I found two engaging articles in the financial times (FT) last weekend. Yes, yes … believe me … not just one but two! The first was about a winning bid for a listed entity in the UK despite the offer being lower than a competing bid for the same company. Excellent reading if you have the remotest interest in mergers and acquisitions (as I shamefully admit to have). A word of warning though: don’t dare coming anywhere close to even the front line of the article if you are not. Otherwise it might feel as faking an orgasm for your partner when he or she is not that good: frustrating in the short term and disappointing in the long run!
But the second article was shorter and even better. About the costs of online dating ….
The article suggested an interesting concept. Have you heard of those dating agencies offering to guide you around the perils of thousands (or even millions) of freaks and pervs online? Agencies with a somewhat fancy website full with pictures of real-and-currently-online-awaiting-for-you people, with dream like smiles and bodies like those out of a fashion magazine? These agencies will guarantee to find for you the few wonderful men and women online who are partner material … yes … but for a fee of course!
The FT had a great idea though … can’t we charge this fee to our ex? I mean … if someone breaks your heart, if someone pushes you back into the singles’ market … isn’t it fair for the cause of your troubles (i.e. him or her) to pay for the cost of meeting a new soul mate?
I think that is an inspired idea. So if you are in that situation then call your ex and ask him (or her) to take up the cost of finding a new lover. Yes … he (or she) may agree to do so!
But taking the concept a bit further, can’t we sue our ex for damages? After all, he or she wasted our time! Ahhh … me and my pragmatic mind! Where did I hide my romantic half today?
Friday, 21 December 2007
Saturday, 8 December 2007
Tales of a little penguin
To Julia. From a friend who wishes her a smooth trip of discovery …
The snowy Cappadocian peaks, winter in central Anatolia (Turkey) … cold and beautiful as some women in my life (of which this is not the right time or the right forum for a gentleman to talk about).
But the story today takes place in an even colder place, in a remote part of our awesome and colourful planet, where the queen of the snow reigns almighty. The home of those small but very smartly dressed, flightless birds we call (always with a broad smile on our face) penguins … so cute!
This is a short story of discovery that begins on a bitterly cold, but crisp, morning in Antarctica. Just another day for a tiny wee penguin that opens her eyes to the world as the sun raises at dawn, painting with intense oranges and reds a landscape otherwise dominated by whites, blacks and blues. A world of fast running clouds falling off beyond the horizon. Of violent, blinding blizzards one day and incredibly clear, blue skies the next.
Today, as our little friend opens her eyes, millions of lovely cotton-like snowflakes lazily dance on their way to the ground. She is one of a countless number of penguins, all of them staying closely together to share some warmth. They all move slowly, with clumsy, swinging steps and shaking their small wings as if to friendly greet their fellow penguins. But today, our little friend’s attention is somewhere else. She is looking up in the sky at one of her flying cousins up there, confidently sailing the air currents in the invisible hands of the wind.
Why – she wonders – cannot I fly? What is the point of being a bird, if my wings will never take me up in the sky? Am I not the most miserable bird ever?
***
But as these sad thoughts fall upon her mind, the whole community starts to march. Thousands of black and white, little penguins in unison. Step by step.
This is bizarre! – she thinks in her mind. Why are we moving? Where are we going?
Seconds become minutes. Minutes become hours. But before the day was over, the white immensity of the Antarctic is magically transformed into something else. The miles and miles of white quietness are replaced by a cold, deep blue, moving ocean. Her eyes open wide in wonder and her mind is flooded with a million thoughts none of which she can put into words.
Suddenly, as strong as a pair of invisible hands, her instinct is to dive into the changing sea. And as her beak hits the water and her body is engulfed in the icy cold water, all the sadness she felt in the morning disappears. Her wings are magically transformed into most efficient fins propelling her and making her fly underwater. She speeds through the water, dancing with all those fleeing little fish swimming away from her, and then and there everything becomes clear in her mind. Like a ray of sunlight breaking through the fog … he has been created to fly as a bird, but to fly underwater!
***
We all feel down sometimes, when the purpose of things escape us, when we can’t find our place in life. But don’t give up. Think that somewhere out there, there is a big ocean waiting for us all.
The snowy Cappadocian peaks, winter in central Anatolia (Turkey) … cold and beautiful as some women in my life (of which this is not the right time or the right forum for a gentleman to talk about).
But the story today takes place in an even colder place, in a remote part of our awesome and colourful planet, where the queen of the snow reigns almighty. The home of those small but very smartly dressed, flightless birds we call (always with a broad smile on our face) penguins … so cute!
This is a short story of discovery that begins on a bitterly cold, but crisp, morning in Antarctica. Just another day for a tiny wee penguin that opens her eyes to the world as the sun raises at dawn, painting with intense oranges and reds a landscape otherwise dominated by whites, blacks and blues. A world of fast running clouds falling off beyond the horizon. Of violent, blinding blizzards one day and incredibly clear, blue skies the next.
Today, as our little friend opens her eyes, millions of lovely cotton-like snowflakes lazily dance on their way to the ground. She is one of a countless number of penguins, all of them staying closely together to share some warmth. They all move slowly, with clumsy, swinging steps and shaking their small wings as if to friendly greet their fellow penguins. But today, our little friend’s attention is somewhere else. She is looking up in the sky at one of her flying cousins up there, confidently sailing the air currents in the invisible hands of the wind.
Why – she wonders – cannot I fly? What is the point of being a bird, if my wings will never take me up in the sky? Am I not the most miserable bird ever?
***
But as these sad thoughts fall upon her mind, the whole community starts to march. Thousands of black and white, little penguins in unison. Step by step.
This is bizarre! – she thinks in her mind. Why are we moving? Where are we going?
Seconds become minutes. Minutes become hours. But before the day was over, the white immensity of the Antarctic is magically transformed into something else. The miles and miles of white quietness are replaced by a cold, deep blue, moving ocean. Her eyes open wide in wonder and her mind is flooded with a million thoughts none of which she can put into words.
Suddenly, as strong as a pair of invisible hands, her instinct is to dive into the changing sea. And as her beak hits the water and her body is engulfed in the icy cold water, all the sadness she felt in the morning disappears. Her wings are magically transformed into most efficient fins propelling her and making her fly underwater. She speeds through the water, dancing with all those fleeing little fish swimming away from her, and then and there everything becomes clear in her mind. Like a ray of sunlight breaking through the fog … he has been created to fly as a bird, but to fly underwater!
***
We all feel down sometimes, when the purpose of things escape us, when we can’t find our place in life. But don’t give up. Think that somewhere out there, there is a big ocean waiting for us all.
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
Learning how to dream? (part 2 and final)
So what about our first dream then? Could the experience compare like to like to that of our first few steps?
Falling asleep one day, at dusk. The memories of the day fast fading away as those little demons of the night steal your consciousness and your mind shuts down looking forward to the welcoming blackness of a dreamless night.
But tonight is different …
Something has changed in your mind. A chemical reaction perhaps? An exceptional experience in the last few hours? A naughty, nocturnal, little demon playing games with those tiny gray cells living in your confused head?
Who knows … but thousands of stars populate the emptiness of your mind tonight. Bright stars, silent stars, moving stars that your brain fails to fully comprehend. You extend your arms, aiming up towards the all involving and tonight ever changing sky, trying to reach those titillating beings breaking the otherwise uniform blackness so familiar to you.
And then, as the mist enters the valley in the cover of night, your first dream takes shape in your brain. Made of images, hopes, desires, fears … but at the same time as real as your daily life. You can feel your heart racing with apprehension, with excitement, with anticipation. And your mind fails to recognise the meaning of a dream because you can touch, you can hear, you can taste, you can smell … it is real as life itself.
And only when you wake up, as the early rays of the sun caress your skin in the early morning and the beginning of a new day … only then, you mind starts to grasp the meaning of a dream.
Falling asleep one day, at dusk. The memories of the day fast fading away as those little demons of the night steal your consciousness and your mind shuts down looking forward to the welcoming blackness of a dreamless night.
But tonight is different …
Something has changed in your mind. A chemical reaction perhaps? An exceptional experience in the last few hours? A naughty, nocturnal, little demon playing games with those tiny gray cells living in your confused head?
Who knows … but thousands of stars populate the emptiness of your mind tonight. Bright stars, silent stars, moving stars that your brain fails to fully comprehend. You extend your arms, aiming up towards the all involving and tonight ever changing sky, trying to reach those titillating beings breaking the otherwise uniform blackness so familiar to you.
And then, as the mist enters the valley in the cover of night, your first dream takes shape in your brain. Made of images, hopes, desires, fears … but at the same time as real as your daily life. You can feel your heart racing with apprehension, with excitement, with anticipation. And your mind fails to recognise the meaning of a dream because you can touch, you can hear, you can taste, you can smell … it is real as life itself.
And only when you wake up, as the early rays of the sun caress your skin in the early morning and the beginning of a new day … only then, you mind starts to grasp the meaning of a dream.
Saturday, 1 December 2007
Learning how to dream? (part 1)
This is Piazza San Marco, in Venice. So familiar to all and such a dream-like destination …
It could be the effect of altitude, or perhaps boredom during another flight (the 4th one in 3 days) but a question jumps into my mind today and refuses to go away … when (and how) do we learn to dream?
I guess it is like walking our first few steps. You stand one day up, looking around the room, ignoring the plethora of grown-up faces mainly distracted by some sort of boring, adult-like conversation and, fearless, you throw yourself forward into the unknown. And, just by chance, when your mind realises that nothing else can possibly stand between you and the hard and fast approaching floor, one of your feet happens to be there to hold you up. It is like magic!
You look down, at your feet, and there it is … your tiny foot at the end of your short and shaky leg holding you upright. It must feel like a great success. Such an achievement!
Your body struggles for balance, your head looks down and your eyes try to focus in the by now spinning tiles all around you. The sense of danger grows in you as the awareness of what is happening invades your senses. But before you can stop it, your second leg leaps forward, sending your body in an uncertain move forward.
By now faces all around you have changed, distorted by a sense of wonderment, of incredibility. And once more, to your own disbelief, your leg was there to hold you up!
After then it is all confusion. Someone comes and picks you up. A lot of noise around you and people taking pictures and filming you as if they have never seen such a thing. Don’t you all walk all day long yourselves? – your mind shouts at them. But at the same time your heart enjoys the attention, that Hollywood-like feeling of being a celebrity in your own house … (to be continued)
It could be the effect of altitude, or perhaps boredom during another flight (the 4th one in 3 days) but a question jumps into my mind today and refuses to go away … when (and how) do we learn to dream?
I guess it is like walking our first few steps. You stand one day up, looking around the room, ignoring the plethora of grown-up faces mainly distracted by some sort of boring, adult-like conversation and, fearless, you throw yourself forward into the unknown. And, just by chance, when your mind realises that nothing else can possibly stand between you and the hard and fast approaching floor, one of your feet happens to be there to hold you up. It is like magic!
You look down, at your feet, and there it is … your tiny foot at the end of your short and shaky leg holding you upright. It must feel like a great success. Such an achievement!
Your body struggles for balance, your head looks down and your eyes try to focus in the by now spinning tiles all around you. The sense of danger grows in you as the awareness of what is happening invades your senses. But before you can stop it, your second leg leaps forward, sending your body in an uncertain move forward.
By now faces all around you have changed, distorted by a sense of wonderment, of incredibility. And once more, to your own disbelief, your leg was there to hold you up!
After then it is all confusion. Someone comes and picks you up. A lot of noise around you and people taking pictures and filming you as if they have never seen such a thing. Don’t you all walk all day long yourselves? – your mind shouts at them. But at the same time your heart enjoys the attention, that Hollywood-like feeling of being a celebrity in your own house … (to be continued)
Wednesday, 28 November 2007
Flying over the Alps at dusk …
As I am writing these words my eyes can’t but jump from the inert screen of the laptop to a gorgeous view out there. Over thirty thousand feet up in the sky, the last few minutes of the day ticking away, and a bright, painfully red sun reigning over the white, snow-capped peaks of the Alps.
The mountains are dressed in reds and oranges, as the snow reflects the last rays of a fleeing sun. And the sky dresses in an infinite range of tones between the dark navy blue above us, to a cherry red in the horizon.
I can’t say much more. The words to describe it escape my overwhelmed mind. Just … wow!
I wish you were here to see it.
Monday, 26 November 2007
Another day, another trip …
Sunday evening and once more on the move. Today I am flying to Slovenia, on a small aircraft where all I get for dinner is a cold chicken salad and a glass of wine (or a few glasses of wine actually). At least the stewardess, very cute but apparently engaged if I am to believe the ring in her left hand, has a nice and warm smile. She seems soooo young though! And my destination for the night is an old (hopefully clean) concrete building they call now the “Grand Hotel” in the Slovenian capital … sure! The GRAND Hotel! It just fills me with a feeling of ‘deja vu’ …
I can think of a few places where I’d rather spend the night tonight. Not the least of all at home … relaxing after a nice dinner with my wife. Or even somewhere in snowy Russia, in the beginning of the cold winter, with my gorgeous Russian friend Olik (or Olechka, which sounds superb!) who no doubt would appreciate some company while recovering from her cold. Or perhaps with my Polish friend Kasia if she was to ever forgive me. And the list goes on ... but here I am instead.
But as I unwrap my dessert (an Italian chocolate called Becci) this is what I read in the back of the shiny wrapping: “Amo non solo essere amato, ma anche sentirmelo dire”, which I think means “I like not only to be loved, but to be told that I am loved” …
I like not only to be loved, but to be told that I am loved.
Is this true? Is being loved not enough? Are the fact (or facts) of being loved not enough? Do we need to be told too? Yes … I fully agree. I want to be told. I need to be told. But most importantly, I should tell you more often … to my wife, to my family, to you my friend. How difficult is it? Why can’t we put aside our doubts (whatever they are) and say “I love you”? Is it that difficult? What are we afraid of?
Perhaps not to be corresponded by a reciprocal feeling?
So, next time we meet, next time we talk, next time our lives walk along the same path, please remember. I may be as bad as most in telling you how I feel, but have no doubt that you are making my life special for being there with me … so thank you!
I can think of a few places where I’d rather spend the night tonight. Not the least of all at home … relaxing after a nice dinner with my wife. Or even somewhere in snowy Russia, in the beginning of the cold winter, with my gorgeous Russian friend Olik (or Olechka, which sounds superb!) who no doubt would appreciate some company while recovering from her cold. Or perhaps with my Polish friend Kasia if she was to ever forgive me. And the list goes on ... but here I am instead.
But as I unwrap my dessert (an Italian chocolate called Becci) this is what I read in the back of the shiny wrapping: “Amo non solo essere amato, ma anche sentirmelo dire”, which I think means “I like not only to be loved, but to be told that I am loved” …
I like not only to be loved, but to be told that I am loved.
Is this true? Is being loved not enough? Are the fact (or facts) of being loved not enough? Do we need to be told too? Yes … I fully agree. I want to be told. I need to be told. But most importantly, I should tell you more often … to my wife, to my family, to you my friend. How difficult is it? Why can’t we put aside our doubts (whatever they are) and say “I love you”? Is it that difficult? What are we afraid of?
Perhaps not to be corresponded by a reciprocal feeling?
So, next time we meet, next time we talk, next time our lives walk along the same path, please remember. I may be as bad as most in telling you how I feel, but have no doubt that you are making my life special for being there with me … so thank you!
Sunday, 25 November 2007
More than words ...
When your mind runs out of words then let your eyes talk. Let your mind relax and wonder in the beauty of nature. Because it is only when you come really close to it, only then, that you realise how small we all are ...
I have always believed in the magic of words, but sometimes all you can do is stay silent and admire nature.
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