as partner to every guy that tried, yet I’d like to think she still managed to enjoy herself quite a bit before retreating to the hotel with the others. I was pretty sure that my thanks would come in criticism, most probably for dancing with every Tom, Dick and Harry but I frankly couldn’t give two shits for her opinion.
What people don’t often notice, are the buzzing of self-doubt and insecure thoughts being thrown around in my mind. I hate feeling like I’m being inspected, dissected and evaluated which is how I feel when involved in a huge crowd of people. However I’m grateful to God (and Oprah!) for the inner -strength that I have, able to drown those thoughts in the music and allowing me to have a lot of fun with the other people around me. I guess I’m also always lucky to have amazing people around me.

End of the night, sitting down on the nearest stool, I decided that a crane was going to be needed to lift me up! I didn’t even dare taking off my shoes, knowing very well that once off, I’d never be able to put them back on. I had succeeded in dancing all my favourite songs, dancing with all my favourite colleagues, including a perfect meringue with TMN´s best Latin dancer. He managed every move perfectly even though he’d had one too many drinks. The only think I love about alcohol excess is some of the honesty you get with it. In-between the amazing meringue I was let know on how much my friendship meant to my colleague and was humbled at the words we always assume other people know so we never say out loud. I wanted to end the perfect evening with the perfect smile, however I was sentenced to one… (or a few) last dances with a cowboy. So ignoring the feet that were threatening to fall off, I once again took the floor and gave the best that my weary body could give. I get such a high from the dance floor. It’s one of the few times in life when you can let go completely and let the music and/or someone else take over. If I worked in the recruitment office, you could bet that I’d make sure every person in our company was a dancer! I thanked my two favourite colleagues for an amazing evening and made my way towards the car.
Next year I’d be sure to take a pair of sneakers with me!
Although exhausted, my colleague still treated me to a tour around the city before leaving me at my hotel. I was charmed by all that Lisbon had to offer, won over by its cultural essence. Looking to my left, I remembered to thank my lucky stars for meeting amazing people. I know that memories such as these are priceless and something no one will ever be able to take from me.

You know the party is truly over when you remove your make up, wash your face and get back into your pink and white pyjamas. Treating your feet to a mini-message you thank God for another year, another Christmas party and smile with that awesome feeling, that this year’s party had been the best so far!

Blast From The Past

carla-sofia@netmadeira.com

Whilst trying to clean out my e-mail, I found a forward from SA-Reunited. A Site dedicated to reuniting old school friends: the South African version of classmates.com. And out of sheer curiosity, I decided to take a peek and update my profile.

Searching for new names, I was surprised to find that there was a teacher registered with the site. Normally teachers don’t like to add themselves to these sites (which is understandable considering that there are some hooligans, you’d rather not hear from again… ever again!) Curiosity instantly took over me and I scrolled to see who the brave teacher was! With my luck… it was probably someone before my time, someone I’d probably never even heard of.
Imagine my surprise on recognising the name as the famous art teacher! Oh yeah! There’s definitely no forgetting our art teacher. An outspoken lady with plenty of imagination! I recall us commenting on her daring outfits and our shock at her creativity. No matter whether you took classes with her or not, you were well aware of her presence and contribution to the school. Every student that went into her class… walked out an artist one way or another. She knew how to make people bring out the best in their work: this was her big talent.
Back when choosing my subjects, art was something placed on the backburner. Besides the fact that I couldn’t draw to save my life and that my stick mannetjies looked more like scribbles than actual people, I had decided to invest in Business Economics and Typing as my two supplementary subjects. I don’t regret taking typing, for thanks to those annoying sticks and the constant “keep those fingers on the home row!” reminder… I can know out-type anybody in my office and in a world where time is money; fast typing skills can become your biggest asset.
Business Economics however was one of the most tedious subjects I ever took, along with mathematics… I learnt formulas I’ll never again use and learnt theories that are far from the actual methods practised in businesses today.

I dropped both these subjects in Grade 10.

The reason I hadn’t considered art back then was because I thought that it couldn’t contribute to my future. I thought business economics and typing were subjects I could invest in a future career and that art did nothing for that growth. I wish I knew then what I knew now… I’d definitely made a few different choices.
Art and Music are subjects that can contribute to your future as much as other subjects. If they don’t contribute to your professional skills, they will contribute to your personal ones, either way; they leave some kind of seed for development, if you let them of course.

Even though I hadn’t taken art with that specific teacher, I decided to send her an e-mail in any case. Back then I was someone barely noticed, however I wanted to let her know about the difference she made in my life. Perhaps directly, she contributed very little but she belongs to a family in my past that helped develop the person I am today. I needed to thank her, give her the appreciation that I’m sure her salary, as a teacher never gave. Perhaps even remind her, of the true contribution of her profession.

Clicking the send button on the e-mail, I allowed myself to travel back memory lane. You never know, just how deep your footsteps are left when you walk into someone’s life. I wish I had the opportunity to give my column to my English teachers to read. I’m sure they’d probably have a great time correcting my grammar and sentence construction. On the other hand I hope they’d be pleased that I was inspired enough by the language they taught me, to keep writing. They taught me how to express myself and although English is no longer my first language, it will always be my preference. Did I remember to thank them on my last day of school?

Why conclude the obvious? We all want to be a pleasant memory in someone’s heart. This makes us special; it is this that makes us immortal. Some people spend their whole lives trying to find their mission in life. I’ve always known what mine is and it is my mission is life that I leave you with:
Life your life so that everyone that remembers you, does so with a smile.

Forgive and Forget?

Sunny Piccie

Never say never… especially when it comes to forgiveness. To hold something against someone is to carry excess weight on your back. However… it isn’t always easy to forgive… or maybe it’s the forgetting that requires the most effort. I was once told that not forgetting is a clear sign that not all is forgiven… I beg to differ.

After repeating the mistake of forgiving and forgetting repeatedly with the same person, I decided that there should be placed limits. How else was I going to avoid the repeated heartbreaks and disappointment? It was then that I decided to live my life like a baseball game: after two strikes you’re out on the third botch up. However, life proves that you cannot dish out the same set of rules to every person. Some people should’ve been given up on after their first major error, whilst others that made constant little mistakes proved to be very weak specimens of friends.

This made me realise that I had to start weighing the misdemeanours and chief errors when contemplating whether or not I should forgive. It was my father that gave me the perfect scale: I was told that it isn’t one’s words or actions that carry all the weight, but the intention in which they were carried out. Forgiving then became much easier once I discovered the true intentions behind the wrongdoing. In fact, I found that in most cases, almost all could be forgiven. Most of what hurts us, wasn’t intended to do so in the first place.

Does this mean I can forget all that was done?

Absolutely not! I’m all in favour of letting go of past mistakes; they only weigh on your shoulders. But to forget is the same as allowing an open road to be run over by the same word or action. This isn’t to say that people don’t learn from their mistakes (I should hope they do!), but it is to eliminate the chance of them disappointing you again. The beauty of time and true friendship is that it stands the test of time, and trust can be built just as it’s broken down. A true friend will fight for you and your trust and make it easier to move on. One of my true friends slept with my boyfriend. However, she ignored the comments and fought all barriers until she once again regained my trust. I have never regretted giving her a second chance… but I might not leave any of my future boyfriends alone with her again. The first mistake is your fault, the second mistake is mine.

I don’t believe in forgetting… your memory is a big part of who you are. But I do believe that once a person is forgiven you need to put the mistake and hurt behind you, to give time and life a chance to recover and grow whatever connection you hold with that person.

Pride is guilty for shadowing forgiveness. When two people are hardheaded and will not compromise, friendship simply cannot survive. You cannot force an “I forgive you” from the heart. Lips may move but they cannot fool what the soul is feeling. However, when the friendship is true, pride is a small price to pay for a priceless friendship. Those too stubborn to see that, miss out on the best things in life.

In my hysterical cloud of glee, I was caught off guard by the question she swung my way and before I knew what I was doing, I found myself answering her questions about the Christmas outfit I chose to wear this year. The minute I realised that my enthusiasm had carried me away, I tried directing my conversation to the other people around me and cut her opportunity short.
It’s been about six months since we’ve spoken about anything that isn’t work related. Our friendship ended with silence and all that’s left is professionalism. What happened? Well, when they say that love is blind they forget to add that friendship is too. I forgave many little mistakes that if they’d been analysed well enough, wouldn’t have passed through due to the intention behind them. I discovered that although this person is an amazing woman, she doesn’t know how to be a friend. Selfishness is her survival technique… perhaps due to not forgiving in her past. However, friendship comes with some sacrifices and compromise. Friendship is only true when you hold your friend’s interests on the same level as your own; the failure to do so is to risk losing a friend. You give a little, you take a little… you don’t take measurements or weigh what’s coming or going, but inside you know that your attentions are appreciated and that the person you care about, cares about you.
She thinks that it was the last straw that put the end to our friendship… what she doesn’t realise is that the last straw is the only the cherry on top of a cake; the last drop on a full glass of water and the reason for not forgiving the last of an accumulation of hurts. I could’ve told her, I could’ve explained my reasons for taking back my loyalty. But she didn’t care for my reasons, so I didn’t care to give her answers. Instead, she speculates about my motives for no longer depositing my trust in her. She wonders why I no longer laugh at her jokes or converse to her about any daily events. With the same consideration that she’d hurt me, I took everything that friendship stands for and left our relationship to pure professionalism.
For those brief minutes where my enthusiasm had run away with me, I’d relived a moment of what our friendship used to be like. Did I miss it? In a way… but the memory of the price of her friendship didn’t give me time enough to even consider carrying on the conversation. This is the importance of memory… it keeps you from repeating mistakes and reminds you of the consequences of your actions.

Will we ever patch things up? I’d like to think that there is nothing to patch up. After all, she doesn’t seem to need for any explanations I could give and quite frankly, a friend that doesn’t care enough about me to consider my feelings, isn’t able to swallow some pride and fight for a friendship isn’t a friend worth having in any case. I suppose if I thought about her, it would bother me but except on the days that she purposely cheeses me off… I confess that I don’t think about her much. This is my definition of forgive and forget… I forgave, I forgot to the point where I don’t think about it, but I set the limits so it doesn’t happen again.

Would I consider patching up our friendship? Perhaps… Why Not? If she cared enough to try and patch things up, what kind of a person would I be if I turned my back? Everyone deserves a second chance… However, it would only be under the condition that her intentions were true and for that to happen, she’d have to start caring about someone as much as she cares about herself.

We cannot select the fate that life hold for us… but we can select our friends.
Are you a friend worth keeping?

Shopping Blues and Bells

Sunny Piccie

Shopping Blues and Bells

Being one of the rare women who hate to shop... looking for the perfect outfit for the Christmas party that I’d been waiting for all year… is nothing short of torture! Not to mention that I’d only managed one present out of a whole list of loved ones to by for.
Needing some professional help, I recruited the help of the two best shoppers I know… my mother and my best friend. Organising to meet after work, I needed five minutes in the bathroom in front of the mirror with the shopping survival mantra:
I will not criticise or ill-treat my body.
I will try the garment on before rejecting it.
I will not leave the mall until finding the right item of clothing.

Two hours, four stores and swollen feet later… I still hadn’t found anything that looked remotely presentable for the evening gala I’d be attending. The only garment I had found that had any kind of possibility was so tight that it squeezed every ounce of what the good Lord had given me. Should I be required to bend by any chance, no doubt would everyone guess my cup size thanks to the grand opening in front, and the two straps kept threatening to slip off thanks to the low cut back. My best friend thought it was sexy, my mother thought it was scandalous and I thought that it just wasn’t me…

As always… it was in the last store, just as I’d given up and resorted to recycling something from previous years that suddenly… there it was! Not one… not two… but three gorgeous tops that would look fabulous with any skirt or pair of trousers that I owned. By that stage my two shop-o-holics had given up on me. My mother was on the phone to Norway and my best friend was on a foot-massage machine mission somewhere on the other side of the mall. I began to whimper as I realised that I might just have to choose the three tops on my own and be held fully accountable for the decision! Grabbing my cellphone I sent out an S.O.S and had my two partners in shopping next to me in a matter of minutes. I don’t recommend shopping with two assistants. One will like the red top better, the other will like the Chinese top better and meanwhile you find that you like the one with the long sleeves most. The result? Well… let’s just say that I won’t be needing any party clothes for the next couple of parties.

Have you ever heard the sound of plastic squealing? Well mine screamed as it was passed through the machine. I tried not to look at it as it accused me of tightening it’s budget on three tops when I only needed one. I refused to no longer listen to it when I made it go through another two times for a new skirt and a black bra and decided that I’d only take a glance at my bank balance, AFTER the party, to avoid pro-shop-depression.

Half the mission was completed… I had the clothes… now I just had to figure out exactly what it was that I’m going to wear. Still in uniform at almost midnight, I distractingly boarded the wrong bus whilst trying to picture the up and coming events. It was when the bus took the wrong turn that I suddenly realised that it was going to be a long walk home! Trying not to cry, I wondered if it was too late to send a letter to Santa asking him for a car and a driver’s licence… and a great sound system now that he was at it. Hopes suddenly spiralled as I saw another bus coming from the distance but almost immediately my spirits sank as I realised it was off duty. Luckily angels are never off duty and the considerate bus driver became my knight in shining armour getting me back into town just in time to catch the last bus home. Approaching home sweet home… I decided not to go shopping any time in the next millennium! (Oh… except maybe the for the Christmas presents that I still hadn’t bought!)

Surrounded by clothes and still unsure what to wear… I began wondering why humans had invented fashion in the first place. Things would’ve been a whole lot easier (and honest) if everyone just walked around in their birthday suit. At least you wouldn’t be tortured by sizes and textures… everything would fit and look good… well… almost… did I forget to mention that the worst part about shopping is when you mates leave you alone in the dressing room with the full body mirror and you’re left to the awful torment of self-body-analyses! On second thought… maybe we should all walk about in potatoes sacks… one size fits all, no measurement fixes required.

Inspecting my outfit from every angle in the bathroom mirror, I came to the conclusion that what I had on, definitely portrayed a good picture of me. It wasn’t too tight or revealing, yet it fit well enough to hold both elegance and promise. I suppose clothes do tell a lot about a person and I can’t have my jeans and t-shirt do all the talking for me. There’s a lot more to me than my daily uniform and pink teddy pyjamas. I guess that revelations lies in the eye of the beholder and how deep they’re willing to look.

The fact that I could eliminate the need to impress made my decision much easier and this year I’m dressing up with the intention of dancing and having fun. They say clothes make the woman?

Hell No… I believe it’s the woman that gives her clothes worth.

Love for Sale…

My stomach churned as I watched the documentary on the Odyssey channel on a Sunday Afternoon. I watched as various women documented how Russia had become the place to fetch a wife. In a male chauvinistic country where women are degraded and sentenced to a future of either domestic or middleclass jobs, many are easy targets for rich American men promising them more. Besides being hard and chauvinistic, most Russian will never have the means to provide what we consider a decent home environment. Furthermore, their ancestral backgrounds confine them to their hard personalities which know very little of the sensitive attentions that a woman needs.

Not being allowed to study much further, either by their families or their educational facilities, a woman can only settle for a middleclass job reserved for women only. Executive women are rare and much criticised in a country like Russia. So when an American man comes along and promises a woman like this, a family, a home, freedom of choice and expression… how can such a proposal be refused?

Did you know that in Russia there are agencies that advertise women for marriage like the sale of an animal? Over the Internet you will find the pictures and profiles of beautiful Russian women at your disposal to choose from. These are not professional women; they are simple women like the ones you find walking on your streets or living next door, and they’re simply looking for a way out, freedom, and independence.

What would you do for your freedom of speech and opinion?

For my independence I packed my life and walked away from the country that I loved and was raised in, I left my parents and the roof over my head and eventually I earned a place that I call my own. I cried, I worked; I sweated and earned my independence. But would I marry for it? My mother did… she’s no longer married to my father. Their marriage and divorce affected four souls and surrounding family members.

Tears fell down my face as I listened to women document how they meet and marry these American men. Practically forced to fall “in love” with these men, these women see them as a future that Russia could never promise them. Most of these men, old and rich could not find a partner is their mother country so they go where they know the women are desperate for what they can provide… a stable and independent life. In return, these men are compensated with a beautiful bride, a woman that is feminine in the way she dresses and in the way she thinks. They know that these women will never ask too much of them and will appreciate everything they are given in return. Basically their prize is a beautiful Barbie Doll that does everything Betty Crocket does in the kitchen, Julie Andrews does with kids and Madonna does in the bedroom. They become instant owners to these women… but will they ever own their hearts?

At what price does one buy a woman’s heart?

On the documentary, one of the men asked his Russian girlfriend to marry him. She spoke alone to the cameras saying “I’m not sure that I love him, but how can I not when he provides me with all these things. He gives me an apartment and takes care of my clothes, he must surely care for me… yes, I must love him, I must marry him”
My heart broke along with the tears that ran down my face. A woman that loves would never ask herself that question. When you truly love, it is usually the only thing you can be sure about. Doubt everything about him except for the way you feel. To ask yourself if you’re in love is to admit that you’ve never known the feeling. My reason for crying was at the realisation that most Russian women, will never know the true significance of what makes the world go round. These women are left with very little choice, when their own men cannot give them the loving affection they deserve; it is little wonder that they see these Americans as the answer to their prayers. These desperate losers (for you cannot call anything else to a man who buys a woman) become their knights in shining armour.

Some of these marriages work out… after living with someone for a good amount of time, you might find that they are truly the soul that yours has been searching for all along. But what if they aren’t? What if you wake up each morning next to someone you know that your heart will never belong to? How can either party be satisfied with such an arrangement?

I believe that the worst torture a human being can put herself \himself through is to succumb to the illusion of love. To believe that one is happy living my society’s vision of happiness. Imagine waking each morning to the face of someone that you know will never fill your heart nor take your breath away. To do so, is the same as condemning yourself and your partner to a life half-lived. It is a tragedy when two people settle for sex and a friendship to try and fill that empty void. Don’t they know that it only makes the emptiness wider? Don’t they know that they only become lonelier and that they days that go past become time wasted?

I for one will rather live all my days alone and with a whole heart being broken than to condemn myself to a life of emptiness. If I really care about my partner, would I also keep them from going out and finding their true love? I may be alone, I may be without a partner, but at least I’m being honest with myself and sincere to the men who care about me.

I was told that I was being silly. That most of these women were given the opportunity to live like queens and would without a doubt be much happier. I somehow cannot grasp this concept. Of course they will much rather choose their American life to their Russian one but whether or not they will be happy will depend if they ever known love…
A woman cannot nor will not forget the power that love has over her heart. She cannot forget the magic in the touch of a loved one… the intensity found his words… the way his voice vibrates her soul and his warmth envelopes her body. No woman can ever forget the power of love. No woman who has felt it can ever settle for anything but love and she who does, can never feel whole. The heart of a woman is priceless, it cannot be bought. Prizing my independence as much as I do, I can still risk saying that I would give it up for love rather than possess it with an empty heart.

Any man can possess a woman’s body but only true love will possess her heart.

Sunshine’s Diary.

Which famous person do other people mistake you for? I have a friend that is the splitting image of Anastacia and another that behaves like Jim Carrey. Once I even met a woman that sounded just like Fran Drescher. Even though we are all individuals, there are similarities either physical or behavioural that will resemble us to someone famous... Someone that people recognise in us.

I always wanted to be compared to Sandra Bullock. Perhaps because she’s simple yet beautiful in every way. She uses simple language, but one that can be both accepted and understood by the ignorant and wise alike. She can look just as good in her tracksuit as she does in her ballroom gown. But perhaps what I like most about her is the way the sun shines from her face when she smiles.
However… I look nothing like Sandra Bullock and perhaps the only thing we have in common is our hair colour… although I’m pretty sure that she probably has less trouble with hers that I do with mine!

I once was told that I looked like Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore?!! The picture of the Charlie’s Angel looks nothing like the picture I see in the mirror each morning… except perhaps for our skin tones. Our skins both look like they’ve never been seen by the sun and the closest we’ll ever come to a tan is the shade of Lobster.
It was the fact that it was a small child that made the observation that encouraged me to actually look for the resemblance. On finding none, I decided to ask what it was that the kid saw that I didn’t. I was simply told that for no apparent reason, I reminded him of the girl on the movie “Wedding Singer.” Ironically… I thought that same little kid reminded me of Adam Sandler and decided that the comparison ended there.

About a week ago, I was told that my writing sounded like something out of Bridget Jones Diary… and immediately I was intrigued. I watched the first Bridget Jones movie with one thought on my mind: “Oh God, there’s the story of my life”. Through the botch-ups and bad choices, her every word sounded like the very stupid thing I would say. I had decided then and there, not to watch it again so not to become depressed at the idea that it would take me ten years to find a decent boyfriend.
I immediately knew on watching the trailer to the sequel of Bridget Jones Diary that watching it would be bittersweet frustration. However, I can’t resist a good comedy and I just had to find out what it was that made me resemble her.

Here’s the part where those who haven’t watched the movie close the window and return to it only after watching the movie… for those who’ve already watched it, I’m sure you’ll agree with me that the movie was bloody brilliant! You sat glued to your chairs watching Bridget single-handedly turn a perfectly good life upside down and although you’d love to slap some sense into her, you can’t help but cross your fingers so that everything works out in the end.

So now onto the similarities…
* Excess body weight with plenty extra wobbly bits… Check.
* Always has something stupid to say right at the tip of tongue and lets it out before thinking…. Check.
* Always goes for the wrong type of guys… double check!
* Hates going shopping, never finds anything that fits… check
* Has the worse timing possible… check
* Owns a diary… There’s where I beat her arse by having my own column as well!

I wouldn’t say that we think alike but calling a bunch of rich, stuck-up lawyers snotty brings back a memory of when I did the same at an evening gala not too long ago. And for someone who has a diary and who’s job is to be articulate, she sure muddles words at the most crucial moments. Fantasizing is a small flaw to someone with a healthy imagination and the fact that she can think of marriage in the middle of a skydiving jump reminds me of the most inappropriate thoughts that I had the last time I was caught in the dentist’s chair. Perhaps the thing that she did that most made me relate to her was when she got an entire cell full of incarcerated women to sing Madonna’s “like a virgin” adding to it coordinated dance moves. I couldn’t help smiling when I recalled that just that morning, I’d made a complete ass of myself whilst singing to the bathroom mirror at work. My colleague that was standing outside, has made sure that I don’t forget the incident anytime soon. My only comfort is that I was told that at least I could rely on my singing talents should my boss be the one to have caught me and fired me.

The bad luck, the bad timing and exclusive originally stupid things Bridget Jones says and does can definitely resemble Sunshine the person, and the blonde hair is the only physical trait we don’t have in common. Once again I walked out of the cinema saying “Oh God… that’s me in ten years”. The similarities are uncanny and I began thinking that the author of Bridget Jones must’ve traded notes with my maker.

However…

Even though I might look, sound and resemble the character to one of the best movies I’ve ever seen… I am nobody but myself. I prefer to think that someone dreamed me up, wrote about me in a book and called the character Bridget. For I could never be somebody else, nor would I want to be compared to anyone. Why would I want to be anyone else if I can be me?
I’d love to meet Bridget, I’d love to sit down to coffee and constantly repeat “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean!”. We could share the goofy chapters of our lives and she could tell me what a kiss from a lesbian will feel like (Like a good friend says… never say never). It will be good to talk to someone who knows exactly where I’m coming from. I feel that women around the world probably have an easier time to relate to her than they do to Nicole Kidman or Charlize Theron. She is perhaps, the most real character I’ve ever seen on the big screen.

All in all, I don’t think I’d mind living a Bridget Jones life, perhaps I already do live one similar to hers… the only difference, are the endings.

Moments...

Switching my body and mind on automatic pilot, my soul decided it needed a break. So while the world kept spinning, I watched my week go by from the sidelines. Avoiding anybody and any kind of talk that would remove me from my comfort zone, I gave myself the time-out needed to recover from the rat race. You’ll be surprised at the things you pick up, when you begin to watch your life as the audience of a movie. Things become more objective and emotions are forced into neutral, making you feel that in some small way, time for you has stopped. And those twenty-four hours that don’t seem to amount to much during any other time in your life suddenly seem sufficient for all the things you need to do.

I’m finally being educated on Portuguese music! A good friend of mine took pity on my ignorance and decided to make me a copy of some of his favourite Portuguese albums. Although I was given three CD´s… I haven’t gotten past the first one. An album called “Moments” by a character that sings, eats and sleeps in his sunglasses; has put the sound to my mood. Music that is neither sad, nor happy yet empowering is all I’ve been listening to since I got it. The artist seems to know how to add words to feelings that are hard to express. He sings of moments and time and eternity… a space of existence that every human being can relate to.

Have you ever forgotten a memory so special that when you’re reminded of it, you scold yourself for ever having forgotten it?
This usually happens when we pass a difficult stage or period of suffering, that we try and erase that time from our memories. In doing so, we often block out some of the good memories as well.

The dreams I love the most are those that you can watch from the sidelines like a movie. You’re not required to think or participate, your only function is to watch. Two nights ago, I relived one of the most significant moments of my life through a dream. I dreamt that I sat on the side of a swimming pool with my legs dipped in the water. Looking around me I recognised the pool and the house as belonging to friends from South Africa. There were kids around and the chubby little girl with long thick hair that was playing with them was none other than me at fourteen years old. It was clear by my tomboyish behaviour that at that stage, I still hadn’t noticed the “attraction” of the opposite sex. Making bombs and telling snotty jokes with the boys still came naturally to me at that stage and the scenery I observed was a hot day in summer where I’d spent the whole of my Saturday from morning to evening in the pool with the boys. Being the only girl between them didn’t bother me although I was the one most picked on and not cut any slack for being of the “weaker sex”. I was dunked and thrown in the pool like any of them and I enjoyed every moment of it. One of those boys was my cousin and another was my “worst enemy”. Being the son of my mother’s best friend, he was to be my childhood torment… and my best friend; I called him Scorpio due to his nature and astrological sign. As punishment or whenever I didn’t do what he wanted (which was most of the time… I was stubborn girl!), I would get punished. In the pool, I was dunked.
Definition of a dunk: he would grab me in the pool and pull me down into the water.
There was no use fighting against his brute strength (although that didn’t prevent me from trying) and in one day I’d be dunked approximately 50-80 times.
I watched myself play with the boys until finally the evening set in. At around eight o’clock and after being inside the pool the whole day, hunger finally set in and everyone got out the pool in the direction of the kitchen. Everyone excepting for me and Scorpio. At first he decided that I couldn’t leave the pool without being dunked another 15 times… and although I put up a darn good fight, he still got his way with me. I watched myself walk out the pool and reach for a towel but then suddenly stopping and turning around. Scorpio hadn’t followed me like he was supposed to; instead he smiled and asked me if I wanted to be dunked again. This time, he wasn’t threatening, he was simply asking me as if it were something I wanted to do. Maybe it was the full moon or the bright stars, for I watched myself drop my towel, look back at him and instead of putting up a fight I moved towards him agreeing to his proposal.
At this point, I stopped watching from the sidelines and decided to get into the pool move closer to the two people, oblivious to my presence. The younger version of me looked insecure, probably expecting to be violently shoved under the water at any moment. Instead, she put her arms around his neck without any resistance and he pulled them both up and down the water until they were dizzy! Finally coming up, I watched myself looking him straight in the eyes and feeling confused. Back then I thought that the funny feeling in the pit of my stomach was hunger, how could I possibly have forgotten the very first time I felt butterflies for the opposite sex?

I woke up with a smile of satisfaction of remembering a special moment that I thought I’d lost. That joy was replaced with melancholy after sitting up in my bed and remembering the road that had followed that memory and the destination I found myself now. Isn’t it funny at how things turn out? I recall a stage when we stopped talking to each other, and then the phase of reconciliation and then the separation. I remember that my mother took it upon herself to inform all her friends on the day I bought my ticket to leave South Africa and yet Scorpio’s mother and father had taken six weeks to try and find the courage to tell their son this news. The night before I left, they’d still hadn’t found the courage to tell him so when I entered his room to say goodbye, It took him a while before he realised that there was something different in this goodbye. When I finally found the words to tell him that I would be leaving for good, I had to fight back tears. His girlfriend left the room after an enormous pause of silence. And for the last time, he held me for the longest time and wished me good luck.
I remember the look in his eyes, the words that he said… even the cologne he wore.
I remember a phone call six months later where he asked me with a serious tone if I was happy.
I remember the first day I met him, the day he taught me to skate, the first English word he taught me and even the first time our mothers went shopping…
I remember songs, words, and conversations… moments, priceless, timeless moments that make up the person that I am today.

Not so long ago, I thought that I’d never be able to think in Portuguese… that I could talk but not think in Portuguese. I thought I’d never understand the language or appreciate its music. Nowadays, I find that it doesn’t matter either way. Whether the word comes in English, Portuguese or Afrikaans, I find that it’s the significance behind it that carries all the weight and the fact that we’re all human, makes emotions a universal language.

Two hours ago, if I’d been asked what I’d been up to. My answer would’ve been “Nothing much”. After reflecting, listening to some great music, spending some time with myself and counting down the days until Christmas… I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been busy: living my moments.

Live your present so that in future, your past becomes your most valuable treasure.

Judging A Book By It’s Cover

Have you ever found a book that contained exactly, or more than what its cover promises you? Have you ever looked at a piece of fruit and find that once you’ve bitten into it, it has as much flavour and texture as what it looked to have? There are people that are nothing more, and nothing less than what they appear to be.Disappointment is mostly not the result of deception from the source… disappointment tends to be a direct result of self-deception.

“With that angel face of yours, I’ll bet you’ve fooled and misled many people”

How I wish that were true cowboy! It would be a sure guarantee that I’d never spend another night lonely; I’d be able to turn the manipulation game around and I’d start getting out of people what I wanted.

What you see is what you get.

Sincerity doesn’t depend on the words you use. Just as you use different paintbrushes on a painting, so also do you use different words adjusted to the people you’re dealing with. What keeps them sincere is the honesty that you deposit in them and making sure your message comes across clearly. Whatever my choice of words, they do not influence or alter my meaning and this makes me the same person through and through… This means that the girl you see in leather is the same you see in pink pyjamas with teddy bears on them and the only difference between the two, is in the eye of the beholder. As I’m sure you will agree… Snoopy underwear does not define or alter the abilities of its contents. If a face is scarred, mutilated or even hidden under a veil, the eyes will still reveal the true nature of the soul.

How to blow four guys off in three days:

1. When he invites you to lunch, tell him that you have a colleague from out of town (in this case from the mainland) and that you simply cannot abandon him.
2. When he refuses to get off the phone and suggests a meeting where he’d only talk about himself and see you through pink glasses, tell him you have a colleague on the other line who is from our of town and probably needs your help because he’s lost and needs directions.
3. To get out of a movie date, simply tell him that your colleague from out of town made a surprise entrance into your weekend and you simply cannot let him alone during this time.
4. To keep guys from coming to close to you and from trying their luck when you simply don’t feel like drawing them a picture… grab your colleague and show off on the dance floor. (Not that you’d need a reason to do just that but it helps keep the cowards away)
5. Lastly… when you simply do not want to place any more blame on your plant… conveniently use your stomachache to split from the party earlier.

Angels don’t dance, nor do they admit to human failure. This is why at the age of sixteen; they changed my nickname to Sunshine. I don’t pretend to be what I’m not. And for those lucky enough to pay attention… they get to see everything that I am: An open book with a cover that changes depending on the perspective of the reader, but constant in it’s contents… even when translated in a different language.

For someone, who believes and defends love… you’d say I’m pretty picky, fussy and even stupid to afford the luxury of letting guys go. Not many girls have the luxury of having a great guy wanting to be with them… I have two. So why not just go with the flow? Thus the dilemma for the past two weeks!

Nothing happens by chance, everything happens for a reason. My good cowboy friend gave me a great piece of advice to carry with me always:

To be with someone you’re not in love with leaves you with two very difficult options:
1. Be sincere and hurt them or …
2. Allow yourself to be forced into doing and saying things you don’t want to or feel.

It takes weeks of suffering to get to a conclusion that someone can give you in two minutes. Confusion dissipated almost immediately. I realised that I’ve never been a woman to settle for second best… I will not be forced into trying. Love doesn’t grow… it simply is or isn’t. I’ve never fooled anybody into believing they could win my heart. I’ve never misled someone into believing that I’m an easy woman. I don’t pretend and I don’t delude. Every person that crosses my path is given at least two clear warnings… and ample opportunity to know what I’m about. To discover me, is in their desire to do so. Therefore my dear friend… I hope I’ve changed your mind about my “angel face”… and I’ll leave the subject for a future reference when we’re both a little older and drunker.

Make sure that you are born and die an original.

You Know Who You Are…

Never underestimate the intuition of a woman. You’d be surprised what a woman knows just from relying on her instinct. Just when you think she’s oblivious to you or your intentions, she’s in fact quite in touch with the full reality.

I knew it was you when you missed called me at that hour. I didn’t think twice about the identity of the anonymous call just as I switched off my computer. It’s been months since I’ve had Internet or even heard from you, and I bet you must’ve been pretty surprised to see me log in to MSN.

This entry… is exclusively to let you know that I know it was you. I considered miss calling you back the same way; surely you’d know it was I responding.
But I didn’t think your ego deserved the effort.
I’m disappointed in you and considering you couldn’t bother about my reasons, I won’t bother to recognise your existence.

Not wanting to “use” my column to say the things I only say in person, the only thing I’d like to let you know is that I know it was you… and that the coward ness of an anonymous call won’t fix things. I’m willing to listen and willing to reply, but only the day you can master the courage to ask.

As for the rest of you reading this…

There are some things in life that can never be resolved with a phone call, letter, email or vague “hints”. If you want to connect to someone, obtains answers or even just to let them know you’re alive… there’s nothing like a “hello” and a simple conversation. You’d be surprised at the miracles of conversation. And for those of you seeking answers or opinions from me… quit guessing… ASK!

Evaluation Results.

They say that you grow an inch when you face up to your boss for the very first time. As much as this may contribute to my maturity and growth, it somehow did nothing for my spirits that simply sank from having to defend vacation rights that not only were rightfully mine but also more than well deserved. Being the sentimental fool that I am, I always seem to expect people to be human beings along with being in higher positions. The fact that I already sacrificed my vacation rights three times for the good of the company simply does not compute to a manager that only understands numbers and doesn’t enter the words “consideration” or “recognition” in his system. I was dismissed with a another questionnaire that is meant to evaluate my work satisfaction. My vacation depends on my ability to lie… which is why although I’ve won the battle, I’ll probably end up loosing the war!

A week ago my manager asked me to fill out a different evaluation sheet on him. I couldn’t hide the smile that went from ear to ear when he informed of my task. Although he deserved a good wake up call, I was sincere and lenient and although he will never know who gave him which results I wondered what he would do with the knowledge that most of the people under him are unsatisfied with his performance. I didn’t give him the lowest scores… nor the highest and felt at ease with my conscience for being the as honest as possible. Feeling sorry for him when looking at some of the other really low scores, I decided that these kinds of evaluations couldn’t be held as extremely accurate. Not everyone agrees on the same points and I’ve always been of the opinion that although what is being done might not be the best option, sometimes it’s the best that the person can do and he\she should be commended and recognised for that. Having the opportunity to fill out such an evaluation did have a good effect on my attitude though. Besides getting to put my opinions on paper, on having to evaluate certain issues, I also had to admit to the really good qualities in my manager… qualities that I don’t always appreciate.

I did however feel like re-evaluating him when after working seven and half hours of my weekend, I only got halfway through the work I needed to get through! Extra hours that would never be paid for nor appreciated, I began considering reviewing my curriculum vitae one more time… Instead I stared at an empty office and thought about road that I had travelled that had gotten me there.

Ambition removes the ability to appreciate previous accomplishments.

Getting on the bus, I thanked God that it would only be taking me ten minutes to arrive home opposed to the hour or two that it would take in a big city like Lisbon or London. Once again, I felt pressured by my inner battle of wills. A part of me is perfectly capable of being content with all I have; another part feels the need to explore all my capacities, knowledge and experience to the limits. Is there really the satisfaction I seek at the other end of the rainbow? No amount of thinking and counter-weighing brings me concrete conclusions or confidence so I try and not worry about the things I leave up to God and Fate to resolve. This doesn’t mean I give up on them, this means that while I give and do my best, I put doubts like these out of my mind at moments which I can’t resolve them in any case.
The highway to journey of life also has refill stations, SOS-lines and pit stops along the way. Even when you know you’re far from your destination or in this case… resolve, a road sign can be equivalent to your peace of mind.

While trying to distract myself from my thoughts, I caught a pair of big brown eyes. They belonged to a very distinct face attached to a very attractive body. Taking measurements, I immediately calculated from the well-toned muscles that this stranger was no stranger to the gym. The fact that his hands weren’t calloused confirmed that six-pack that was well defined under his back t-shirt wasn’t from a construction job and the way he held himself told me that behind those eyes there was culture and education. Looking around the bus, I smiled as I realised that I wasn’t the only woman taking his measurements and looking back at him, I wondered how full of himself he really was. Men who are that much noticed, have a tendency to be arrogant and selfish so I searched his face and eyes for a hint of self-importance. I couldn’t tell if the confidence he radiated was arrogance but I did deduce from the deep look in his eyes that there was intelligence present, giving him the capacity of becoming a formidable man if he ever overcame the physical advantage (hence disadvantage) that he had. These days little boys rarely grow into full grown men and the more attractive they are, the less they seem to depend on their intelligence and capacities of thinking like a free individual.

Engrossed in my thoughts, I only realised I was staring when I was met with the same direct stare from across the bus. We would probably never see each other again so what did I care if he thought me rude for staring?! I dared to stare him deep in the eyes and waited to see which of us would look away first. It seemed like almost an eternity until he looked away but I decided not to look again, hence start another story for my column… I’d already won the staring contest, so I looked away outside the bus window until arriving at my stop.

Laughing as I got out the bus, I chided at myself for easily creating a new episodes to my soap opera life! Tired of the disappointments that usually came from these kinds of adventures, I commended myself on being to walk away from small temptations and put it out my mind as I sang on my way home. Halfway home the shopping bag with all the milk threatened to break my fingers, so I stopped to switch hands. I hadn’t noticed there was anyone behind me until I saw another hand grab the grocery bag next to me.

Great! I came all the way across the ocean to live in a safer environment to be robbed of my groceries! I turned around, ready to aim a kick in the lower region of my thief’s body when I recognised the eyes of being those that I’d stared at on the bus.

Wonderful! I’m being stalked by a hunk!

“Can I give you some help with these?”
Why not? You have a gorgeous guy offering to carry your heavy bags for you, why suffer? The worst that could happen is that he ran away with my milk and juice and I’d have to settle for toast and yoghurt in the morning instead.

“I’m sorry for being so direct, but I just have to know why you looked at me the way your did on the bus”

The accent gave it immediately away that he was no local and probably had very little time on the island. I thought twice about whether I should just shrug it off or be truthful to his question, normally men don’t understand my answers to these questions. However the directness and sharpness of his question told me that he was no meatball and the least I could do to thank him for carrying my groceries was repay him with the same honesty and straightforwardness.

“Well… other than rating you as you as a good looking guy, I decided that your eyes looked pretty sad to me and that your whole aura in general depicted a broken heart.”
The lack of a smile to my first observation told me that he wasn’t as full as himself as he probably should be, and my second statement was clearly extremely accurate from the way he closed his eyes as if I’d slapped him and then lowered his gaze to his feet.
He explained himself by telling me that he had only been on the island for five months and that it hadn’t been easy considering his mother had stayed behind. I heard all the explanations from the words that he didn’t say and my own heart reminded me of the pain of being away from the people I love.
After the usual introductory chatter, I discovered that he indeed did spend all his time in the gym as an instructor and that he worked two jobs to help maintain the apartment that he’d recently moved in to. Wishing my new neighbour brighter days and a good evening, I cut any conversation that would lead to any further socialising and practically ran into my apartment once again plagued by my earlier inner wars. Do I really want to go through all the hassle of immigration once again? When do I settle down? Why on earth do I keep meeting guys this way?

More than once I’ve been thanked for just being sincere and human… yet, staring at the sms from my new friend I wondered if he knew the good he did my spirits too. No one should live from the past, yet we need to look back to appreciate our present. Often I forget the strong woman that has brought me this far. Often, I forget my own value. Perhaps I need to give myself a fairer self-evaluation. Often I forget to appreciate the fruits of the efforts I’ve already put in. I’m still not sure of my future decisions but my present goals are to appreciate all that I have already conquered.

Man! I Feel Like a Woman!

“A train is about to crash. A frantic virgin strips and says “Can anyone make me feel like a woman before I die?” So a man walks up to her, takes his clothes off and says: “Iron these” (Thanks Joe!)

After a tough week at work, I felt pretty tired of being the executive professional with the technical know-how and problem solving profile. Along with the weekend came the chance to be somebody else!

Walking into my kitchen late on a Friday evening in a mood to cook is something really out of the ordinary. Normally exhausted from a hard day at work, the last thing I have patience for is exploring in the kitchen, making a dish for only one person. My grocery bags contained spices and herbs that I’d never tried before on chicken. I threw out the recipe book decided to create something on my own. So wrapping around me the apron and putting on some vibey music, I decided to be a gourmet chef! At first I felt insecure about venturing but then I remembered that I’d read somewhere that one should approach life and cooking with reckless abandon. So I did. I chopped, diced, mixed, squeezed, sliced and prepared the best chicken breasts with potatoes that I’d ever made! Beat that naked chef! And they say that men make better chefs… preposterous!

Waking up early on a Saturday, I decided that I was going to hire the best maid and housekeeper that ever lived… Me!
I cleaned, I scrubbed, I washed, I shined, I organised and reorganised my little apartment until I felt that the Queen of England would be impressed with how it looked spick and span. I enjoyed singing to the end of my broomstick. Dancing with the vacuum cleaner to Mango Groove was also a showstopper and if you were lucky enough to see me cleaning my windows… you’d get a preview of the new dance I invented called… the wipe!

Determined to try out more personalities, I woke up Sunday morning as the adventurer. I decided to go hiking with my group of nature adventure seekers and joined a seven and a half hour walk where I fully enjoyed the feeling of “stalking in the bundu´s (bushes)”. Along with the rain from the night before, came the adventure of sloshing around in the mud and then washing off under the mini waterfalls naturally made from the mountain peaks. Closing my eyes, I pictured myself stranded on a desert island (something not that hard to imagine!). I needed to walk… to search… to get away from the carnivores (society) and discover new territory and paths. So I have a big imagination! Being a woman requires it! And who doesn’t feel the need to let out the inner child every now and then?
My trip was packed with adventure… I discovered new plants, got pricked on their thorns but took home a pretty flower with me. On my way I also came across chestnut trees and spent a good deal of time trying to get the chestnuts out of their orifice. My fingers were calloused from the orifices´ pricks but I managed a whole bag of chestnuts to take home with me… this is what you call working up an appetite!
Once reaching the bus, my friend and I laughed at each other’s appearance. No way would people believe that these two scruffy women with mud up to their knees worked in uniform during the week!

On the way home, we stopped at a small village celebrating their chestnut season. On a natural high after walking all those hours and having a bag of chestnuts to show for it… we felt pretty proud of ourselves and got into the festive mood. Besides trying out their chestnut delicacies, we also tried out their chestnut liqueur… and ended up singing chestnut songs all the way to the bus! Pure folklore is what we experienced and the photos of us dressed up as nuns, would fool one from believing that we actually live in the “big city”.

Arriving home, I peeled off my filthy clothes throwing them into the washing machine. I took a quick shower and then realised that I deserved a little something more. Running up the bath with salts and bubbles, I put on my favourite slow music and lit up candles around the bathroom. Sinking into the bath, I felt the stress and tension of a really long hike leave my body… I took my time shampooing and conditioning my hair, making sure every inch of my body was carefully given attention to. Only leaving the tub when I was wrinkly, I wrapped myself in my big cuddly towel and proceeded on moisturising and grooming myself. Slowly dressing into my clean pyjamas and jumping into my sweet smelling bed… I thanked God for small miracles and fell asleep humming a song from Shania Twain.

To my manager, may my true intentions dawn on you should you ever read this. As much as I dissect and criticise you, I can never express my gratitude for the opportunities you’ve given and not given me; the admiration for your leadership skills as a manager and as a man and most of all for the life’s lessons I’ve learnt from the time I’ve worked under you which otherwise might’ve been taught but not fully understood…

Thank-You.

What It Takes To Be A Leader.

“Of course you don’t know everything… if you did, you’d be an engineer”
This is what my manager considers to be a funny joke… personally I think it’s like of those black beer adverts where the black humour is only found funny by him and his fellow engineer colleagues.

How often are you lucky enough to evaluate your boss?

I couldn’t hide the smile that stretched from one ear to the other when my manager handed me an eight-page evaluation to do exclusively on his persona. Suddenly little horns grew on the sides of my head and the word “pay back” must’ve been plastered on my expression because he nervously picked at his collar and conveniently reminded me that if ever he was fired, I would be fired too… That didn’t deter my spirits though and I left his office with more enthusiasm than I had in weeks.

REVENGE Baby, here was my chance to put down on paper exactly what I thought of him! I rubbed my hands in sheer satisfaction…
Knowing that he would see my score but not know which was mine was comforting. This meant I could judge him any way I saw fit! I had nothing to lose and everything to gain from evaluating the man that leads my team.
However, it took my much longer to fill in than I expected. To be sincere, you have to counter-weigh many circumstances and I was surprised to find that it was much harder evaluating him than I thought.

Taking the dilemma home with me for the weekend, I decided to fill it in after a hike with my group of adventure seekers. Every two weeks on a Sunday, we take out our hiking boots and go adventuring into the greens of Madeira Island. We go with a team of men who organise these hikes not as a full time job, but as something on the side simply because they love what they do. Although they have a professional licence to organise these walks, none of them had been given any formal training besides the usual safety course required by law. Whilst contemplating my manager’s evaluation, I looked unto these men for hints of leadership.

Before we left town, everyone was checked for the right gear. Ladies with open shoes were sent back or told to put on boots or sneakers. Everyone was checked for water and impermeable jackets. Flashlights were checked and we were advised to take a candy bar in case of tension drops. We were reminded to stay close to a friend and to stop whenever we wanted to look around us this to avoid getting lost or falling over a cliff whilst chasing a butterfly (you’d be surprised at the trouble tourists get themselves into!). Equipment was double-checked, roll call was taken and a couple of safety hints were repeated on the bus. Once getting off the bus, hiking sticks were given to those who wanted or needed them and we were told not to venture off without a guide. Two team leaders lead the “faster” walkers, another two walked in the middle and the last two walked behind making sure that no one was left back. I was amazed at their “silent” organisation. The group in front walked at a speedy pace to satisfy their more fit members, however whenever they felt that they were too far ahead, they would “suggest” that people picked up nuts, stop to tell a story of this and that mountain or simply crack a few jokes forcing people to slow down. The medical kit was found with the two members in the middle who at a call of a colleague could run forward or backwards to give fast medical treatment. I was told that their kit was complete with everything from an asthma pump to allergy shots and bandages. “The brooms” are the nicknames given to the last two of the team who make sure that they walk with the slower members of the group. Making sure not to hurry them but making them fast enough to keep up with the group. Without feeling any kind of pressure, a group of 56 people managed a hike that took seven and a half hours at their own desired pace.

Where did these men get their organisational skills? With no particular training, they probably have what it takes to lead a major international company… and why not? Don’t they have the basic training that it takes to lead a team?

My manager doesn’t believe in the school of life. I was once told that even the worse of engineers leave school with the capacity to resolve problems and that the school of life leaves many bums on the street…

I was told that I should never disagree with my boss… I disagree with that.

If a man is a bum on the street then it’s because he happened to flunk Life’s educational system and should he choose to take the class again and learn, then he has every chance of making it out there as any of us. Being a college or university graduate doesn’t guarantee any engineer or doctor the capacity to resolve problems… with the education they received, they are obligated to resolve problems or their certificate is worth nothing more than an A4 white piece of paper.

A manager who is wise enough to motivate the younger and more ambitious of his group will walk at their fast speed and will know when and how to slow them down without cramping their growth or damp their enthusiasm. He will always have a back up plan in the middle and the stronger elements behind the company, making sure that they push the slower or weaker elements of the group to keep up the pace. No one is left behind and the strongest leaders go in front, taking the risks of putting their “foot in the mud” before anyone else. Strong motivation is needed when leading the group uphill, not letting the elements stop and quit but moving slow enough to let even the most exhausted keep up with the team. Sharing knowledge is the only key to immortality. Jokes are just important as the recognition and a good leader knows when to reprimand the member that needed a good shove in the right direction. At some stages, some of the faster walkers slow down or fall behind… but a true leader doesn’t slow down the other, nor does he worry about those who loose motivation. He knows that they still belong to the group and that at their own pace, they will get to the same destination as everyone else.

I wished that I could share my discovery with my manager at that moment, but he has never been a great fan of walking and all the leadership skills he ever learnt came from a classroom and textbooks.

Staring at a complete evaluation of my boss, I was surprised at the knowledge I had gotten from this opportunity. I decided to evaluate, not by my standards but by his standards… in other words, not thinking as “he should’ve done better” but “did he do the best he could”. Most of all, I was surprised at the qualities that I myself had not given enough recognition to. The fact that he isn’t a judgemental leader, that he tries to be comprehensive, that he isn’t one to yell or shout and that he isn’t one to pay attention to gossip or slander: are traits that should be commended. Not once has his personal life walked into the office with him, nor has he ever sworn or disrespected his team members. This of course did not make me overlook his lack of recognition, understanding of tasks, lack of control and need of organisation. However, I evaluated him accordingly and handed in my scores with a clear conscience.

It takes a lot to be a leader, perhaps much more than most of us are willing to give of ourselves. A true leader is the one who defends and protects his team whilst teaching and learning from them. A true leader is the one who takes risks and decisions thinking not of himself, but of the good of the team.