This summer in Singapore, at the East Coast Park, I revisited an old love after many many years. I think it must have been about 15 years since I last sat on a cycle and let the wind blow through my hair as I pedalled away all my unwanted thoughts.

Back in Dhabi days, cycling was a daily thing. I would take the red bike out and pedal away, past the KFC, past that perfume store, across the side intersection, past that pole M walked into and all the way to the edge where the main road was. We weren’t allowed beyojd that point so so make the route back interesting, I would go around the building, taking the small alley way back instead of retracing. Somedays I would pretend it was the countryside and I was one of the Famous Five on our way to a picnic. Ohter times it was high speed chase scene, and I would careen to the left and the right to avoid being hit by the baddies behind me. But my favourite rides were the ones that obliterated all thought, that were just about the cycling, of pushing that pedal forward, hearing that jugga-jugga sound of the wheels on the cobbled pavement, no thought, just the cool breeze, the peoplescape swishing by and simply me. In the moment.

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter.  Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.  ~Andrew Wyeth

I love Emma Block‘s work- especially the Secret Garden series. It reminded me of this question, especially this winter scene.

I have been back-and-forthing with someone I am currently working with on a project regarding the final colour palette of the design. Twice now, in mails as well as illustrated visuals I have impressed upon the fact that the colour palette I have finalized will work better given the job. I have explained in exhaustive terms the way a design process works in efforts to make them understand that we, as people trained in the visuals, do not simply pick out colours for work based on moody preferences (well not always anyways) and I have also tried to adopt the lofty tone of intimidation by clearly stating they we need to stick to what we do best; after all you don’t see me interfering with the client side of things.

Normally by attempt three, I would have written them off and mentally starting divorcing myself from my work, focusing now on the other benefits of being so close to wrap up. But sometimes, unwillingly you get emotionally invested in the campaign. These feelings of ownership are dangerous, as a teacher of mine once told us, because when the time comes to realize that you are now beating a dead horse- and that inevitably comes in any client-designer relationship- you will end up completing the project with residual feelings of resentment and dissatisfaction for not completely getting your way.

Let’s be honest. The client who trust us completely are rare jewels. And the ones who are willing to hear us out and meet us midway the semi precious ones. Many a times however, one deals with plain old rocks who refuse to budge, thinking they are sparkly and clear in their grasp of not only their own job but ours as well.

I am currently psycho-babbling myself into not caring about the work I am doing, though truth be told, I loved it. I loved what the end result has come out  to and I am cringing at the anticipation of having to give in on colour changes that I don’t agree on. I am also trying to make peace with the fact that it is just design- a premise I don’t in the least subscribe to. I truly do believe that even the tiniest battles are worth fighting- at times- when you know what you say will leave some kind of impact in the larger, longer sense of things; but at other times, when you have exhausted all the ammunition, it is best to gracefully give in, let go and chuck it before it ends up making you look and feel like some stubborn nit-picky fool who is clutching wildly onto a font and colour, refusing to let go and end the painful story.

Sometimes a timely end is way better than a semi-win. True story.

“The tagline should be in lowercase” was the entire, completely unrelated and unnecessary reply I received.

Because of course, the tagline in lowercase always helps sell anything better.

2 lies: Right at the beginning of when K and I were starting to click, he was having an off day at work. So I made him a batch of brownies and when he thought they were from scratch and was suitably overwhelmed, I completely ignored mentioning that they were from a box, just slightly spruced up. I only told him the truth last year.  ///  Sometimes, when I think to myself or say it out loud, that I believe that whatever happened last year was for the best, I am lying.

2 truths: The honest truth is that I cannot completely forgive. I can get over it and not let it matter for as long as things are at an even keel but if the going gets tough, every single past thing comes running to the surface. ///  Nothing hurts me more than a thoughtless friend.

2 dreams: I want to speak as guest of honour at my alma mater’s convocation one day. ///  I really want to have done something that changes things for the better, the way I see it- write a book, start a design- thought movement, open a school. Something.

2 failures: I didn’t pursue my Literature dream (I am hoping this is reversible and that I still have time)  ///  Sometimes I feel like I failed Zo. That maybe had I eaten better, rested more, prayed extra, tried harder somehow, she would still be here.

2 loves: Collecting lovely design things, while travelling with people I enjoy. /// my kids are the loves of my life.

For as long as I can remember, I have always looked for markers, in date or otherwise to be the harbingers of new beginnings. Each time I would feel stuck in a place, situation, friend-zone or mental labyrinth, I would instinctively seek out the next “point” at which my life would automatically evolve into something better because the universe deemed it so. I recall waiting in almost mad anticipation for my 13th birthday- because I felt that as a teenager, wonderful things would happen to me, or so the books said anyway. Similarly 16 was the next stop, made so more by the whole sweet-sixteen phenomena of course. Come to think of it now, nothing momentous really happened then, except my O levels. 18, then 21 of course, the magic grown up dates of legal existence as I shed those layers of who I thought I was. And then of course the Quarter Life  arrived, bringing it with the next best 5 years all leading up to what we thought at the time was official adulthood.

What I eventually realized that in all the dates I have mentally marked over the years, there has been that underlying sense of empowerment, of knowing that the new beginning I have marked in my calendar is one that I brought about, despite my belief in the magical turning points of the universe. I think I had always been aware of but never really acknowledged that  there was  moment  when I said enough, and changed things inside me, which in essence, set off the way life would transpire around me.

There is no doubt in my mind that this holiday would be a complete get-away. I would want it to be in a gorgeous little town with the spirit of a city. One with wonderfully designed little details to capture the heart. One with swaying music and wonderful food to spend hours in conversation and delight over that first night. Of course, I would be with my friends, my people, with whom after a mad night of dancing, we could sit in front of a huge picture window, looking out at the picturesque view, laughing, talking, having chai, and then perhaps later, step out for a walk under the stars.

I would want us to be in sync the next day, wanting to absorb the city in an adventurous spontaneous way yet also taking time out to soak in restorative qualities of a time out. I would want us to be wholly ourselves, completely abandoned- minds at rest, baggage left behind. I would want it to be in equal measure, wild, and funny and healing and connective.

The last day, after all the walking and shopping and exploring and dancing and absorbing, would be a spa day- a day dedicated to luxury massages and treatments, and therapy and talk and aromas and bathrobes, all designed to be the luscious dark red cherry on top of the perfect holiday.

The air was heavy, filled with the promise of wonderful things to come. It felt like a lot of things were lying in wait, to be set into motion by what I would decide to do. Freelance was new back then and I knew I loved the idea of doing many things too much to simply choose one. This lack of commitment at this point later resulted in my first proper year long contract. I had also decided to open up my mind to anything different that came along. So when I latched onto a Drought Relief Campaign and travelled to the innards of Sindh to help out on an amazing journey, little did I know it would lead to the start of a one of the greatest work relationships I have known, through which not only would I gain a very good friend but who would also introduce me to my future husband and along the way, hand me some of my best loved projects.

Coming back to love, it is really the best analogy for that year not only for the obvious reason but because that sense of heady anticipation is best felt in that state; that state of heightened awareness of all the senses. It was a time of freedom, freedom which had soared to ridiculously adventurous levels with the purchase of my amazing 1976 Volkswagen Beetle.  I wanted to make changes in how people thought, I wanted to do design that pushed all boundaries, think thoughts that set off ideas and action, and I wanted to be part of things that were bigger and better because at the turn of the century, it really seemed that anything less would be selling yourself and your place in life short.